Sometime in 1879:
The house on Rincon Hill

Last week I read to you from In the Footprints of the Padres, Charles Warren Stoddard's 1902 reminiscences about the early days of San Francisco.

That piece recounted a boyhood adventure, but this book is full of California stories from the latter years of the 19th century; some deservedly obscure, but some that ring pretty loud bells.

Todays' short text is a great example of the latter, one that dovetails beautifully with two other San Francisco stories, both of which I've talked about at Sparkletack: the story of the Second Street Cut and the visit of Robert Louis Stevenson.

The now all-grown-up Stoddard had returned to San Francisco after the Polynesian peregrinations that would inspire his best-known work, and Stevenson had just arrived from Scotland in hot pursuit of the woman he loved.

The two authors hit it off, and -- as you'll hear at the end of today's Timecapsule -- it's to Stoddard and the house on Rincon Hill that we owe Stevenson's eventual fascination with the South Seas.

South Park and Rincon Hill!

Do the native sons of the golden West ever recall those names and think what dignity they once conferred upon the favored few who basked in the sunshine of their prosperity?

South Park, with its line of omnibuses running across the city to North Beach; its long, narrow oval, filled with dusty foliage and offering a very weak apology for a park; its two rows of houses with, a formal air, all looking very much alike, and all evidently feeling their importance. There were young people's "parties" in those days, and the height of felicity was to be invited to them.

As a height o'ertops a hollow, so Rincon Hill looked down upon South Park. There was more elbow-room on the breezy height; not that the height was so high or so broad, but it was breezy; and there was room for the breeze to blow over gardens that spread about the detached houses their wealth of color and perfume.

How are the mighty fallen! The Hill, of course, had the farthest to fall. South Parkites merely moved out: they went to another and a better place. There was a decline in respectability and the rent-roll, and no one thinks of South Park now, -- at least no one speaks of it above a whisper.

read on ... ]]> http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/05/11/san-francisco-timecapsule-051109/feed/ 0 0:00:01 THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:1879: Stoddard, Stevenson, and Rincon Hill Sometime in 1879: The house on Rincon Hill Last week I read to you from In the Footprints of ... THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:1879: Stoddard, Stevenson, and Rincon Hill Sometime in 1879: The house on Rincon Hill Last week I read to you from In the Footprints of the Padres, Charles Warren Stoddard's 1902 reminiscences about the early days of San Francisco. That piece recounted a boyhood adventure, but this book is full of California stories from the latter years of the 19th century; some deservedly obscure, but some that ring pretty loud bells. Todays' short text is a great example of the latter, one that dovetails beautifully with two other San Francisco stories, both of which I've talked about at Sparkletack: the story of the Second Street Cut and the visit of Robert Louis Stevenson. The now all-grown-up Stoddard had returned to San Francisco after the Polynesian peregrinations that would inspire his best-known work, and Stevenson had just arrived from Scotland in hot pursuit of the woman he loved. The two authors hit it off, and -- as you'll hear at the end of today's Timecapsule -- it's to Stoddard and the house on Rincon Hill that we owe Stevenson's eventual fascination with the South Seas. South Park and Rincon Hill! Do the native sons of the golden West ever recall those names and think what dignity they once conferred upon the favored few who basked in the sunshine of their prosperity? South Park, with its line of omnibuses running across the city to North Beach; its long, narrow oval, filled with dusty foliage and offering a very weak apology for a park; its two rows of houses with, a formal air, all looking very much alike, and all evidently feeling their importance. There were young people's "parties" in those days, and the height of felicity was to be invited to them. As a height o'ertops a hollow, so Rincon Hill looked down upon South Park. There was more elbow-room on the breezy height; not that the height was so high or so broad, but it was breezy; and there was room for the breeze to blow over gardens that spread about the detached houses their wealth of color and perfume. How are the mighty fallen! The Hill, of course, had the farthest to fall. South Parkites merely moved out: they went to another and a better place. There was a decline in respectability and the rent-roll, and no one thinks of South Park now, -- at least no one speaks of it above a whisper. As for the Hill, the Hillites hung on through everything; the waves of commerce washed all about it and began gnawing at its base; a deep gully was cut through it, and there a great tide of traffic ebbed and flowed all day. At night it was dangerous to pass that way without a revolver in one's hand; for that city is not a city in the barbarous South Seas, whither preachers of the Gospel of peace are sent; but is a civilized city and proportionately unsafe. A cross-street was lowered a little, and it leaped the chasm in an agony of wood and iron, the most unlovely object in a city that is made up of all unloveliness. The gutting of this Hill cost the city the fortunes of several contractors, and it ruined the Hill forever. There is nothing left to be done now but to cast it into the midst of the sea. I had sported on the green with the goats of goatland ere ever the stately mansion had been dreamed of; and it was my fate to set up my tabernacle one day in the ruins of a house that even then stood upon the order of its going, -- it did go impulsively down into that "most unkindest cut," the Second Street chasm. Even the place that once knew it has followed after. The ruin I lived in had been a banker's Gothic home. When Rincon Hill was spoiled by bloodless speculators, he abandoned it and took up his abode in another city. A tenant was left to mourn there. Every summer the wild winds shook that forlorn ruin to its foundations. Every winter the rains beat upon it and drove through and through it, and undermined it, and made a mush of the rock and soil about it; and later portions of that real estate d Historical book reviews, San Francisco history blog, San Francisco history podcasts Richard Miller no no http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/05/04/san-francisco-timecapsule-050409/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/05/04/san-francisco-timecapsule-050409/#comments Mon, 04 May 2009 08:37:12 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/?p=796

THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:
1854: A future poet's boyhood outing

Spring 1854
Charles Warren Stoddard

In 1854, the down-on-their-luck Stoddard family set off from New York City to try their luck in that brand new metropolis of the West: San Francisco.

Charles Warren Stoddard was just 11 years old, and San Francisco -- still in the throes of the Gold Rush, a vital, chaotic, cosmopolitan stew pot -- was the most exciting place a little boy could dream of.

Charles would grow up to play a crucial part in San Francisco's burgeoning literary scene. He was just a teenager when his first poems were published in the Golden Era, and his talent and sweet personality were such that he developed long-lasting friendships with the other usual-suspect San Francisco bohemians, Ambrose Bierce, Ina Coolbrith, Bret Harte, and Samuel Clemens.

Stoddard is probably best remembered for the mildly homo-erotic short stories inspired by his extensive travels in the South Seas, but in 1902 he published a kind of memoir entitled In the Footprints of the Padres. As the old song goes, it recalls "the days of old, the days of gold, the days of '49" from a very personal point of view.

The reviewers of the New York Times praised the work for Stoddard's "vivid and poetic charm", but I have to admit that I'm mainly in it for his memories.

In this piece, Charles and his little gang of pals are about to embark on a day-long ramble along the north-eastern edge of the city. Let's roll the clock back to 1854, and with Charles' help, put ourselves into the shoes of an 11-year-old boy anticipating the freedom of a sunny spring Saturday.

read on ... ]]> http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/05/04/san-francisco-timecapsule-050409/feed/ 4 0:14:00 THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:1854: A future poet's boyhood outing Spring 1854 Charles Warren Stoddard In 1854, the down-on-their-luck Stoddard family set off from New York City to try ... THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:1854: A future poet's boyhood outing Spring 1854 Charles Warren Stoddard In 1854, the down-on-their-luck Stoddard family set off from New York City to try their luck in that brand new metropolis of the West: San Francisco. Charles Warren Stoddard was just 11 years old, and San Francisco -- still in the throes of the Gold Rush, a vital, chaotic, cosmopolitan stew pot -- was the most exciting place a little boy could dream of. Charles would grow up to play a crucial part in San Francisco's burgeoning literary scene. He was just a teenager when his first poems were published in the Golden Era, and his talent and sweet personality were such that he developed long-lasting friendships with the other usual-suspect San Francisco bohemians, Ambrose Bierce, Ina Coolbrith, Bret Harte, and Samuel Clemens. Stoddard is probably best remembered for the mildly homo-erotic short stories inspired by his extensive travels in the South Seas, but in 1902 he published a kind of memoir entitled In the Footprints of the Padres. As the old song goes, it recalls "the days of old, the days of gold, the days of '49" from a very personal point of view. The reviewers of the New York Times praised the work for Stoddard's "vivid and poetic charm", but I have to admit that I'm mainly in it for his memories. In this piece, Charles and his little gang of pals are about to embark on a day-long ramble along the north-eastern edge of the city. Let's roll the clock back to 1854, and with Charles' help, put ourselves into the shoes of an 11-year-old boy anticipating the freedom of a sunny spring Saturday. A BOY'S OUTING There was joy in the heart, luncheon in the knapsack, and a sparkle in the eye of each of us as we set forth on our exploring expedition, all of a sunny Saturday. Outside of California there never were such Saturdays as those. We were perfectly sure for eight months in the year that it wouldn't rain a drop; and as for the other four months -- well, perhaps it wouldn't. It did not rain so very much even in the rainy season, when it had a perfect right to; therefore there was joy in the heart and no umbrella anywhere about when we prepared to set forth on our day of discovery. Meigg's Wharf We began our adventure at Meigg's Wharf. Meiggs Wharf was the original Fisherman's Wharf. The shallow waters of the cove have been long filled in, but at that time the wharf actually began at Francisco Street between Powell and Mason. We didn't go out to the end of it, because there was nothing but crabs there, being hauled up at frequent intervals by industrious crabbers, whose nets fairly fringed the wharf. They lay on their backs by scores and hundreds, and waved numberless legs in the air -- I mean the crabs, not the crabbers. We used to go crabbing ourselves when we felt like it, with a net made of a bit of mosquito-bar stretched over an iron hoop, and with a piece of meat tied securely in the middle of it. When we hauled up those home-made hoop-nets -- most everything seems to have been home-made in those days -- we used to find one, two, perhaps three huge crabs revolving clumsily about the centre of attraction in the hollow of the net; and then we shouted in glee and went almost wild with excitement. The Cobweb Palace Just at the beginning of Meigg's Wharf there was a house of entertainment that no doubt had a history and a mystery even in those young days. Now -- I've got to interrupt here and explain that Charles is talking about a notorious establishment known as Abe Warner's Cobweb Palace, and it occurs to me that it's practically criminal that I've never devoted a show to the place! For now I'll just tell you that it was a San Francisco classic, a terrifically popular saloon run by a man who -- due to admiration or superstition -- never allowed a spider to be disturbed. But let's hear young Stoddard's impression: We never quite comprehended it: we wer Historical book reviews, San Francisco history blog, San Francisco history podcasts Richard Miller no no http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/03/30/san-francisco-timecapsule-033009/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/03/30/san-francisco-timecapsule-033009/#comments Mon, 30 Mar 2009 08:42:42 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/?p=703 http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/03/30/san-francisco-timecapsule-033009/feed/ 3 0:12:40 THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:The San Francisco "Cocktail Route" 1890-something The Cocktail Route -- "Champagne Days of San Francisco" Spring is most definitely in the air right now, which ... THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:The San Francisco "Cocktail Route" 1890-something The Cocktail Route -- "Champagne Days of San Francisco" Spring is most definitely in the air right now, which has brought my thoughts back to one of the great phenomena of San Francisco's pre-earthquake era, the "Cocktail Route". I know I've mentioned the "Cocktail Route" in previous shows, but I'm not sure if I've made it clear that it was both a real, chartable path and a kind of a beloved civic institution. I'm far from an expert on the subject, though -- for details, the woman to consult is Evelyn Wells. If you ever start nosing around the 1890s, that most sparkling decade of the Gilded Age -- you'll inevitably end up perusing a charming volume from 1939 entitled Champagne Days of San Francisco. Evelyn Wells wrote for Fremont Older at the San Francisco Call back in the day, and in this lovingly written narrative she reveals the City's quirks, foibles and peculiarly San Francisco-flavoured ways of doing business through a trio of characters called only the Senator, the Banker, and the Judge. And though it's completely un-footnoted and occasionally inaccurate, Evelyn's portrayals are so vivid, and provide such entertaining insight into the way lives were lived among San Francisco's upper crust, that this book is always right up there at the top of my recommended reading list. I'm going to start right in on a lightly edited version of Chapter Four, "The Cocktail Route" -- and I think you'll see exactly what I mean. The Cocktail Route The Senator, like all true sons of the Champagne Age, never permitted pleasure to disrupt the even flow of business. "No matter how enthusiastically we celebrate the week-end," once commented, "we are always in our offices by two on Monday afternoon." Easy-living, unhurried San Francisco had resumed the burden of life again by two o'clock ... the male population that had celebrated so violently the week-end had resumed responsibility -- personal, civic, or state. Again, in bearded dignity, the men of the vivid nineties trod the corridors of banks and hotels and courts. Life was real and very earnest, until five o'clock. At five the Senator drew his large gold watch from its chamois bag and sighed with relief. It was Cocktail Hour. All over San Francisco at this moment men were buttoning Prince Alberts and cutaways, balancing derbies and toppers, preparatory to venturing forth into Montgomery, Kearny, and Market Streets, following a Cocktail Route famous around the world. On the Route they would meet friends discuss politics and the latest scandal, and adjust matters of business. The Cocktail Route was a tradition. Created in the eighties, in the city where free lunch and the cocktail itself was born, it was trod by San Francisco males "to the Fire" of '06. The Senator proceeded down Kearny Street to Sutter, to the Reception Saloon where the Cocktail Route began, at five on weekdays and earlier on Saturdays. Some men started the Route at its opposite end, on upper Market Street. But the Senator adhered to tradition. To start the Route at the wrong end was to upset a man's entire evening. There was no haste in the Senator's gait. Men did not hurry in the Champagne Age. There was no "after-work" rush at five o'clock. At that hour loitered along the streets and strolled leisurely through swinging doors upon such scenes, rich and warm, as greeted the Senator's brightening eye when he marched into the Reception Saloon. For the saloon, in champagne days, was more than a warm meeting place at the day's end. It was a man's club and salon and conference place. Fleas, cold, poor beds, and drafty lodgings had driven the pioneer into the saloon. Food, drink, and conviviality held him there. In the nineties comparatively few saloons were cursed by the prophetic legend over a side door, "Family Entrance". It was still a man's age. The saloon was still a haven against feminity. I Historical book reviews, San Francisco history blog, San Francisco history podcasts Richard Miller no no http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/02/23/san-francisco-timecapsule-022309/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/02/23/san-francisco-timecapsule-022309/#comments Mon, 23 Feb 2009 08:32:11 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/?p=613

THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:
1852: English adventurer Frank Marryat pays a visit to a San Francisco Gold Rush barbershop.

1852: A Gold Rush shaving-saloon

I love personal accounts of the goings-on in our little town more than just about anything. The sights, the smells, the daily routine ... I want the nuts and bolts of what it was like to live here THEN!

It's even better when the eyeballs taking it all in belong to an outsider, a visiting alien to whom everything's an oddity.

For my birthday a couple of years ago my Lady Friend gave me a book that's packed to the gills with this kind of first-person account. It's called -- aptly enough -- San Francisco Memories. And because I'm kind of a dope, it's only just occurred to me that this stuff is the absolute epitome of what a timecapsule should be -- and that I really ought to be sharing some of this early San Francisco gold with you.

Ahem. So share it I will.

Our correspondent: Frank Marryat

Frank Marryat was the son of Captain Frederick Marryat, famous English adventurer and author of popular seafaring tales. A chip off the old block, young Frank had himself already written a book of traveler's tales from Borneo and the Indian archipelago. Looking for a new writing subject, he set his sights on an even more exotic locale -- Gold Rush California.

In 1850, with manservant and three hunting dogs in tow, Frank left the civilized shores of England behind, crossed the Atlantic and the Isthmus of Panama, and made his way towards the Golden Gate.

The book that resulted, California Mountains and Molehills, would be published in 1855 -- ironically the year of Marryat's own demise from yellow fever.

He covers a phenomenal amount of oddball San Francisco and early California history, all neatly collected to satisfy the curiousity of his English reading public -- the Chinese question, the Committee of Vigilance, squatter wars, bears, rats, oysters, gold, even the pickled head of Joaquin Murieta -- and to top it off, Marryat sailed into the Bay just as San Francisco was being destroyed (again) by fire, this one the Great June Fire of 1850!

Don't worry. They'll have the city rebuilt in a couple of weeks, in plenty of time for Frank to spend some quality months slumming in the Gold Country, and then, like the rest of the Argonauts, ride down into the big city for supplies -- and a shave.

That's right -- put your feet up and relax -- in today's Timecapsule, we're going to visit a Gold Rush barber shop.

read on ... ]]> http://www.sparkletack.com/2009/02/23/san-francisco-timecapsule-022309/feed/ 1 0:07:40 THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT: 1852: English adventurer Frank Marryat pays a visit to a San Francisco Gold Rush barbershop. 1852: A Gold Rush shaving-saloon I love personal ... THIS WEEK'S PODCAST TRANSCRIPT: 1852: English adventurer Frank Marryat pays a visit to a San Francisco Gold Rush barbershop. 1852: A Gold Rush shaving-saloon I love personal accounts of the goings-on in our little town more than just about anything. The sights, the smells, the daily routine ... I want the nuts and bolts of what it was like to live here THEN! It's even better when the eyeballs taking it all in belong to an outsider, a visiting alien to whom everything's an oddity. For my birthday a couple of years ago my Lady Friend gave me a book that's packed to the gills with this kind of first-person account. It's called -- aptly enough -- San Francisco Memories. And because I'm kind of a dope, it's only just occurred to me that this stuff is the absolute epitome of what a timecapsule should be -- and that I really ought to be sharing some of this early San Francisco gold with you. Ahem. So share it I will. Our correspondent: Frank Marryat Frank Marryat was the son of Captain Frederick Marryat, famous English adventurer and author of popular seafaring tales. A chip off the old block, young Frank had himself already written a book of traveler's tales from Borneo and the Indian archipelago. Looking for a new writing subject, he set his sights on an even more exotic locale -- Gold Rush California. In 1850, with manservant and three hunting dogs in tow, Frank left the civilized shores of England behind, crossed the Atlantic and the Isthmus of Panama, and made his way towards the Golden Gate. The book that resulted, California Mountains and Molehills, would be published in 1855 -- ironically the year of Marryat's own demise from yellow fever. He covers a phenomenal amount of oddball San Francisco and early California history, all neatly collected to satisfy the curiousity of his English reading public -- the Chinese question, the Committee of Vigilance, squatter wars, bears, rats, oysters, gold, even the pickled head of Joaquin Murieta -- and to top it off, Marryat sailed into the Bay just as San Francisco was being destroyed (again) by fire, this one the Great June Fire of 1850! Don't worry. They'll have the city rebuilt in a couple of weeks, in plenty of time for Frank to spend some quality months slumming in the Gold Country, and then, like the rest of the Argonauts, ride down into the big city for supplies -- and a shave. That's right -- put your feet up and relax -- in today's Timecapsule, we're going to visit a Gold Rush barber shop. from California Mountains and Molehills, 1852 Gorgeous decoration is characteristic of San Francisco; the people pay high prices for the necessaries of life, so velvet and gilt work is thrown into the bargain. In the “shaving-saloons” this system of internal decoration is carried out in great force, and the accommodation these establishments afford is indispensable to a Californian public. Let me suppose myself to have arrived at San Francisco from the mines early one morning. Having traveled down on the Old Soldier, I have no carpet bag of course, and I enter a shaving-saloon. At a counter I purchase any quantity of linen I may require for the moment, and with this I proceed to the bath-room; when I return from my ablutions, I am asked if I would like my head “shampoo-ed.” With a reckless feeling in respect of shampooing, the result of an intimate acquaintance with Turkish baths, I submit to this operation. Seating myself on an easy chair of velvet, and placing my legs on an easy stool, also of velvet, I become drowsy under the influence of the fingers and thumbs of the operator, as they are passed over my skull, as if with a view to making a phrenological chart, and which produce a feeling at last as if hundreds of fingers and thumbs were at work, and the whole force of the establishment were scratching my head. I am conducted to a marble washstand, and a tap of cold water is turned on me. I thought I h Historical book reviews, San Francisco history blog, San Francisco history podcasts Richard Miller no no http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/06/20/book-review-oakley-halls-ambrose-bierce-mystery-novels/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/06/20/book-review-oakley-halls-ambrose-bierce-mystery-novels/#comments Fri, 20 Jun 2008 15:35:57 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/?p=182

An inordinate number of my youthful hours were spent in the company of the mystery novel; Agatha Christie, Dashiell Hammett, Dorothy L. Sayers ... I couldn't get enough. Somewhere along the line, though, the fixation faded ...

But it's back.

I've discovered a series of detective novels that -- in a "you got chocolate on my peanut butter!" kind of way -- seem to have been written with me in mind:The setting is 1890's San Francisco, the lively heart of the Gilded Age. And the detective? None other than our own famously cynical wit-about-town, that brilliant literary misanthrope Mr. Ambrose "Bitter" Bierce.

See what I mean?

Just a minute: Ambrose who?

]]> http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/06/20/book-review-oakley-halls-ambrose-bierce-mystery-novels/feed/ 5 http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/05/25/book-review-historic-photos-of-san-francisco/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/05/25/book-review-historic-photos-of-san-francisco/#comments Mon, 26 May 2008 03:28:14 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/05/25/book-review-historical-photos-of-san-francisco/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/05/25/book-review-historic-photos-of-san-francisco/feed/ 3 http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/02/15/book-review-the-bottle-imp/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/02/15/book-review-the-bottle-imp/#comments Fri, 15 Feb 2008 21:14:24 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/02/15/book-review-the-bottle-imp/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2008/02/15/book-review-the-bottle-imp/feed/ 0 http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/09/22/book-review-treasure-island-san-franciscos-exhibition-years/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/09/22/book-review-treasure-island-san-franciscos-exhibition-years/#comments Sat, 22 Sep 2007 21:04:49 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/09/22/book-review-treasure-island-san-franciscos-exhibition-years/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/09/22/book-review-treasure-island-san-franciscos-exhibition-years/feed/ 2 http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/07/02/book-review-san-francisco-almanac/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/07/02/book-review-san-francisco-almanac/#comments Mon, 02 Jul 2007 20:00:22 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/07/02/book-review-san-francisco-almanac/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/07/02/book-review-san-francisco-almanac/feed/ 3 http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/03/14/book-review-river-of-shadows/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/03/14/book-review-river-of-shadows/#comments Wed, 14 Mar 2007 17:28:49 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/03/14/book-review-river-of-shadows/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/03/14/book-review-river-of-shadows/feed/ 7 http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/01/10/roughing-it-book-review/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/01/10/roughing-it-book-review/#comments Wed, 10 Jan 2007 23:16:51 +0000 richard - sparkletack http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/01/10/roughing-it-book-review/ http://www.sparkletack.com/2007/01/10/roughing-it-book-review/feed/ 7