A Backward Glance at Eighty Part 7

Checker-board street planning was a serious misfortune to the city, and it was aggravated by the narrowness of most of the streets. Kearny Street, forty-five and one-half feet wide, and Dupont, forty-four and one-half feet, were absurd. In 1865 steps were taken to add thirty feet to the west side of Kearny. In 1866 the work was done, and it proved a great success. The cost was five hundred and seventy-nine thousand dollars, and the addition to the value of the property was not less than four million dollars. When the work began the front-foot value at the northern end was double that at Market Street. Today the value at Market Street is more than five times that at Broadway.

The first Sunday after my arrival in San Francisco I went to the Unitarian church and heard the wonderfully attractive and satisfying Dr.

Bellows, temporary supply. It was the beginning of a church connection that still continues and to which I owe more than I can express.

Dr. Bellows had endeared himself to the community by his warm appreciation of their liberal support of the Sanitary Commission during the Civil War. The interchange of messages between him in New York and Starr King in San Francisco had been stimulating and effective. When the work was concluded it was found that California had furnished one-fourth of the $4,800,000 expended. Governor Low headed the San Francisco committee. The Pacific Coast, with a population of half a million, supplied one-third of all the money spent by this forerunner of the Red Cross. The other states of the Union, with a population of about thirty-two million, supplied two-thirds. But California was far away and it was not thought wise to drain the West of its loyal forces, and we ought to have given freely of our money. In all, quite a number found their way to the fighting front. A friend of mine went to the wharf to see Lieutenant Sheridan, late of Oregon, embark for the East and active service. Sheridan was grimly in earnest, and remarked: "I'll come back a captain or I'll not come back at all." When he did come back it was with the rank of lieutenant-general.

While San Francisco was unquestionably loyal, there were not a few Southern sympathizers, and loyalists were prepared for trouble. I soon discovered that a secret Union League was active and vigilant. Weekly meetings for drill were held in the pavilion in Union Square, admission being by pa.s.sword only. I promptly joined. The regimental commander was Martin J. Burke, chief of police. My company commander was George T.

Knox, a prominent notary public. I also joined the militia, choosing the State Guard, Captain Dawes, which drilled weekly in the armory in Market Street opposite Dupont. Fellow members were Horace Davis and his brother George, Charles W. Wendte (now an eastern D.D.), Samuel L. Cutter, Fred Glimmer of the Unitarian church, Henry Michaels, and W.W. Henry, father of the present president of Mills College. Our active service was mainly confined to marching over the cruel cobble-stones on the Fourth of July and other show-off occasions, while commonly we indulged in an annual excursion and target practice in the wilds of Alameda.

Once we saw real service. When the news of the a.s.sa.s.sination of Lincoln reached San Francisco the excitement was intense. Newspapers that had slandered him or been lukewarm in his support suffered. The militia was called out in fear of a riot and pa.s.sed a night in the bas.e.m.e.nt of Platt's Hall. But preparedness was all that was needed. A few days later we took part in a most imposing procession. All the military and most other organizations followed a ma.s.sive catafalque and a riderless horse through streets heavily draped with black. The line of march was long, arms were reversed, the sorrowing people crowded the way, and solemnity and grief on every hand told how deeply Lincoln was loved.

I had cast my first presidential vote for him, at Turn Verein Hall, Bush Street, November 6, 1864. When the news of his re-election by the voters of every loyal state came to us, we went nearly wild with enthusiasm, but our heartiest rejoicing came with the fall of Richmond. We had a great procession, following the usual route--from Washington Square to Montgomery, to Market, to Third, to South Park, where fair women from crowded balconies waved handkerchiefs and flags to shouting marchers--and back to the place of beginning. Processioning was a great function of those days, observed by the cohorts of St. Patrick and by all political parties. It was a painful process, for the street pavement was simply awful.

Sometimes there were trouble and mild a.s.saults. The only recollection I have of striking a man is connected with a torchlight procession celebrating some Union victory. When returning from south of Market, a group of jeering toughs closed in on us and I was lightly hit. I turned and using my oil-filled lamp at the end of a staff as a weapon, hit out at my a.s.sailant. The only evidence that the blow was an effective one was the loss of the lamp; borne along by solid ranks of patriots I clung to an unilluminated stick. Party feeling was strong in the sixties and bands and bonfires plentiful.

At one election the Democrats organized a corps of rangers, who marched with brooms, indicative of the impending clean sweep by which they were to "turn the rascals out." For each presidential election drill crops were organized, but the Blaine Invincibles didn't exactly prove so.

The Republican party held a long lease of power, however. Governor Low was a very popular executive, while munic.i.p.ally the People's Party, formed in 1856 by adherents of the Vigilance Committee, was still in the saddle, giving good, though not far-sighted and progressive, government.

Only those who experienced the abuses under the old methods of conducting elections can realize the value of the provision for the uniform ballot and a quiet ballot box, adopted in 1869. There had been no secrecy or privacy, and peddlers of rival tickets fought for patronage to the box's mouth. One served as an election officer at the risk of sanity if not of life. In the "fighting Seventh" ward I once counted ballots for thirty-six consecutive hours, and as I remember conditions I was the only officer who finished sober.

During my first year in government employ the depreciation in legal-tender notes in which we were paid was very embarra.s.sing. One hundred dollars in notes would bring but thirty-five or forty dollars in gold, and we could get nothing we wanted except with gold.

My second year in San Francisco I lived in Howard Street near First and was bookkeeper for a stock-broker. I became familiar with the fascinating financial game that followed the development of the Comstock lode, discovered in 1859. It was 1861 before production was large. Then began the silver age, a new era that completely transformed California and made San Francisco a great center of financial power. Within twenty years $340,000,000 poured into her banks. The world's silver output increased from forty millions a year to sixty millions. In September of 1862 the stock board was organized. At first a share in a company represented a running foot on the lode's length. In 1871, Mr. Cornelius O'Connor bought ten shares of Consolidated Virginia at eight dollars a share. When it had been divided into one thousand shares and he was offered $680 a share, he had the sagacity to sell, realizing a profit of $679,920 on his investment of $80. At the time he sold, a share represented one-fourteenth of an inch. In six years the bonanza yielded $104,000,000, of which $73,000,000 was paid in dividends.

The effect of such unparalleled riches was wide-spread. It made Nevada a state and gave great impetus to the growth of San Francisco. It had a marked influence on society and modified the character of the city itself. Fifteen years of abnormal excitement, with gains and losses incredible in amount, unsettled the stability of trade and orderly business and proved a demoralizing influence. Speculation became a habit. It was gambling adjusted to all conditions, with equal opportunity for millionaire or chambermaid, and few resisted altogether.

Few felt shame, but some were secretive.

A few words are due Adolph Sutro, who dealt in cigars in his early manhood, but went to Nevada in 1859 and by 1861 owned a quartz-mill. In 1866 he became impressed with the idea that the volume of water continually flowing into the deeper mines of the Comstock lode would eventually demand an outlet on the floor of Carson Valley, four miles away. He secured the legislation and surprised both friends and enemies by raising the money to begin construction of the famous Sutro Tunnel.

He began the work in 1859, and in some way carried it through, spending five million dollars. The mine-owners did not want to use his tunnel, but they had to. He finally sold out at a good price and put the most of a large fortune in San Francisco real estate. At one time he owned one-tenth of the area of the city. He forested the bald hills of the San Miguel Rancho, an immense improvement, changing the whole sky-line back of Golden Gate Park. He built the fine Sutro Baths, planted the beautiful gardens on the heights above the Cliff House, established a car line that meant to the ocean for a nickel, ama.s.sed a library of twenty thousand volumes, and incidentally made a good mayor. He was a public benefactor and should be held in grateful memory.

The memories that cl.u.s.ter around a certain building are often impressive, both intrinsically and by reason of their variety. Platt's Hall is connected with experiences of first interest. For many years it was the place for most occasional events of every character. It was a large square auditorium on the spot now covered by the Mills Building.

b.a.l.l.s, lectures, concerts, political meetings, receptions, everything that was popular and wanted to be considered first-cla.s.s went to Platt's Hall.

Starr King's popularity had given the Unitarian church and Sunday-school a great hold on the community. At Christmas its festivals were held in Platt's Hall. We paid a hundred dollars for rent and twenty-five dollars for a Christmas-tree. Persons who served as doorkeepers or in any other capacity received ten dollars each. At one dollar for admission we crowded the big hall and always had money left over. Our entertainments were elaborate, closing with a dance. My first service for the Sunday-school was the un.o.bserved holding up an angel's wing in a tableau. One of the most charming of effects was an artificial snowstorm, arranged for the concluding dance at a Christmas festival.

The ceiling of the hall was composed of horizontal windows giving perfect ventilation and incidentally making it feasible for a large force of boys to scatter quant.i.ties of cut-up white paper evenly and plentifully over the dancers, the evergreen garlands decorating the hall, and the polished floor. It was a long-continued downpour, a complete surprise, and for many a year a happy tradition.

In Platt's Hall wonderfully fine orchestral concerts were held, under the very capable direction of Rudolph Herold. Early in the sixties Caroline Richings had a successful season of English opera. Later the Howsons charmed us for a time. All the noteworthy lecturers of the world who visited California received us at Platt's Hall. Beecher made a great impression. Carl Schurz, also, stirred us deeply. I recall one clever sentence. He said, "When the time came that this country needed a poultice it elected President Hayes and got it." Of our local talent real eloquence found its best expression in Henry Edgerton. The height of enthusiasm was registered in war-time by the mighty throng that gathered at Lincoln's call for a hundred thousand men. Starr King was the princ.i.p.al speaker. He had called upon his protege, Bret Harte, for a poem for the occasion. Harte doubted his ability, but he handed Mr. King the result of his effort. He called it the "Reveille." King was greatly delighted. Harte hid himself in the concourse. King's wonderful voice, thrilling with emotion, carried the call to every heart and the audience with one accord stood and cheered again and again.

One of the most striking coincidences I ever knew occurred in connection with the comparatively mild earthquake of 1866. It visited us on a Sunday at the last moments of the morning sermon. Those in attendance at the Unitarian church were engaged in singing the last hymn, standing with books in hand. The movement was not violent but threatening. It flashed through my mind that the strain on a building with a large unsupported roof must be great. Faces blanched, but all stood quietly waiting the end, and all would have gone well had not the large central pipe of the organ, apparently unattached, only its weight holding it in place, tottered on its base and leaped over the heads of the choir, falling into the aisle in front of the first pews. The effect was electric. The large congregation waited for no benediction or other form of dismissal. The church was emptied in an incredibly short time, and the congregation was very soon in the middle of the street, hymnbooks in hand. The coincidence was that the verse being sung was,

"The seas shall melt, And skies to smoke decay, Rocks turn to dust, And mountains fall away."

We had evening services at the time, and Dr. Stebbins again gave out the same hymn, and this time we sang it through.

The story of Golden Gate Park and how the city got it is very interesting, but must be much abridged. In 1866 I pieced out a modest income by reporting the proceedings of the Board of Supervisors and the School Board for the _Call_. It was in the palmy days of the People's Party. The supervisors, elected from the wards in which they lived, were honest and fairly able. The man of most brains and initiative was Frank McCoppin. The most important question before them was the disposition of the outside lands. In 1853 the city had sued for the four square leagues (seventeen thousand acres) allowed under the Mexican law. It was granted ten thousand acres, which left all land west of Divisadero Street unsettled as to t.i.tle. Appeal was taken, and finally the city's claim was confirmed. In 1866 Congress pa.s.sed an act confirming the decree, and the legislature authorized the conveyance of the lands to occupants.

They were mostly squatters, and the prize was a rich one. Congress had decreed "that all of this land not needed for public purposes, or not previously disposed of, should be conveyed to the persons in possession," so that all the lat.i.tude allowed was as to what "needs for public purposes" covered. There had been agitation for a park; indeed, Frederick Law Olmstead had made an elaborate but discouraging report, ignoring the availability of the drifting sand-hills that formed so large a part of the outside lands, recommending a park including our little Duboce Park and one at Black Point, the two to be connected by a widened and parked Van Ness Avenue, sunken and crossed by ornamental bridges.

The undistributed outside lands to be disposed of comprised eighty-four hundred acres. The supervisors determined to reserve one thousand acres for a park. Some wanted to improve the opportunity to secure without cost considerably more. The _Bulletin_ advocated an extension that would bring a bell-shaped panhandle down to the Yerba Buena Cemetery, property owned by the city and now embraced in the Civic Center. After long consideration a compromise was made by which the claimants paid to those whose lands were kept for public use ten per cent of the value of the lands distributed. By this means 1,347.46 acres were rescued, of which Golden Gate Park included 1,049.31, the rest being used for a cemetery, Buena Vista Park, public squares, school lots, etc. The ordinances accomplishing the qualified boon to the city were fathered by McCoppin and Clement. Other members of the committee, immortalized by the streets named after them, were Clayton, Ashbury, Cole, Shrader, and Stanyan.

The story of the development of Golden Gate Park is well known. The beauty and charm are more eloquent than words, and John McLaren, ranks high among the city's benefactors.

The years from 1860 to 1870 marked many changes in the character and appearance of San Francisco. Indeed, its real growth and development date from the end of the first decade. Before that we were clearing off the lot and a.s.sembling the material. The foundation of the structure that we are still building was laid in the second decade. Statistics establish the fact. In population we increased from less than 57,000 to 150,000--163 per cent. In the first decade our a.s.sessed property increased $9,000,000; in the second, $85,000,000. Our imports and exports increased from $3,000,000 to $13,000,000. Great gain came through the silver production, but greater far from the development of the permanent industries of the land--grain, fruit, lumber--and the shipping that followed it.

The city made strides in growth and beauty. Our greatest trial was too much prosperity and the growth of luxury and extravagance.

CHAPTER VI

LATER SAN FRANCISCO

In a brief chapter little can be offered that will tell the story of half a century of life of a great city. No attempt will be made to trace its progress or to recount its achievement. It is my purpose merely to record events and occurrences that I remember, for whatever interest they may have or whatever light they may throw on the life of the city or on my experience in it.

For many years we greatly enjoyed the exhibits and promenade concerts of the Mechanics' Inst.i.tute Fairs. The large pavilion also served a useful purpose in connection with various entertainments demanding capacity. In 1870 there was held a very successful musical festival; twelve hundred singers partic.i.p.ated and Camilla Urso was the violinist. The attendance exceeded six thousand.

The Mercantile Library was in 1864 very strong and seemed destined to eternal life, but it became burdened with debt and sought to extricate itself by an outrageous expedient. The legislature pa.s.sed an act especially permitting a huge lottery, and for three days in 1870 the town was given over to gambling, unabashed and unashamed. The result seemed a triumph. Half a million dollars was realized, but it was a violation of decency that sounded the knell of the inst.i.tution, and it was later absorbed by the plodding Mechanics' Inst.i.tute, which had always been most judiciously managed. Its investments in real estate that it used have made it wealthy.

A gala day of 1870 was the spectacular removal of Blossom Rock. The early-day navigation was imperiled by a small rock northwest of Angel Island, covered at low tide by but five feet of water. It was called Blossom, from having caused the loss of an English ship of that name.

The Government closed a bargain with Engineer Von Schmidt, who three years before had excavated from the solid rock at Hunter's Point a dry dock that had gained wide renown. Von Schmidt guaranteed twenty-four feet of water at a cost of seventy-five thousand dollars, no payment to be made unless he succeeded. He built a cofferdam, sunk a shaft, planted twenty-three tons of powder in the tunnels he ran, and on May 25th, after notice duly served, which sent the bulk of the population to view-commanding hills, he pushed an electric b.u.t.ton that fired the mine, throwing water and debris one hundred and fifty feet in the air. Blossom Rock was no more, deep water was secured, and Von Schmidt cashed his check.

On my trip from Humboldt County to San Francisco in 1861 I made the acquaintance of Andrew S. Hallidie, an English engineer who had constructed a wire bridge over the Klamath River. In 1872 he came to my printing office to order a prospectus announcing the formation of a small company to construct a new type of street-car, to be propelled by wire cable running in a conduit in the street and reached by a grip through a slot. It was suggested by the suffering of horses striving to haul cars up our steep hills and it utilized methods successfully used in transporting ores from the mines. On August 2, 1873, the first cable-car made a successful trial trip of seven blocks over Clay Street hill, from Kearny to Leavenworth. Later it was extended four blocks to the west. From this beginning the cable-roads spread over most of the city and around the world. With the development of the electric trolley they were largely displaced except on steep grades, where they still perform an important function. Mr. Hallidie was a public-spirited citizen and an influential regent of the University of California.

In 1874 there was forced upon the citizens of San Francisco the necessity of taking steps to give better care and opportunity to the neglected children of the community. A poorly conducted reform school was encouraging crime instead of effecting reform. On every hand was heard the question, "What shall we do with our boys?" Encouraged by the reports of what had been accomplished in New York City by Charles L.

Brace, correspondence was entered into, and finally The Boys and Girls Aid Society was organized. Difficulty was encountered in finding any one willing to act as president of the organization, but George C. Hickox, a well-known banker, was at last persuaded and became much interested in the work. For some time it was a difficult problem to secure funds to meet the modest expenses. A lecture by Charles Kingsley was a flat failure. Much more successful was an entertainment at Platt's Hall at which well-known citizens took part in an old-time spelling-match. In a small building in Clementina Street we began with neighborhood boys, who were at first wild and unruly. Senator George C. Perkins became interested, and for more than forty years served as president. Through him Senator Fair gave five thousand dollars and later the two valuable fifty-vara lots at Grove and Baker streets, still occupied by the Home.

We issued a little paper, _Child and State_, in which we appealed for a building, and a copy fell into the hands of Miss Helen McDowell, daughter of the General. She sent it to Miss Hattie Crocker, who pa.s.sed it to her father, Charles Crocker, of railroad fame. He became interested and wrote for particulars, and when the plans were submitted he told us to go ahead and build, sending the bills to him. These two substantial gifts made possible the working out of our plans, and the results have been very encouraging. When the building was erected, on the advice of the experts of the period, two lockups were installed, one without light. Experience soon convinced us that they could be dispensed with, and both were torn out. An honor system was subst.i.tuted, to manifest advantage, and failures to return when boys are permitted to visit parents are negligible in number. The three months of summer vacation are devoted to berry-picking, with satisfaction to growers and to the boys, who last year earned eleven thousand dollars, of which seven thousand dollars was paid to the boys who partic.i.p.ated, in proportion to the amount earned.

William C. Ralston was able, daring, and brilliant. In 1864 he organized the Bank of California, which, through its Virginia City connection and the keenness and audacity of William Sharon, practically monopolized the big business of the Comstock, controlling mines, milling, and transportation. In San Francisco it was _the_ bank, and its earnings were huge. Ralston was public-spirited and enterprising. He backed all kinds of schemes as well as many legitimate undertakings. He seemed the great power of the Pacific Coast. But in 1875, when the silver output dropped and the tide that had flowed in for a dozen years turned to ebb, distrust was speedy. On the afternoon of August 26th, as I chanced to be pa.s.sing the bank, I saw with dismay the closing of its doors. The death of Ralston, the discovery of wild investments, and the long train of loss were intensely tragic. The final rehabilitation of the bank brought a.s.surance and rich reward to those who met their loss like men, but the lesson was a hard one. In retrospect Ralston seems to typify that extraordinary era of wild speculation and recklessness.

No glance at old San Francisco can be considered complete which does not at least recognize Emperor Norton, a picturesque figure of its life. A heavy, elderly man, probably Jewish, who paraded the streets in a dingy uniform with conspicuous epaulets, a plumed hat, and a k.n.o.bby cane.

Whether he was a pretender or imagined that he was an emperor no one knew or seemed to care. He was good-natured, and he was humored.

Everybody bought his scrip in fifty cents denomination. I was his favored printer, and he a.s.sured me that when he came into his estate he would make me chancellor of the exchequer. He often attended the services of the Unitarian church, and expressed his feeling that there were too many churches and that when the empire was established he should request all to accept the Unitarian church. He once asked me if I could select from among the ladies of our church a suitable empress. I told him I thought I might, but that he must be ready to provide for her handsomely; that no man thought of keeping a bird until he had a cage, and that a queen must have a palace. He was satisfied, and I never was called upon.

The most memorable of the Fourth of July celebrations was in 1876, when the hundredth anniversary called for something special. The best to be had was prepared for the occasion. The procession was elaborate and impressive. Dr. Stebbins delivered a fine oration; there was a poem, of course; but the especial feature was a military and naval spectacle, elaborate in character.

The fortifications around the harbor and the ships available were scheduled to unite in an attack on a supposed enemy ship attempting to enter the harbor. The part of the invading cruiser was taken by a large scow anch.o.r.ed between Sausalito and Fort Point. At an advertised hour the bombardment was to begin, and practically the whole population of the city sought the high hills commanding the view. The hills above the Presidio were then bare of habitations, but on that day they were black with eager spectators. When the hour arrived the bombardment began. The air was full of smoke and the noise was terrific, but alas for marksmanship, the willing and waiting cruiser rode serenely unharmed and unhittable. The afternoon wore away and still no chance shot went home.

Finally a Whitehall boat sneaked out and set the enemy ship on fire, that her continued security might no longer oppress us. It was a most impressive exhibit of unpreparedness, and gave us much to think of.

On the evening of the same day, Father Neri, at St. Ignatius College, displayed electric lighting for the first time in San Francisco, using three French arc lights.

The most significant event of the second decade was the rise and decline of the Workingmen's Party, following the remarkable episode of the Sand Lot and Denis Kearney. The winter of 1876-77 had been one of slight rainfall, there had been a general failure of crops, the yield of gold and silver had been small, and there was much unemployment. There had been riots in the East and discontent and much resentment were rife. The line of least resistance seemed to be the clothes-line. The Chinese, though in no wise responsible, were attacked. Laundries were destroyed, but rioting brought speedy organization. A committee of safety, six thousand strong, took the situation in hand. The state and the national governments moved resolutely, and order was very soon restored. Kearney was clever and knew when to stop. He used his qualities of leadership for his individual advantage and eventually became sleek and prosperous.

In the meantime he was influential in forming a political movement that played a prominent part in giving us a new const.i.tution. The ultra conservatives were frightened, but the new instrument did not prove so harmful as was feared. It had many good features and lent itself readily to judicial construction.

While we now treat the episode lightly, it was at the time a serious matter. It was Jack Cade in real life, and threatened existing society much as the Bolshevists do in Russia. The significant feature of the experience was that there was a measure of justification for the protest. Vast fortunes had been suddenly ama.s.sed and luxury and extravagance presented a damaging contrast to the poverty and suffering of the many. Heartlessness and indifference are the primary danger. The result of the revolt was on the whole good. The warning was needed, and, on the other hand, the protestants learned that real reforms are not brought about by violence or even the summary change of organic law.

In 1877 I had the good fortune to join the Chit-Chat Club, which had been formed three years before on very simple lines. A few high-minded young lawyers interested in serious matters, but alive to good-fellowship, dined together once a month and discussed an essay that one of them had written. The essayist of one meeting presided at the next. A secretary-treasurer was the only officer. Originally the papers alternated between literature and political economy, but as time went on all restrictions were removed, although by usage politics and religion are shunned. The membership has always been of high character and remarkable interest has been maintained. I have esteemed it a great privilege to be a.s.sociated with so fine a body of kindly, cultivated men, and educationally it has been of great advantage. I have missed few meetings in the forty-four years, and the friendships formed have been many and close. We formerly celebrated our annual meetings and invited men of note. Our guests included Generals Howard, Gibbons, and Miles, the LeContes, Edward Rowland Sill, and Luther Burbank. We enjoyed meeting celebrities, but our regular meetings, with no formality, proved on the whole more to our taste and celebrations were given up. When I think of the delight and benefit that I have derived from this a.s.sociation of clubbable men I feel moved to urge that similar groups be developed wherever even a very few will make the attempt.