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 knobby 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 assured 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 anchored 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 constitution. 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 amassed 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 associated 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 association of clubbable men I feel moved to urge that similar groups be developed wherever even a very few will make the attempt.

In 1879 I joined many of my friends and acquaintances in a remarkable entertainment on a large scale. It was held in the Mechanics' Pavilion and continued for many successive nights. It was called the "Carnival of Authors." The immense floor was divided into a series of booths, occupied by representative characters of all the noted authors, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Dickens, Irving, Scott, and many others. A grand march every evening introduced the performances or receptions given at the various booths, and was very colorful and amusing. My character was the fortune-teller in the Alhambra, and my experiences were interesting and impressive. My disguise was complete, and in my zodiacal quarters I had much fun in telling fortunes for many people I knew quite well, and I could make revelations that seemed to them very wonderful. In the grand march I could indulge in the most unmannered swagger. My own sister asked in indignation: "Who is that old man making eyes at me?" I held many charming hands as I pretended to study the lines. One evening Charles Crocker, as he strolled past, inquired if I would like any help. I assured him that beauty were safer in the hands of age. A young woman whom I saw weekly at church came with her cousin, a well-known banker. I told her fortune quite to her satisfaction, and then informed her that the gentleman with her was a relative, but not a brother. "How wonderful!" she exclaimed. A very well-known Irish stock operator came with his daughter, whose fortune I made rosy. She persuaded her father to sit. Nearly every morning I had met him as he rode a neat pony along a street running to North Beach, where he took a swim. I told him that the lines of his hand indicated water, that he had been born across the water. "Yes," he murmured, "in France." I told him he had been successful. "Moderately so," he admitted. I said, "Some people think it has been merely good luck, but you have contributed to good fortune. You are a man of very regular habits. Among your habits is that of bathing every morning in the waters of the bay." "Oh, God!" he ejaculated, "he knows me!"

Some experiences were not so humorous. A very hard-handed, poorly dressed but patently upright man took it very seriously. I told him he had had a pretty hard life, but that no man could look him in the face and say that he had been wronged by him. He said that was so, but he wanted to ask my advice as to what to do when persecuted because he could not do more than was possible to pay an old debt for which he was not to blame. I comforted him all I could, and told him he should not allow himself to be imposed upon. When he left he asked for my address down town. He wanted to see me again. The depth of suffering and the credulity revealed were often embarrassing and made me feel a fraud when I was aiming merely to amuse. I was glad again to become my undisguised self.

It was in the late eighties that Julia Ward Howe visited her sister near the city, and I very gladly was of service in helping her fill some of her engagements. She gave much pleasure by lectures and talks and enjoyed visiting some of our attractions. She was charmed with the Broadway Grammar School, where Jean Parker had achieved such wonderful results with the foreign girls of the North Beach locality. I remember meeting a distinguished educator at a dinner, and I asked him if he had seen the school. He said he had. "What do you think of it?" I asked him. "I think it is the finest school in the world," he said. I took Mrs. Howe to a class. She was asked to say a few words, and in her beautiful voice she gained instant and warm attention. She asked all the little girls who spoke French in their homes to stand. Many rose. Then she called for Spanish. Many more stood. She followed with Scandinavian and Italian. But when she came to those who used English she found few. She spoke to several in their own tongue and was most enthusiastically greeted. I also escorted her across the bay to Mills College, with which she was greatly pleased. She proved herself a good sport. With true Bohemianism, she joined in luncheon on the ferryboat, eating ripe strawberries from the original package, using her fingers and enjoying the informality. She fitted every occasion with dignity or humor. In the pulpit at our church she preached a remarkably fine sermon.

Mozoomdar, the saintly representative of the Brahmo Somaj, was a highly attractive man. His voice was most musical, and his bearing and manner were beautiful. He seemed pure spirit and a type of the deeply religious nature. Nor was he without humor. In speaking of his visit to England he said that his hosts generally seemed to think that for food he required only "an unlimited quantity of milk."

Politics has had a wide range in San Francisco,—rotten at times, petty at others, with the saving grace of occasional idealism. The consolidation act and the People's Party touched high-water mark in reform. With the lopping off of the San Mateo end of the peninsula in 1856, one board of supervisors was substituted for the three that had spent $2,646,000 the year before. With E.W. Burr at its head, under the new board expenditures were reduced to $353,000. The People's Party had a long lease of power, but in 1876 McCoppin was elected mayor. Later came the reigns of little bosses, the specter of the big corporation boss behind them all, and then the triumph of decency under McNab, when good men served as supervisors. Then came the sinister triumph of Ruef and the days of graft, cut short by the amazing exposure, detection, and overthrow of entrenched wickedness, and the administration of Dr. Taylor, a high idealist, too good to last.

Early in 1904 twenty-five gentlemen (five of whom were members of the Chit-Chat Club) formed an association for the improvement and adornment of San Francisco. D.H. Burnham was invited to prepare a plan, and a bungalow was erected on a spur of Twin Peaks from which to study the problem. A year or more was given to the task, and in September, 1905, a comprehensive report was made and officially sanctioned, by vote and publication. To what extent it might have been followed but for the event of April, 1906, cannot be conjectured, but it is matter of deep regret that so little resulted from this very valuable study of a problem upon which the future of the city so vitally depends. It is not too late to follow its principal features, subject to such modifications as are necessary in the light of a good deal that we have accomplished since the report. San Francisco's possibilities for beauty are very great.

The earthquake and fire of April, 1906, many San Franciscans would gladly forget; but as they faced the fact, so they need not shrink from the memory. It was a never to be effaced experience of man's littleness and helplessness, leaving a changed consciousness and a new attitude. Being aroused from deep sleep to find the solid earth wrenched and shaken beneath you, structures displaced, chimneys shorn from their bases, water shut off, railway tracks distorted, and new shocks recurring, induces terror that no imagination can compass. After breakfasting on an egg cooked by the heat from an alcohol lamp, I went to rescue the little I could from my office, and saw the resistless approaching fire shortly consume it. Lack of provisions and scarcity of water drove me the next morning across the bay. Two days afterward, leaving my motherless children, I returned to bear a hand in relief and restoration. Every person going up Market Street stopped to throw a few bricks from the street to make possible a way for vehicles. For miles desolation reigned. In the unburned districts bread-lines marked the absolute leveling. Bankers and beggars were one. Very soon the mighty tide of relief set in, beginning with the near-by counties and extending to the ends of the earth.

Among our interesting experiences at Red Cross headquarters was the initiation of Dr. Devine into the habits of the earthquake. He had come from New York to our assistance. We were in session and J.S. Merrill was speaking. There came a decidedly sharp shake. An incipient "Oh!" from one of the ladies was smothered. Mr. Merrill kept steadily on. When he had concluded and the shock was over he turned to Dr. Devine and remarked: "Doctor, you look a little pale. I thought a moment ago you were thinking of going out." Dr. Devine wanly smiled as he replied: "You must excuse me. Remember that this is my first experience."

I think I never saw a little thing give so much pleasure as when a man who had been given an old coat that was sent from Mendocino County found in a pocket a quarter of a dollar that some sympathetic philanthropist had slipped in as a surprise. It seemed a fortune to one who had nothing. Perhaps a penniless mother who came in with her little girl was equally pleased when she found that some kind woman had sent in a doll that her girl could have. One of our best citizens, Frederick Dohrmann, was in Germany, his native land, at the time. He had taken his wife in pursuit of rest and health. They had received kindly entertainment from many friends, and decided to make some return by a California reception, at the town hostelry. They ordered a generous dinner. They thought of the usual wealth of flowers at a California party, and visiting a florist's display they bought his entire stock. The invited guests came in large numbers, and the host and hostess made every effort to emphasize their hospitality. But after they had gone Mr. Dohrmann remarked to his wife: "I somehow feel that the party has not been a success. The people did not seem to enjoy themselves as I thought they would." The next morning as they sought the breakfast-room they were asked if they had seen the morning papers. Ordering them they found staring head-lines: "San Francisco destroyed by an earthquake!" Their guests had seen the billboards on their way to the party, but could not utterly spoil the evening by mentioning it, yet were incapable of merriment. Mr. Dohrmann and his wife returned at once, and though far from well, he threw himself into the work of restoration, in which no one was more helpful. The dreadful event, however, revealed much good in human nature. Helpfulness in the presence of such devastation and suffering might be expected, but honor and integrity after the sharp call of sympathy was over have a deeper meaning. One of my best customers, the Bancroft-Whitney Company, law publishers, having accounts with lawyers and law-booksellers all over the country, lost not only all their stock and plates but all their books of accounts, and were left without any evidence of what was owing them. They knew that exclusive of accounts considered doubtful there was due them by customers other than those in San Francisco $175,000. Their only means of ascertaining the particulars was through those who owed it. They decided to make it wholly a matter of honor, and sent to the thirty-five thousand lawyers in the United States the following printed circular, which I printed at a hastily assembled temporary printing office across the bay:

To Our Friends and Patrons:

a—We have lost all our records of accounts.

b—Our net loss will exceed $400,000.

SIMPLY A QUESTION OF HONOR.

First—Will each lawyer in the country send us a statement of what he owes us, whether due or not due, and names of books covered by said statement on enclosed blank (blue blank).

Second—Information for our records (yellow blank).

Third—Send us a postal money order for all the money you can now spare.

PLEASE FILL OUT AND SEND US AS SOON AS POSSIBLE THE FORMS ENCLOSED.

May 15, 1906.

Returns of money and of acknowledgment were prompt and encouraging. Some of those considered doubtful were the first to acknowledge their indebtedness. Before long they were able to reproduce their books and the acknowledged balances nearly equaled their estimated total of good accounts. Remittances were made until over $170,000 was paid. Of this amount about $25,000 covered accounts not included in their estimate of collectible indebtedness. This brought their estimated total to $200,000, and established the fact that over eighty-five per cent of all that was owed them was acknowledged promptly under this call on honor.

Four years later they were surprised by the receipt of a check for $250 from a lawyer in Florida for a bill incurred long before, of which they had no memory. Let those who scoff at ideals and bemoan the dishonesty of this materialistic age take note that money is not all, and let those who grudgingly admit that there are a few honest men but no honest lawyers take notice that even lawyers have some sense of honor.

Some few instances of escape are interesting. I have a friend who was living on the Taylor Street side of Russian Hill. When the quake came, his daughter, who had lived in Japan and learned wise measures, immediately filled the bathtub with water. A doomed grocery-store near by asked customers to help themselves to goods. My friend chose a dozen large siphon bottles of soda water. The house was detached and for a time escaped, but finally the roof caught from flying embers and the fire was slowly extending. When the time came to leave the house a large American flag was raised to a conspicuous staff. A company of soldiers sent from the Presidio for general duty saw the flag several blocks away, and made for the house to save the colors. Finding the bathroom water supply, they mixed it with sand and plastered the burning spots. They arrested the spreading flames, but could not reach the fire under the cornice. Then they utilized the siphon bottles; one soldier, held by his legs, hung over the roof and squirted the small stream on the crucial spot. The danger was soon over and the house was saved with quite a group of others that would have burned with it.

While many individuals never recovered their property conditions or their nerve, it is certain that a new spirit was generated. Great obstacles were overcome and determination was invincible. We were forced to act broadly, and we reversed the negative policy of doing nothing and owing nothing. We went into debt with our eyes open, and spent millions in money for the public good. The city was made safe and also beautiful. The City Hall, the Public Library, and the Auditorium make our Civic Center a source of pride. The really great exposition of 1915 was carried out in a way to increase our courage and our capacity. We have developed a fine public spirit and efficient co-operation. We need fear nothing in the future. We have character and we are gaining in capacity.

Vocation and avocation have about equally divided my time and energy during my residence in San Francisco. I have done some things because I was obliged to and many others because I wished to. When one is fitted and trained for some one thing he is apt to devote himself steadily and profitably to it, but when he is an amateur and not a master he is sure to be handicapped. After about a year in the Indian department a change in administration left me without a job. For about a year I was a bookkeeper for a stock-broker. Then for another year I was a money-broker, selling currency, silver, and revenue stamps. When that petered out I was ready for anything. A friend had loaned money to a printer and seemed about to lose it. In 1867 I became bookkeeper and assistant in this printing office to rescue the loan, and finally succeeded. I liked the business and had the hardihood to buy a small interest, borrowing the necessary money from a bank at one per cent a month. I knew absolutely nothing of the art and little of business. It meant years of wrestling for the weekly pay-roll, often in apprehension of the sheriff, but for better or for worse I stuck to it and gradually established a good business. I found satisfaction in production and had many pleasant experiences. In illustration I reproduce an order I received in 1884 from Fred Beecher Perkins, librarian of the recently established free public library. (He was father of Charlotte Perkins Stetson.)

SAN FRANCISCO FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY

[Handwritten: Dec 19 1884

C.A. Murdock & Co Gent.

We need two hundred (200) more of those blue chex. Please make and deliver same PDQ and oblige

Yours truly

F.B. Perkins

Librarian.

P.S. The substance of this order is official. The form is slightly speckled with the spice of unofficiality.

F.B.P.]



In 1892, as president of the San Francisco Typothetae, I had the great pleasure of cooperating with the president of the Typographical Union in giving a reception and dinner to George W. Childs, of Philadelphia. Our relations were not always so friendly. We once resisted arbitrary methods and a strike followed. My men went out regretfully, shaking hands as they left. We won the strike, and then by gradual voluntary action gave them the pay and hours they asked for. When the earthquake fire of 1906 came I was unfortunately situated. I had lately bought out my partner and owed much money. To meet all my obligations I felt obliged to sell a controlling interest in the business, and that was the beginning of the end. I was in active connection with the printing business for forty-seven years.

I am forced to admit that it would have been much to my advantage had I learned in my early life to say "No" at the proper time. The loss in scattering one's powers is too great to contemplate with comfort. I had a witty partner who once remarked, "I have great respect for James Bunnell, for he has but one hobby at a time." I knew the inference. A man who has too many hobbies is not respectable. He is not even fair to the hobbies. I have always been overloaded and so not efficient. It is also my habit to hold on. It seems almost impossible to drop what I have taken up, and while there is gain in some ways through standing by there is gross danger in not resolutely stopping when you have enough. In addition to the activities I have incidentally mentioned I have served twenty-five years on the board of the Associated Charities, and still am treasurer. I have been a trustee of the California School of Mechanical Arts for at least as long. I have served for years on the board of the Babies Aid, and also represent the Protestant Charities on the Home-Finding Agency of the Native Sons and Daughters. It is an almost shameful admission of dissipation. No man of good discretion spreads himself too thin.

When I was relieved from further public service, and had disposed of the printing business, it was a great satisfaction to accept the field secretaryship of the American Unitarian Association for the Pacific Coast. I enjoyed the travel and made many delightful acquaintances. It was an especial pleasure to accompany such a missionary as Dr. William L. Sullivan. In 1916 we visited most of the churches on the coast, and it was a constant pleasure to hear him and to see the gladness with which he was always received, and the fine spirit he inspired. I have also found congenial occupation in keeping alive The Pacific Unitarian. Thirty years is almost venerable in the life of a religious journal. I have been favored with excellent health and with unnumbered blessings of many kinds. I rejoice at the goodness and kindness of my fellow men. My experience justifies my trustful and hopeful temperament. I believe "the best is yet to be."

I am thankful that my lot has been cast in this fair city. I love it and I have faith in its future. There have been times of trial and of fear, but time has told in favor of courage not to be lost and deep confidence in final good. It cannot be doubted that the splendid achievement of the Panama-Pacific Exposition gave strong faith in power to withstand adverse influences and temporary weakness. When we can look back upon great things we have accomplished we gain confidence in ability to reach any end that we are determined upon. It is manifest that a new spirit, an access of faith, has come to San Francisco since she astonished the world and surprised herself by creating the magnificent dream on the shores of the bay.

At its conclusion a few of us determined it should not be utterly lost. We formed an Exposition Preservation League through which we salvaged the Palace of Fine Arts, the most beautiful building of the last five centuries, the incomparable Marina, a connected driveway from Black Point to the Presidio, the Lagoon, and other features that will ultimately revert to the city, greatly adding to its attractiveness.

Fifty years of municipal life have seen great advance and promise a rich future. Materially they have been as prosperous as well-being demands or as is humanly safe—years of healthy growth, free of fever and delirium, in which natural resources have been steadily developed and we have somewhat leisurely prepared for world business on a large scale. In population we have increased from about 150,000 to about 550,000, which is an average advance from decade to decade of thirty-three per cent.

Bank clearances are considered the best test of business. Our clearing house was established in 1876, and the first year the total clearances were $520,000. We passed the million mark in 1900, and in 1920 they reached $8,122,000,000. In 1870 our combined exports and imports were about $13,000,000. In 1920 they were $486,000,000, giving California fourth rank in the national record.

The remarkable feature in all our records is the great acceleration in the increase in the years since the disaster of 1906. Savings bank receipts in 1920 are twice as large as in 1906, postal receipts three times as large, national bank resources four times as large, national bank deposits nine times as large.

There can be no reasonable doubt that San Francisco is to be a very important industrial and commercial city. Every indication leads to this conclusion. The more important consideration of character and spirit cannot be forecast by statistics, but much that has been accomplished and the changed attitude on social welfare and the humanities leave no doubt on the part of the discerning that we have made great strides and that the future is full of promise.



CHAPTER VII

INCIDENTS IN PUBLIC SERVICE

At twenty-two I found myself Register of the Humboldt Land Office, with offices on the first floor of a building at Eureka, the second story of which was occupied by a school. An open veranda extended across the front. When I first let myself into the office, I carelessly left the key in the lock. A mischievous girl simply gave it a turn and I was a prisoner, with a plain but painful way of escape—not physically painful, but humiliating to my official pride. There was nothing for it but ignominiously to crawl out of the window onto the veranda and recover the key—and that I forthwith did.

The archives of the office proved interesting. The original Register was a Missouri Congressman, who had been instructed to proceed to Humboldt City and open the office. Humboldt City was on the map and seemed the logical location. But it had "died aborning" and as a city did not exist. So the Register took the responsibility of locating the office at Eureka, and in explanation addressed to the President, whom he denominated "Buckhannan," a letter in which he went at length into the "hole" subject. The original draft was on file.

I was authorized to receive homestead applications, to locate land warrants, to hear contests, and to sell "offered land." The latter was government land that had been offered for sale at $1.25 an acre and had not been taken. Strangely enough, it embraced a portion of the redwood belt along Mad River, near Arcata.

But one man seemed aware of the opportunity. John Preston, a tanner of Arcata, would accumulate thirty dollars in gold and with it buy fifty dollars in legal-tender notes. Then he would call and ask for the plat, and, after considerable pawing, he would say, "Well, Charlie, I guess I'll take that forty." Whereupon the transaction would be completed by my taking his greenbacks and giving him a certificate of purchase for the forty acres of timber-land that had cost him seventy-five cents an acre, and later probably netted him not less than three hundred dollars an acre for stumpage alone. Today it would be worth twice that. The opportunity was open to all who had a few cents and a little sense.

Sales of land were few and locations infrequent, consequently commissions were inconsiderable. Now and then I would hold a trial between conflicting claimants, some of them quite important. It was natural that the respective attorneys should take advantage of my youth and inexperience, for they had known me in my verdant boyhood and seemed to rejoice in my discomfiture. I had hard work to keep them in order. They threatened one another with ink-bottles and treated me with contempt. They would lure me on when I rejected evidence as inadmissible, offering slightly changed forms, until I was forced to reverse myself. When I was uncertain I would adjourn court and think it over. These were trying experiences, but I felt sure that the claimants' rights would be protected on appeal to the Commissioner of the General Land Office and finally to the Secretary of the Interior. I was glad that in the biggest case I guessed right.

One occurrence made a strong impression on me. It was war-time, and loyalty was an issue. A rancher from Mendocino County came to Eureka to prove up on his land and get a patent. He seemed to me a fine man, but when he was asked to take the oath of allegiance he balked. I tried my best to persuade him that it was harmless and reasonable, but he simply wouldn't take it, and went back home without his patent.

My experiences while chief clerk in the office of the Superintendent of Indian Affairs are too valuable to be overlooked. I traveled quite freely and saw unfamiliar life. I had a very interesting trip in 1865, to inspect the Round Valley Indian Reservation and to distribute clothing to the Indians. It was before the days of railroads in that part of California. Two of us drove a light wagon from Petaluma to Ukiah, and then put saddles on our horses and started over the mountains to the valley. We took a cold lunch, planning to stay overnight at a stockman's ranch. When we reached the place we found a notice that he had gone to a rodeo. We broke into his barn to feed our horses, but we spared his house. Failing to catch fish in the stream near by, we made our dinner of its good water, and after a troubled night had the same fare for breakfast. For once in my life I knew hunger. To the nearest ranch was half a day's journey, and we lost no time in heading for it. On the way I had an encounter with a vicious rattlesnake. The outcome was more satisfactory than it might have been. At noon, when we found a cattleman whose Indian mate served venison and hot bread of good quality and abundant quantity, we were appreciative and happy. The remainder of the trip was uneventful.

The equal division of clothing or supplies among a lot of Indians throws helpful light on the causes of inequality. A very few days suffice to upset all efforts at impartiality. A few, the best gamblers, soon have more than they need, while the many have little or nothing.

The valleys of Mendocino County are fascinatingly beautiful, and a trip direct to the coast, with a spin along ten miles of perfect beach as we returned, was a fine contrast to hungry climbing over rugged heights.

Another memorable trip was with two Indians from the mouth of the Klamath River to its junction with the Trinity at Weitchpec. The whole course of the stream is between lofty peaks and is a continuous series of sharp turns. After threading its winding way, it is easy to understand what an almost solid resistance would be presented to a rapidly rising river. With such a watershed as is drained by the two rivers, the run-off in a storm would be so impeded as to be very slow. The actual result was demonstrated in 1861. In August of that year, A.S. Hallidie built a wire bridge at Weitchpec. He made the closest possible examination as to the highest point the river had reached. In an Indian rancheria he found a stone door-sill that had been hollowed by constant use for ages. This was then ninety-eight feet above the level of the flowing river. He accepted it as absolutely safe. In December, 1861, the river rose thirty feet above the bridge and carried away the structure.

The Indians living on lower Mad River had been removed for safety to the Smith River Indian Reservation. They were not happy and felt they might safely return, now that the Indian war was over. The white men who were friendly believed that if one of the trusted Indians could be brought down to talk with his friends he could satisfy the others that it would be better to remain on the reservation. It was my job to go up and bring him down. We came down the beach past the mouth of the Klamath, Gold Bluff, and Trinidad, to Fort Humboldt, and interviewed many white settlers friendly to the Indians until the representative was satisfied as to the proper course to follow.

In 1851 "Gold Bluff" was the first great mining excitement. The Klamath River enters the ocean just above the bluff that had been made by the deposit of sand, gravel, and boulders to the height of a hundred feet or more. The waves, beating against the bluff for ages, have doubtless washed gold into the ocean's bed. In 1851 it was discovered that at certain tides or seasons there were deposited on the beach quantities of black sand, mingled with which were particles of gold. Nineteen men formed a company to take up a claim and work the supposedly exhaustless deposit. An expert report declared that the sand measured would yield each of the men the modest sum of $43,000,000. Great excitement stirred San Francisco and eight vessels left with adventurers. But it soon was found that black sand was scarce and gold much more so. For some time it paid something, but as a lure it soon failed.

When I was first there I was tremendously impressed when shown at the level of the beach, beneath the bluff and its growing trees, an embedded redwood log. It started the imagination on conjectures of when and where it had been clad in beauty as part of a living landscape.

An interesting conclusion to this experience was traveling over the state with Charles Maltby, appointed to succeed my friend, to turn over the property of the department. He was a personal friend of President Lincoln, and he bore a striking resemblance to him and seemed like him in character.

In 1883 a nominee for the Assembly from San Francisco declined the honor, and it devolved on a group of delegates to select a candidate in his place. They asked me to run, and on the condition that I should solicit no votes and spend no money I consented. I was one of four Republicans elected from San Francisco. In the entire state we were outnumbered about four to one. But politics ordinarily cuts little figure. The only measure I introduced provided for the probationary treatment of juvenile delinquents through commitment to an unsectarian organization that would seek to provide homes. I found no opposition in committee or on the floor. When it was reached I would not endanger its passage by saying anything for it. It passed unanimously and was concurred in by the Senate. My general conclusion is that the average legislator is ready to support a measure that he feels is meritorious and has no other motive than the general good.

We were summoned in extra session to act on matters affecting the railroads. It was at a time when they were decidedly in politics. The Central Pacific was generally credited with controlling the legislative body of the state. A powerful lobby was maintained, and the company was usually able to thwart the passage of any legislation the political manager considered detrimental to its interests. The farmers and country representatives did all in their power to correct abuses and protect the interests of the people of the state, but the city representatives, in many instances not men of character, were usually controlled by some boss ready to do the bidding of the railroad's chief lobbyist. The hope for decency is always in free men, and they generally are from the country.

It was pathetic at times to watch proceedings. I recall one instance, where a young associate from San Francisco had cast a vote that was discreditable and pretty plainly indicated corrupt influence. The measure he supported won a passage, but a motion for reconsideration carried, and when it came up the following day the father of the young man was seated by his side as the vote was taken. He was a much-respected plasterer, and he came from his home on a hurried call to save his son from disgrace. It was a great relief when on recall the son reversed his vote and the measure was lost.

Of course, there were punitive measures, unreasonable and unjust, and some men were afraid to be just if the railroad would in any way be benefited. I tried to be discriminating and impartial, judging each measure on its merits. I found it was a thankless task and bred suspicion. An independent man is usually distrusted. At the end of the session a fine old farmer, consistently against the railroad, said to me: "I couldn't make you out for a long time. Some days I gave you a white mark, and some days a black one. I finally give you a white mark—but it was a close shave."

I was impressed with the power of the Speaker to favor or thwart legislation. At the regular session some Senator had introduced a bill favoring the needs of the University of California. He wanted it concurred in by the Assembly, and as the leading Democrats were pretty busy with their own affairs he entrusted it to me. The Speaker favored it, and he did not favor a bill in the hands of a leader of the house involving an appropriation. He called me to his seat and suggested that at the reassembling of the Assembly after luncheon I should take the floor to move that the bill be placed on the first-reading file. He knew that the leader would be ready with his pet bill, but he would recognize me. When the gavel fell after luncheon three men leaped for the floor. I arose well at the side of the chamber, while the leader stood directly in front, but the Speaker happened (?) to see me first, and the entrusted bill started for speedy success.

It is always pleasant to discover unsuspected humor. There was a very serious-appearing country member who, with the others of a committee, visited the State Prison at San Quentin. We were there at the midday meal and saw the prisoners file in to a substantially laden table. He watched them enjoy the spread, and quietly remarked, "A man who wouldn't be satisfied with such food as that deserves to be turned out of the State Prison."

Some reformer had introduced a bill providing for a complete new code of criminal procedure. It had been referred to the appropriate committee and in due time it made its report. I still can see the committee chairman, a country doctor, as he stood and shook a long finger at the members before him, saying: "Mr. Speaker, we ask that this measure be read in full to the Assembly. I want you to know that I have been obliged to hear it, and I am bound that every member of the house shall hear it."

My conclusion at the end of the session was that the people of the state were fortunate in faring no worse. The many had little fitness; a few had large responsibility. Doubtful and useless measures predominate, but they are mostly quietly smothered. The country members are watchful and discriminating and a few leaders exercise great power. To me it was a fine experience, and I made good friends. I was interested in proposed measures, and would have willingly gone back the next term. Some of my friends sounded the political boss of the period and asked if I could be given a place on the ticket. He smiled and said, "We have no use for him." When the nominating convention was held he sent in by a messenger a folded piece of paper upon which was inscribed the name of the man for whom they had use—and my legislative career was at an end.

I went back to my printing business, which never should have been neglected, and stayed mildly by it for eleven years. Then, there being a vacancy on the Board of Education, I responded to the wish of friends and accepted the appointment to help them in their endeavor to better our schools.

John Swett, an experienced educator, was superintendent. The majority of the board was composed of high-minded and able men. They had turned over the selection of teachers to the best-fitted professors of the university and were giving an economical and creditable administration. If a principalship was vacant, applications were apt to be disregarded, and the person in the department considered most capable and deserving was notified of election. There were, however, some loose methods. All graduates of the high schools were privileged to attend a normal class for a year and then were eligible without any examination to be appointed teachers. The board was not popular with the teachers, many of whom seemed to consider that the department was mainly for their benefit. At the end of the unexpired term I was elected a member of the succeeding board, and this was continued for five years.

When the first elected board held a preliminary canvass I naturally felt much interest as to my associates, some of whom were entire strangers. Among them was Henry T. Scott, of the firm of shipbuilders who had built the "Oregon." Some one remarked that a prominent politician (naming him) would like to know what patronage would be accorded him. Mr. Scott very forcibly and promptly replied: "So far as I am concerned, not a damned bit. I want none for myself, and I will oppose giving any to him or anyone else." I learned later that he had been elected without being consulted, while absent in the East. Upon his return a somewhat notorious woman principal called on him and informed him that she was responsible for his election—at least, his name had been submitted to her and received her approval. He replied that he felt she deserved no thanks for that, as he had no desire to serve. She said she had but one request to make; her janitress must not be removed. He gave her no assurances. Soon afterward the matter of appointments came up. Mr. Scott was asked what he wanted, and he replied: "I want but one thing. It involves the janitress of Mrs. ——'s school. I want her to be removed immediately."

"All right," replied the questioner. "Whom shall we name?"

"Whomever you please," rejoined Scott. "I have no candidate; but no one can tell me what I must or must not do."

Substitution followed at once.

Later Mr. Scott played the star part in the most interesting political struggle I ever knew. A Democratic victory placed in the superintendent's office a man whose Christian name was appropriately Andrew Jackson. He had the naming of his secretary, who was ex-officio clerk of the board, which confirmed the appointment. One George Beanston had grown to manhood in the office and filled it most satisfactorily. The superintendent nominated a man with no experience, whom I shall call Wells, for the reason that it was not his name. Mr. Scott, a Democratic member, and I were asked to report on the nomination. The superintendent and the committee discussed the matter at a pleasant dinner at the Pacific-Union Club, given by Chairman Scott. At its conclusion the majority conceded that usage and courtesy entitled the superintendent to the appointment. Feeling that civil service and the interest of the school department were opposed to removal from position for mere political differences, I demurred and brought in a minority report. There were twelve members, and when the vote to concur in the appointment came up there was a tie, and the matter went over for a week. During the week one of the Beanston supporters was given the privilege of naming a janitor, and the suspicion that a trade had been made was justified when on roll-call he hung his head and murmured "Wells." The cause seemed lost; but when later in the alphabetical roll Scott's name was reached, he threw up his head and almost shouted "Beanston," offsetting the loss of the turncoat and leaving the vote still a tie. It was never called up again, and Beanston retained the place for another two years.

Early in 1901 I was called up on the telephone and asked to come to Mayor Phelan's office at once. I found there some of the most ardent civil service supporters in the city. Richard J. Freud, a member of the Civil Service Commission, had suddenly died the night before. The vacancy was filled by the mayor's appointment. Eugene Schmitz had been elected mayor and would take his seat the following day, and the friends of civil service distrusted his integrity. They did not dare to allow him to act. Haste seemed discourteous to the memory of Freud, but he would want the best for the service. Persuaded of the gravity of the matter, I accepted the appointment for a year and filed my commission before returning to my place of business. I enjoyed the work and its obvious advantage to the departments under its operation. The Police Department especially was given an intelligent and well-equipped force. An amusing incident of an examination for promotion to the position of corporal concerned the hopes we entertained for the success of a popular patrolman. But he did not apply. One day one of the board met him and asked him if he was not to try for it. "I think not," he replied. "My early education was very unlimited. What I know, I know; but I'll be damned if I'm going to give you fellows a chance to find out what I don't know!"

I chanced to visit Washington during my term as commissioner, and through the courtesy of Senator Perkins had a pleasant call on President Roosevelt. A Senator seems to have ready access to the ordinary President, and almost before I realized it we were in the strenuous presence. A cordial hand-clasp and a genial smile followed my introduction, and as the Senator remarked that I was a Civil Service Commissioner, the President called: "Shake again. I used to be one of those fellows myself."

Senator Perkins went on: "Mr. Murdock and I have served for many years as fellow trustees of the Boys and Girls Aid Society."

"Ah," said the President, "modeled, I presume, on Brace's society, in which my father was greatly interested. Do you know I believe work with boys is about the only hope? It's pretty hard to change a man, but when you can start a boy in the right way he has a chance." Turning to me he remarked, "Did you know that Governor Brady of Alaska was one of Brace's placed-out boys!" Then of Perkins he asked, "By the way, Senator, how is Brady doing?"

"Very well, I understand," replied the Senator. "I believe he is a thoroughly honest man."

"Yes; but is he also able? It is as necessary for a man in public life to be able as to be honest."

He bade us a hearty good-by as we left him. He impressed me as untroubled and courageous, ready every day for what came, and meeting life with cheer.

The story of the moral and political revolution of 1907 has never been adequately told, nor have the significance and importance of the event been fully recognized. The facts are of greater import than the record; but an eyewitness has responsibility, and I feel moved to give my testimony.

Perhaps so complete a reversal of spirit and administration was never before reached without an election by the people. The faithfulness and nerve of one official backed by the ability of a detective employed by a public-spirited citizen rescued the city government from the control of corrupt and irresponsible men and substituted a mayor and board of supervisors of high character and unselfish purpose. This was accomplished speedily and quietly.

With positive proof of bribery that left conviction and a term in prison as the alternative to resignation, District Attorney William H. Langdon had complete control of the situation. In consultation with those who had proved their interest in the welfare of the city, he asked Edward Robeson Taylor to serve as mayor, privileged to select sixteen citizens to act as supervisors in place of the implicated incumbents, who would be induced to resign. Dr. Taylor was an attorney of the highest standing, an idealist of fearless and determined character. No pledges hampered him. He was free to act in redeeming the city. In turn, he asked no pledge or promise of those whom he selected to serve as supervisors. He named men whom he felt he could trust, and he subsequently left them alone, asking nothing of them and giving them no advice.

It was the year after the fire. I was conducting a substitute printing-office in the old car-barn at Geary and Buchanan streets. One morning Dr. Taylor came in and asked if he might speak to me in private. I was not supplied with facilities for much privacy, but I asked him in and we found seats in the corner of the office farthest from the bookkeeper. Without preliminary, he said, "I want you to act as one of the supervisors." Wholly surprised, I hesitated a moment and then assured him that my respect for him and what he had undertaken was so great that if he was sure he wanted me I would serve. He went out with no further comment, and I heard nothing more of it until I received a notice to meet at his office in the temporary City Hall on July 16th.

In response to the call I found fifteen other men, most of whom I knew slightly. We seemed to be waiting for something. Mr. Langdon was there and Mr. Burns, the detective, was in and out. Mr. Gallagher, late acting mayor and an old-time friend of the District Attorney, was helping in the transfer, in which he was included. Langdon would suggest some procedure: "How will this do, Jim?" "It seems to me, Billy, that this will be better," Gallagher would reply. Burns finally reported that the last of the "bunch" had signed his resignation and that we could go ahead. We filed into the boardroom. Mayor Taylor occupied the chair, to which the week before he had been obediently but not enthusiastically elected by "those about to die." The supervisor alphabetically ranking offered his written resignation, which the mayor promptly accepted. He then appointed as successor the first, alphabetically, on his list. The deputy county clerk was conveniently near and promptly administered the oath and certified the commission. The old member slunk or swaggered out and the new member took his place. So the dramatic scene continued until the transformation was accomplished and a new era dawned. The atmosphere was changed, but was very serious and determined. Everyone felt the gravity of the situation and that we had no easy task ahead. Solemnity marked the undertaking and full realization that hard work alone could overcome obstacles and restore endurable conditions.

Many of the men selected by Dr. Taylor had enjoyed experience and all were anxious to do their best. With firm grasp and resolute procedure, quick results followed. There was to be an election in November. Some of the strongest members had accepted service as an emergency call and could not serve longer; but an incredible amount of planning was accomplished and a great deal disposed of, so that though ten of the appointed board served but six months they had rendered a great service and fortunately were succeeded by other men of character, and the good work went steadily on. In looking back to the problems that confronted the appointed board and the first elected board, also headed by Dr. Taylor, they seem insurmountable.

It is hard now to appreciate the physical conditions of the city. It was estimated that not less than five million dollars would be required to put the streets into any decent condition. It was at first proposed to include this, sum in the bond issue that could not be escaped, but reflection assured us that so temporary a purpose was not a proper use of bond money, and we met the expenditure from the annual tax levy. We found the smallest amount required for urgent expenditure in excess of the tax levy was $18,200,000, and at a special election held early in 1908 the voters endorsed the proposed issue by a vote of over 21,000 to 1800. The three largest expenditures were for an auxiliary water system for fire protection ($5,200,000), for school buildings ($5,000,000), and for sewers ($4,000,000).

I cannot follow the various steps by which order was brought out of chaos, nor can I give special acknowledgment where it is manifestly due; but I can bear testimony to the unselfishness and faithfulness of a remarkable body of public officials and to a few of the things accomplished. To correct gross evils and restore good conditions is no slight task; but to substitute the best for the worst is a great achievement. This San Francisco has done in several marked instances.

There was a time when about the only thing we could boast was that we spent a less sum per capita than any city in the Union for the care of hospital patients. I remember hearing that fine citizen, Frederick Dohrmann, once say, "Every supervisor who has gone out of public service leaving our old County Hospital standing is guilty of a municipal crime." It was a disgrace of which we were ashamed. The fire had spared the building, but the new supervisors did not. We now have one of the best hospitals in the country, admirably conducted.

Our City Prison is equally reversed. It was our shame; it is our pride. The old Almshouse was a discreditable asylum for the politician who chanced to superintend it. Today our "Relief Home" is a model for the country. In 1906 the city was destroyed because unprotected against fire. Today we are as safe as a city can be. In the meantime the reduced cost of insurance pays insured citizens a high rate of interest on the cost of our high-pressure auxiliary fire system. Our streets were once noted for their poor construction and their filthy condition. Recently an informed visitor has pronounced them the best to be found. We had no creditable boulevards or drives. Quietly and without bond expenditure we have constructed magnificent examples. Our school buildings were shabby and poor. Many now are imposing and beautiful.

This list could be extended; but turn for a moment to matters of manners. Where are the awful corner-groceries that helped the saloons to ruin men and boys, and where are the busy nickel-in-the-slot machines and shameless smokers in the street-cars? Where are the sellers of lottery tickets, where the horse-races and the open gambling?

It was my fortune to be re-elected for eight years. Sometimes I am impressed by how little I seem to have individually accomplished in this long period of time. One effect of experience is to modify one's expectations. It is not nearly so easy to accomplish things as one who has not tried is apt to imagine. Reforming is not an easy process. Inertia is something really to be overcome, and one is often surprised to find how obstinate majorities can be. Initiative is a rare faculty and an average legislator must be content to follow. One can render good service sometimes by what he prevents. Again, he may finally fail in some good purpose through no fault of his own, and yet win something even in losing. Early in my term I was convinced that one thing that ought to be changed was our absurd liquor license. We had by far the lowest tax of any city in the Union, and naturally had the largest number of saloons. I tried to have the license raised from eighty-four dollars to one thousand dollars, hoping to reduce our twenty-four hundred saloons. I almost succeeded. When I failed the liquor interest was so frightened at its narrow escape that it led the people to adopt a five-hundred-dollar substitute.

I was led to undertake the correction of grave abuses and confusion in the naming of the city streets. The post-office authorities were greatly hampered in the mail delivery by the duplicate use of names. The dignified word "avenue" had been conferred on many alleys. A commission worked diligently and efficiently. One set of numbered streets was eliminated. The names of men who had figured in the history of the city were given to streets bearing their initials. Anza, Balboa, and Cabrillo gave meaning to A, B, and C. We gave Columbus an avenue, Lincoln a "way," and substituted for East Street the original name of the waterfront, "The Embarcadero." In all we made more than four hundred changes and corrections.

There were occasional humorous incidents connected with this task. There were opposition and prejudice against names offered. Some one proposed a "St. Francis Boulevard." An apparently intelligent man asked why we wanted to perpetuate the name of "that old pirate." I asked, "Who do you think we have in mind?" He replied, "I suppose you would honor Sir Francis Drake." He seemed never to have heard of Saint Francis of Assisi.

It was predicted that the Taylor administration with its excellent record would be continued, but at the end of two years it went down to defeat and the Workingmen's party, with P.H. McCarthy as mayor, gained strong control. For two years, as a minority member, I enjoyed a different but interesting experience. It involved some fighting and preventive effort; but I found that if one fought fairly he was accorded consideration and opportunity. I introduced a charter amendment that seemed very desirable, and it found favor. The charter prescribed a two-year term for eighteen supervisors and their election each alternate year. Under the provision it was possible to have every member without experience. By making the term four years and electing nine members every other year experience was assured, and the ballot would be half the length, a great advantage. It had seemed wise to me to allow the term of the mayor to remain two years, but the friends of Mayor McCarthy were so confident of his re-election that they insisted on a four-year term. As so amended the matter went to the people and was adopted. At the following election Mayor James Rolph, Jr., was elected for four years, two of which were an unintentional gift of his political opponents.

I served for four years under the energetic Rolph, and they were fruitful ones. Most of the plans inaugurated by the Taylor board were carried out, and materially the city made great strides. The Exposition was a revelation of what was possible, and of the City Hall and the Civic Center we may well be proud.

Some of my supervisorial experiences were trying and some were amusing. Discussion was often relieved by rare bits of eloquence and surprising use of language. Pronunciation was frequently original and unprecedented. Amazing ignorance was unconcealed and the gift of gab was unrestrained. Nothing quite equaled in fatal facility a progress report made by a former member soon after his debut: "We think we shall soon be able to bring chaos out of the present disorder, now existing." On one of our trips of investigation the City Engineer had remarked on the watershed. One of the members later cornered him and asked "Where is the watershed?" expecting to be shown a building that had escaped his attention.

A pleasant episode of official duty early in Rolph's term was an assignment to represent the city at a national municipal congress at Los Angeles. We were called upon, in connection with a study of municipal art, to make an exhibit of objects of beauty or ornament presented to the city by its citizens. We felt that San Francisco had been kindly dealt with, but were surprised at the extent and variety of the gifts. Enlarged sepia photographs of structures, monuments, bronzes, statuary, and memorials of all kinds were gathered and framed uniformly. There were very many, and they reflected great credit and taste. Properly inscribed, they filled a large room in Los Angeles and attracted much attention. Interest was enhanced by the cleverness of the young woman in charge. The general title of the collection was "Objects of Art Presented by its Citizens to the City of San Francisco." She left a space and over a conspicuous panel printed the inscription "Objects of Art Presented by its Citizens to the City of Los Angeles." The panel was empty. The ordinarily proud city had nothing to show.

Moses at Pisgah gazed upon the land he was not to enter. My Pisgah was reached at the end of 1916. My halls of service were temporary. The new City Hall was not occupied until just after I had found my political Moab; the pleasure of sitting in a hall which is pronounced the most beautiful in America was not for me.

As I look back upon varied public service, I am not clear as to its value; but I do not regret having tried to do my part. My practical creed was never to seek and never to decline opportunity to serve. I feel that the effort to do what I was able to do hardly justified itself; but it always seemed worth trying, and I do not hold myself responsible for results. I am told that in parts of California infinitesimal diatoms form deposits five thousand feet in thickness. If we have but little to give we cannot afford not to give it.



CHAPTER VIII

AN INVESTMENT

On the morning of October 18, 1850, there appeared in San Francisco's morning paper the following notice:

RELIGIOUS INTELLIGENCE There will be Religious Services (Unitarian) on Sunday Morning next, October 20th, at Simmons' Athenaeum Hall. Entrance on Commercial and Sacramento Streets. A Discourse will be preached by Rev. Charles A. Farley.

San Francisco at this time was a community very unlike any known to history. Two years before it is said to have numbered eight hundred souls, and two years before that about two hundred. During the year 1849, perhaps thirty thousand men had come from all over the world, of whom many went to the mines. The directory of that year contained twenty-five hundred names. By October, 1850, the population may have been twenty thousand. They were scattered thinly over a hilly and rough peninsula, chaparral-covered but for drifting sand and with few habitable valleys. From Pacific to California streets and from Dupont to the bay was the beginning of the city's business. A few streets were graded and planked. Clay Street stretched up to Stockton. To the south mountains of sand filled the present Market Street, and protected by them nestled Happy Valley, reaching from First to Third streets and beyond Mission. In 1849 it was a city of tents. Wharves were pushing out into the bay. Long Wharf (Commercial Street) reached deep water about where Drumm Street now crosses it.

Among the motley argonauts were a goodly number of New Englanders, especially from Boston and Maine. Naturally some of them were Unitarians. It seems striking that so many of them were interested in holding services. They had all left "home" within a year or so, and most of them expected to go back within two years with their respective fortunes. When it was learned that a real Unitarian minister was among them, they arranged for a service. The halls of the period were west of Kearny Street in Sacramento and California. They secured the Athenaeum and gave notice in the Alta California.

It is significant that the day the notice appeared proved to be historical. The steamer "Oregon" was due, and it was hoped she would bring the news of favorable action by Congress on the application of California to be admitted into the Union. When in the early forenoon the steamer, profusely decorated with bunting, rounded Clark's Point assurance was given, and by the time she landed at Commercial and Drumm the town was wild with excitement.



Eastern papers sold readily at a dollar a copy. All day and night impromptu celebrations continued. Unnumbered silk hats (commonly worn by professional men and leading merchants) were demolished and champagne flowed freely. It should be remembered that thirty-nine days had elapsed since the actual admission, but none here had known it.

The Pilgrim Yankees must have felt like going to church now that California was a part of the Union and that another free state had been born. At any rate, the service conducted by Rev. Charles A. Farley was voted a great success. One man had brought a service-book and another a hymnbook. Four of the audience volunteered to lead the singing, while another played an accompaniment on the violin. After the services twenty-five men remained to talk things over, and arranged to continue services from week to week. On November 17, 1850, "The First Unitarian Church of San Francisco" was organized, Captain Frederick W. Macondray being made the first Moderator.

Mr. Farley returned to New England in April, 1851, and services were suspended. Then occurred two very serious fires, disorganizing conditions and compelling postponement. It was more than a year before an attempt was made to call another minister.

In May, 1852, Rev. Joseph Harrington was invited to take charge of the church. He came in August and began services under great promise in the United States District Court building. A few weeks later he was taken alarmingly ill, and died on November 2d. It was a sad blow, but the society withstood it calmly and voted to complete the building it had begun in Stockton Street, near Sacramento. Rev. Frederic T. Gray, of Bulfinch Street Chapel, Boston, under a leave of absence for a year, came to California and dedicated the church on July 1, 1853. This was the beginning of continuous church services. On the following Sunday, Pilgrim Sunday-school was organized.

Mr. Gray, a kind and gentle soul, rendered good service in organizing the activities of the church. He was succeeded by Rev. Rufus P. Cutler, of Portland, Maine, a refined, scholarly man, who served for nearly five years. He resigned and sailed for New York in June, 1859. During his term the Sunday-school prospered under the charge of Samuel L. Lloyd.

Rev. J.A. Buckingham filled the pulpit for ten months preceding April 28, 1860, when Thomas Starr King arrived. The next day Mr. King faced a congregation that crowded the church to overflowing and won the warm and enthusiastic regard of all, including many new adherents. With a winning personality, eloquent and brilliant, he was extraordinarily attractive as a preacher and as a man. He had great gifts and he was profoundly in earnest—a kindly, friendly, loving soul.

In 1861 I planned to pass through the city on Sunday with the possibility of hearing him. The church was crowded. I missed no word of his wonderful voice. He looked almost boyish, but his eyes and his bearing proclaimed him a man, and his word was thrilling. I heard him twice and went to my distant home with a blessed memory and an enlarged ideal of the power of a preacher. Few who heard him still survive, but a woman of ninety-three years who loves him well vividly recalls his second service that led to a friendship that lasted all his life.

In his first year he accomplished wonders for the church. He had felt on coming that in a year he should return to his devoted people in the Hollis Street Church of Boston. But when Fort Sumter was fired upon he saw clearly his appointed place. He threw himself into the struggle to hold California in the Union. He lectured and preached everywhere, stimulating patriotism and loyalty. He became a great national leader and the most influential person on the Pacific Coast. He turned California from a doubtful state to one of solid loyalty. Secession defeated, he accomplished wonders for the Sanitary Commission.

A large part of 1863 he gave to the building of the beautiful church in Geary street near Stockton. It was dedicated in January, 1864. He preached in it but seven Sundays, when he was attacked with a malady which in these days is not considered serious but from which he died on March 4th, confirming a premonition that he would not live to the age of forty. He was very deeply mourned. It was regarded a calamity to the entire community. To the church and the denomination the loss seemed irreparable.

To Dr. Henry W. Bellows, of New York, the acknowledged Unitarian leader, was entrusted the selection of the one to fill the vacant pulpit. He knew the available men and did not hesitate. He notified Horatio Stebbins, of Portland, Maine, that he was called by the great disaster to give up the parish he loved and was satisfied to serve and take the post of the fallen leader on the distant shore.

Dr. Bellows at once came to San Francisco to comfort the bereaved church and to prepare the way for Mr. Stebbins, who in the meantime went to New York to minister to Dr. Bellows' people in his absence.

It was during the brief and brilliant ministry of Dr. Bellows that good fortune brought me to San Francisco.

Dr. Bellows was a most attractive preacher, persuasive and eloquent. His word and his manner were so far in advance of anything to which I was accustomed that they came as a revelation of power and beauty. I was entranced, and a new world of thought and feeling opened before me. Life itself took on a new meaning, and I realized the privilege offered in such a church home. I joined without delay, and my connection has been uninterrupted from that day to this. For over fifty-seven years I have missed few opportunities to profit by its services. I speak of it not in any spirit of boasting, but in profound gratitude. Physical disability and absence from the city have both been rare. In the absence of reasons I have never felt like offering excuses.

Early in September, Horatio Stebbins and family arrived from New York, and Dr. Bellows returned to his own church. The installation of the successor of Starr King was an impressive event. The church building that had been erected by and for King was a beautiful and commodious building, but it would not hold all the people that sought to attend the installation of the daring man who came to take up the great work laid down by the preacher-patriot. He was well received, and a feeling of relief was manifest. The church was still in strong hands and the traditions would be maintained.

On September 9th Dr. Stebbins stood modestly but resolutely in the pulpit so sanctified by the memory of King. Few men have faced sharper trials and met them with more serenity and apparent lack of consciousness. It was not because of self-confidence or of failure to recognize what was before him. He knew very well what was implied in following such a man as Starr King, but he was so little concerned with anything so comparatively unimportant as self-interest or so unessential as personal success that he was unruffled and calm. He indulged in no illusion of filling Mr. King's place. He stood on his own feet to make his own place, and to do his own work in his own way, with such results as came, and he was undisturbed.

Toward the end of his life he spoke of always having preached from the level of his own mind. It was always true of him. He never strained for effect, or seemed unduly concerned for results. In one of his prayers he expresses his deep philosophy of life: "Help us, each one in his place, in the place which is providentially allotted to us in life, to act well our part, with consecrated will, with pure affection, with simplicity of heart—to do our duty, and to leave the rest to God." It was wholly in that spirit that Dr. Stebbins took up the succession of Thomas Starr King.

Personally, I was very glad to renew my early admiration for Mr. Stebbins, who had chosen his first parish at Fitchburg, adjoining my native town, and had always attracted me when he came to exchange with our minister. He was a strong, original, manly character, with great endowments of mind and heart. He was to enjoy a remarkable ministry of over thirty-five years and endear himself to all who knew him. He was a great preacher and a great man. He inspired confidence, and was broad and generous. He served the community as well as his church, being especially influential in promoting the interests of education. He was a kindly and helpful man, and he was not burdened by his large duties and responsibilities, he was never hurried or harassed. He steadily pursued his placid way and built up a really great influence. He was, above all else, an inspirer of steadfast faith. With a great capacity for friendship, he was very generous in it, and was indulgent in judgment of those he liked. I was a raw and ignorant young man, but he opened his great heart to me and treated me like an equal. Twenty years difference in years seemed no barrier. He was fond of companionship in his travels, and I often accompanied him as he was called up and down the coast. In 1886 I went to the Boston May Meeting in his company and found delight in both him and it. He was a good traveler, enjoying the change of scene and the contact with all sorts of people. He was courteous and friendly with strangers, meeting them on their own ground with sympathy and understanding.

In his own home he was especially happy, and it was a great privilege to share his table-talk and hospitality, for he had a great fund of kindly humor and his speech was bright with homely metaphor and apt allusions. Not only was he a great preacher, he was a leader, an inspirer, and a provoker of good.

What it meant to fall under the influence of such a man cannot be told. Supplementing the blessing was the association with a number of the best of men among the church adherents. Hardly second to the great and unearned friendship of Dr. Stebbins was that of Horace Davis, ten years my senior, and very close to Dr. Stebbins in every way. He had been connected with the church almost from the first and was a firm friend of Starr King. Like Dr. Stebbins, he was a graduate of Harvard. Scholarly, and also able in business, he typified sound judgment and common sense, was conservative by nature, but fresh and vigorous of mind. He was active in the Sunday-school. We also were associated in club life and as fellow directors of the Lick School. Our friendship was uninterrupted for more than fifty years. I had great regard for Mrs. Davis and many happy hours were passed in their home. Her interpretation of Beethoven was in my experience unequaled.

It is impossible even to mention the many men of character and conscience who were a helpful influence to me in my happy church life. Captain Levi Stevens was very good to me; C. Adolphe Low was one of the best men I ever knew; I had unbounded respect for Horatio Frost; Dr. Henry Gibbons was very dear to me; and Charles R. Bishop I could not but love. These few represent a host of noble associates. I would I could mention more of them.



We all greatly enjoyed the meetings of a Shakespeare Club that was sustained for more than twelve consecutive years among congenial friends in the church. We read half a play every other week, devoting the latter part of the evening to impromptu charades, in which we were utterly regardless of dignity and became quite expert.

At our annual picnics we joined in the enjoyment of the children. I recall my surprise and chagrin at having challenged Mr. Davis to a footrace at Belmont one year, giving him distance as an age handicap, and finding that I had overestimated the advantage of ten years difference.

In 1890 we established the Unitarian Club of California. Mr. Davis was the first president. For seventeen years it was vigorous and prosperous. We enjoyed a good waiting-list and twice raised the limit of membership numbers. It was then the only forum in the city for the discussion of subjects of public interest. Many distinguished visitors were entertained. Booker T. Washington was greeted by a large audience and so were Susan B. Anthony and Anna H. Shaw. As time passed, other organizations afforded opportunity for discussion, and numerous less formal church clubs accomplished its purpose in a simpler manner.

A feature of strength in our church has been the William and Alice Hinckley Fund, established in 1879 by the will of Captain William C. Hinckley, under the counsel and advice of Dr. Stebbins. His wife had died, he had no children, and he wanted his property to be helpful to others. He appointed the then church trustees his executors and the trustees of an endowment to promote human beneficence and charity, especially commending the aged and lonely and the interests of education and religion. Shortly after coming to San Francisco, in 1850, he had bought a lot in Bush Street for sixty dollars. At the time of his death it was under lease to the California Theater Company at a ground rent of a thousand dollars a month. After long litigation, the will was sustained as to $52,000, the full proportion of his estate allowed for charity. I have served as secretary of the trust fund for forty years. I am also surviving trustee for a library fund of $10,000 and another charity fund of $5000. These three funds have earned in interest more than $105,000. We have disbursed for the purposes indicated $92,000, and have now on hand as capital more than $80,000, the interest on which we disburse annually. It has been my fortune to outlive the eight trustees appointed with me, and, also, eight since appointed to fill vacancies caused by death or removal.

We worshiped in the Geary and Stockton church for more than twenty-three years, and then concluded it was time to move from a business district to a residential section. We sold the building with the lot that had cost $16,000 for $120,000, and at the corner of Franklin and Geary streets built a fine church, costing, lot included, $91,000. During construction we met in the Synagogue Emanu-El, and the Sunday-school was hospitably entertained in the First Congregational Church, which circumstances indicate the friendly relations maintained by our minister, who never arraigned or engaged in controversy with any other household of faith. In 1889 the new church was dedicated, Dr. Hedge writing a fine hymn for the occasion.

Dr. Stebbins generally enjoyed robust health, but in 1899 he was admonished that he must lay down the work he loved so well. In September of that year, at his own request, he was relieved from active service and elected Minister Emeritus. Subsequently his health improved, and frequently he was able to preach; but in 1900, with his family, he returned to New England, where he lived with a good degree of comfort at Cambridge, near his children, occasionally preaching, but gradually failing in health. He suffered severely at the last, and found final release on April 8, 1901.

Of the later history of the church I need say little. Recollections root in the remote. For thirteen years we were served by Rev. Bradford Leavitt, and for the past eight Rev. Caleb S.S. Dutton has been our leader. The noble traditions of the past have been followed and the place in the community has been fully maintained. The church has been a steady and powerful influence for good, and many a life has been quickened, strengthened, and made more abundant through its ministry. To me it has been a never-failing source of satisfaction and happiness.

I would also bear brief testimony to the Sunday-school. All my life I had attended Sunday-school,—the best available. I remember well the school in Leominster and the stories told by Deacon Cotton and others. I remember nay teacher in Boston. Coming to California I took what I could get, first the little Methodist gathering and then the more respectable Presbyterian. When in early manhood I came to San Francisco I entered the Bible-class at once. The school was large and vigorous. The attendance was around four hundred. Lloyd Baldwin, an able lawyer, was my first teacher, and a good one, but very soon I was induced to take a class of small boys. They were very bright and too quick for a youth from the country. One Sunday we chanced to have as a lesson the healing of the daughter of Jairus. In the gospel account the final word was the injunction: "Jesus charged them that they tell no man." In all innocence I asked the somewhat leading question: "What did Jesus charge them?" Quick as a flash one of the boys answered, "He didn't charge them a cent." It was so pat and so unexpected that I could not protest at the levity.

In the Sunday-school library I met Charles W. Wendte, then a clerk in the Bank of California. He had been befriended and inspired by Starr King and soon turned from business and studied for the ministry. He is now a D.D. and has a long record of valuable service.

In 1869 J.C.A. Hill became superintendent of the school and appointed me his assistant. Four years later he returned to New Hampshire, much to our regret, and I succeeded him. With the exception of the two years that Rev. William G. Eliot, Jr., was assistant to Dr. Stebbins, and took charge of the school, I served until 1914.

Very many pleasant memories cluster around my connection with the Sunday-school. The friendships made have been enduring. The beautiful young lives lured me on in service that never grew monotonous, and I have been paid over and over again for all I ever gave. It is a great satisfaction to feel that five of our nine church trustees are graduates of the Sunday-school. I attended my first Christmas festival of the Sunday-school in Platt's Hall in 1864, and I have never missed one since. Fifty-seven consecutive celebrations incidentally testify to unbroken health.

In looking back on what I have gained from the church, I am impressed with the fact that the association with the fine men and women attending it has been a very important part of my life. Good friends are of untold value, and inspiration is not confined to the spoken words of the minister. Especially am I impressed with the stream of community helpfulness that has flowed steadily from our church all these years. I wish I dared to refer to individual instances—but they are too many. Finally, I must content myself with acknowledgment of great obligation for all I have profited from and enjoyed in church affiliation. I cannot conceive how any man can afford not to avail himself of the privilege of standing by some church. As an investment I am assured that nothing pays better and surer interest. Returns are liberal, dividends are never passed, and capital never depreciates.



CHAPTER IX

BY-PRODUCT

In the conduct of life we select, or have assigned, certain measures of activity upon which we rely for our support and the self-respect that follows the doing of our part. This we call our business, and if we are wise we attend to it and prosecute it with due diligence and application. But it is not all of life, and its claim is not the only call that is made upon us. Exclusive interest and devotion to it may end in the sort of success that robs us of the highest value, so that, however much substance we accumulate, we are failures as men. On the other hand, we take risks if we slight its just demands and scatter our powers on miscellaneous interests. Whatever its value, every man, in addition to what he primarily produces, turns out some by-product. If it is worth anything, he may be thankful and add the amount to total income.

The extracts of which this chapter is composed are selections from the editorial columns of The Pacific Unitarian, submitted not as exhibits in the case of achievement, but as indicating the convictions I have formed on the way of life.

THE BEGINNING

Thirty years ago, a fairly active Sunday-school was instigated to publish a monthly journal, nominally for all the organizations of the First Unitarian Society. It was not expected to be of great benefit, except to the school. After a year and a half it was adopted by the Conference, its modest name, The Guidon, being expanded to The Pacific Unitarian. Its number of pages was increased to thirty-two.

Probably the most remarkable circumstance connected with it is that it has lived. The fact that it has enjoyed the opportunity of choice between life and death is quite surprising. Other journals have had to die. It has never been easy to live, or absolutely necessary to die.

Anyhow, we have the thirty years of life to look back upon and take satisfaction in. We are grateful for friends far and near, and generous commendation has been pleasant to receive, whether it has been justified or not.

CHRISTIANITY

We realize more and more truly that Christianity in its spirit is a very different thing from Christianity as a theological structure formulated by the makers of the creed. The amazing thing is that such a misconception of the message of Jesus as has generally prevailed has given us a civilization so creditable. The early councils were incapable of being led by the spirit of Jesus. They were prejudiced by their preconceptions of the character of God and the nature of religion, and evolved a scheme of salvation to fit past conceptions instead of accepting as real the love of God and of man that Jesus added to the religion of his fathers. Even the Christianity they fashioned has not been fairly tried. The Christianity that Jesus proclaimed, a call to trust, to love, and spiritual life, has hardly been tried at all. We seem just to be awakening to what it is, and to its application to the art of living.

THE PRODIGAL'S FATHER

What a difference in the thought of God and in the joy of life would have followed had the hearers of Jesus given the parable of the Prodigal Son its full significance! They would then have found in the happy, loving father and his full forgiveness of the son who "came to himself" a type of the Heavenly Father. The shadow of the olden fear still persists, chilling human life. We do not trust the love of God and bear life's burdens with cheerful courage. From lurking fear of the jealous king of Hebrew tradition, we are even afraid to be happy when we might. We fail of faith in the reality of God's love. We forget the robe, the ring, the overflowing joy of the earthly father, not earned by the prodigal, but given from complete love. The thing best worth while is faith in the love of God.

If it be lacking, perhaps the best way to gain it is to assume it—to act on the basis of its existence, putting aside our doubts, and giving whatever love we have in our own hearts a chance to strengthen.

WHITSUNTIDE

Whitsuntide is a church season that too often fails to receive due acknowledgment or recognition. It is, in observance, a poor third. Christmas is largely diverted to a giving of superfluous gifts, and is popular from the wide-felt interest in the happiness of children. Easter we can not forget, for it celebrates the rising or the risen life, and is marked by the fresh beauty of a beautiful world. To appreciate the pentecostal season and to care for spiritual inspiration appeals to the few, and to those few on a higher plane. But of all that religion has to give, it represents the highest gift, and it has to do with the world's greatest need.

Spiritual life is the most precious of possessions, the highest attainment of humanity. Happy are we if our better spirit be quickened, if our hearts be lifted up, and our wills be strengthened, that worthy life may bring peace and joy!

WHY THE CHURCH?

We cannot deny the truth that the things of the spirit are of first importance; but when it comes to living we seem to belie our convictions. We live as though we thought the spirit a doubtful matter. There are those who take pride in calling themselves materialists, but they are hardly as hopeless as those who are so indifferent that they have no opinion whatever. The man who thinks and cares is quite apt to come out right, but the mindless animal who only enjoys develops no recognizable soul. The seeking first is not in derogation of any true manhood. It is the full life, the whole life, that we are to compass—but life subordinated and controlled by the spirit, the spirit that recognizes the distinction between right and wrong. Those who choose the right and bend all else to it, are of the Kingdom. That is all that righteousness means.

The church has no monopoly of righteousness, but it is of immense importance in cultivating the religious spirit, and cannot safely be dispensed with. And so it must be strongly supported and made efficient. To those who know true values this is an investment that cannot safely be ignored. To it we should give generously of our money, but equally generously we should give ourselves—our presence, our co-operation, our loyal support of our leaders, our constant effort to hold it to high ideals. If it is to give life, it must have life, and whatever life it has is the aggregation of our collected and consecrated lives.

The church called Christian cannot win by holding its old trenches. It must advance to the line that stretches from our little fortress where the flag of Reason and Religion defiantly floats. Shall we retreat? No; it is for us to hold the fort at all costs, not for our sake alone, but for the army of humanity.

We believe in God and we believe in man. As President Eliot lately put it, "We believe in the principles of a simple, practical, and democratic religion. We are meeting ignorance, not with contempt, but with knowledge. We are meeting dogmatism and superstition, not with impatience, but with truth. We are meeting sin and injustice, not with abuse, but with good-will and high idealism. We have the right message for our time." To the church that seems to us to most nearly realize these ideals, it is our bounden duty, and should be our glad privilege, to present ourselves a reasonable sacrifice, that we may do our part in bringing in God's Kingdom.

THE CHURCH AND PROGRESS

Reforms depend upon reformed men. Perhaps the greater need is formed men. As we survey the majority of men around us, they seem largely unconscious of what they really are and of the privileges and responsibilities that appertain to manhood. It must be that men are better, and more, than they seem. Visit a baseball game or a movie. The crowds seem wholly irresponsible, and, except in the pleasure or excitement sought, utterly uninterested—apparently without principle or purpose. And yet, when called upon to serve their country, men will go to the ends of the world, and place no limit on the sacrifice freely made for the general good. They are better than they seem, and in ways we know not of possess a sense of justice and a love of right which they found we know not where.

This is encouraging, but must not relieve us from doing our utmost to inform more fully every son of man of his great opportunity and responsibility, and also of inspiring him to use his life to his and our best advantage.

It is so evident that world-welfare rests upon individual well-being that we cannot escape the conviction that the best thing any one of us can do is to help to make our fellow-men better and happier. And the part of wisdom is to organize for the power we gain.

It would seem that the church should be the most effective agency for promoting individual worth and consequent happiness. Is it?—and if not, why not? We are apt to say we live in a new age, forgetting how little change of form matters. Human nature, with its instincts and desires, love of self, and the general enjoyment of, and through, possessions, is so little changed that differences in condition and circumstance have only a modifying influence. It is man, the man within, that counts—not his clothing.

But it is true that human institutions do undergo great changes, and nothing intimate and important has suffered greater changes than the church. Religion itself, vastly more important than the church, has changed and is changing. Martineau's illuminating classification helps us to realize this. The first expression, the pagan, was based on fear and the idea of winning favor by purchase, giving something to God—it might be burnt-offerings—for his good-will. Then came the Jewish, the ethical, the thought of doing, rather than giving. Righteousness earns God's favor. The higher conception blossomed into Christianity with its trust in the love of God and of serving him and fellow-man, self-sacrifice being the highest expression of harmony with him. Following this general advance from giving and doing to being, we have the altar, the temple, and the church.

THE GENUINE UNITARIAN

Unitarians owe first allegiance to the Kingdom of God on earth. It is of little consequence through which door it is entered. If any other is nearer or broader or more attractive, use it. We offer ours for those who prefer it or who find others not to be entered without a password they cannot pronounce.

A Unitarian who merely says he is one thereby gives no satisfactory evidence that he is. There are individuals who seem to think they are Unitarians because they are nothing else. They regard Unitarianism as the next to nothing in its requirement of belief, losing all sight of the fact that even one real belief exceeds, and may be more difficult than, many half-beliefs and hundreds of make-beliefs, and that a Unitarian church made up of those who have discarded all they thought they believed and became Unitarian for its bald negations is to be pitied and must be patiently nurtured.

As regards our responsibility for the growth of Unitarianism, we surely cannot fail to recognize it, but it should be clearly qualified by our recognition of the object in view. To regard Unitarianism as an end to be pursued for its own sake does not seem compatible with its own true spirit. The church itself is an instrument, and we are in right relation when we give the Unitarian church our preference, as, to us, the best instrument, while we hold first allegiance to the idealism for which it stands and to the goodness it seeks to unfold in the heart of man.