"The seas shall melt,And skies to smoke decay,Rocks turn to dust,And mountains fall away."
We had evening services at the time, and Dr. Stebbins again gave out the same hymn, and this time we sang it through.
The story of Golden Gate Park and how the city got it is very interesting, but must be much abridged. In 1866 I pieced out a modest income by reporting the proceedings of the Board of Supervisors and the School Board for theCall. It was in the palmy days of the People's Party. The supervisors, elected from the wards in which they lived, were honest and fairly able. The man of most brains and initiative was Frank McCoppin. The most important question before them was the disposition of the outside lands. In 1853 the city had sued for the four square leagues (seventeen thousand acres) allowed under the Mexican law. It was granted ten thousand acres, which left all land west of Divisadero Street unsettled as to title. Appeal was taken, and finally the city's claim was confirmed. In 1866 Congress passed an act confirming the decree, and the legislature authorized the conveyance of the lands to occupants.
They were mostly squatters, and the prize was a rich one. Congress had decreed "that all of this land not needed for public purposes, or not previously disposed of, should be conveyed to the persons in possession," so that all the latitude allowed was as to what "needs for public purposes" covered. There had been agitation for a park; indeed, Frederick Law Olmstead had made an elaborate but discouraging report, ignoring the availability of the drifting sand-hills that formed so large a part of the outside lands, recommending a park including our little Duboce Park and one at Black Point, the two to be connected by a widened and parked Van Ness Avenue, sunken and crossed by ornamental bridges.
The undistributed outside lands to be disposed of comprised eighty-four hundred acres. The supervisors determined to reserve one thousand acres for a park. Some wanted to improve the opportunity to secure without cost considerably more. TheBulletinadvocated an extension that would bring a bell-shaped panhandle down to the Yerba Buena Cemetery, property owned by the city and now embraced in the Civic Center. After long consideration a compromise was made by which the claimants paid to those whose lands were kept for public use ten per cent of the value of the lands distributed. By this means 1,347.46 acres were rescued, of which Golden Gate Park included 1,049.31, the rest being used for a cemetery, Buena Vista Park, public squares, school lots, etc. The ordinances accomplishing the qualified boon to the city were fathered by McCoppin and Clement. Other members of the committee, immortalized by the streets named after them, were Clayton, Ashbury, Cole, Shrader, and Stanyan.
The story of the development of Golden Gate Park is well known. The beauty and charm are more eloquent than words, and John McLaren, ranks high among the city's benefactors.
The years from 1860 to 1870 marked many changes in the character and appearance of San Francisco. Indeed, its real growth and development date from the end of the first decade. Before that we were clearing off the lot and assembling the material. The foundation of the structure that we are still building was laid in the second decade. Statistics establish the fact. In population we increased from less than 57,000 to 150,000—163 per cent. In the first decade our assessed property increased $9,000,000; in the second, $85,000,000. Our imports and exports increased from $3,000,000 to $13,000,000. Great gain came through the silver production, but greater far from the development of the permanent industries of the land—grain, fruit, lumber—and the shipping that followed it.
The city made strides in growth and beauty. Our greatest trial was too much prosperity and the growth of luxury and extravagance.
In a brief chapter little can be offered that will tell the story of half a century of life of a great city. No attempt will be made to trace its progress or to recount its achievement. It is my purpose merely to record events and occurrences that I remember, for whatever interest they may have or whatever light they may throw on the life of the city or on my experience in it.
For many years we greatly enjoyed the exhibits and promenade concerts of the Mechanics' Institute Fairs. The large pavilion also served a useful purpose in connection with various entertainments demanding capacity. In 1870 there was held a very successful musical festival; twelve hundred singers participated and Camilla Urso was the violinist. The attendance exceeded six thousand.
The Mercantile Library was in 1864 very strong and seemed destined to eternal life, but it became burdened with debt and sought to extricate itself by an outrageous expedient. The legislature passed an act especially permitting a huge lottery, and for three days in 1870 the town was given over to gambling, unabashed and unashamed. The result seemed a triumph. Half a million dollars was realized, but it was a violation of decency that sounded the knell of the institution, and it was later absorbed by the plodding Mechanics' Institute, which had always been most judiciously managed. Its investments in real estate that it used have made it wealthy.
A gala day of 1870 was the spectacular removal of Blossom Rock. The early-day navigation was imperiled by a small rock northwest of Angel Island, covered at low tide by but five feet of water. It was called Blossom, from having caused the loss of an English ship of that name. The Government closed a bargain with Engineer Von Schmidt, who three years before had excavated from the solid rock at Hunter's Point a dry dock that had gained wide renown. Von Schmidt guaranteed twenty-four feet of water at a cost of seventy-five thousand dollars, no payment to be made unless he succeeded. He built a cofferdam, sunk a shaft, planted twenty-three tons of powder in the tunnels he ran, and on May 25th, after notice duly served, which sent the bulk of the population to view-commanding hills, he pushed an electric button that fired the mine, throwing water and debris one hundred and fifty feet in the air. Blossom Rock was no more, deep water was secured, and Von Schmidt cashed his check.
On my trip from Humboldt County to San Francisco in 1861 I made the acquaintance of Andrew S. Hallidie, an English engineer who had constructed a wire bridge over the Klamath River. In 1872 he came to my printing office to order a prospectus announcing the formation of a small company to construct a new type of street-car, to be propelled by wire cable running in a conduit in the street and reached by a grip through a slot. It was suggested by the suffering of horses striving to haul cars up our steep hills and it utilized methods successfully used in transporting ores from the mines. On August 2, 1873, the first cable-car made a successful trial trip of seven blocks over Clay Street hill, from Kearny to Leavenworth. Later it was extended four blocks to the west. From this beginning the cable-roads spread over most of the city and around the world. With the development of the electric trolley they were largely displaced except on steep grades, where they still perform an important function. Mr. Hallidie was a public-spirited citizen and an influential regent of the University of California.
In 1874 there was forced upon the citizens of San Francisco the necessity of taking steps to give better care and opportunity to the neglected children of the community. A poorly conducted reform school was encouraging crime instead of effecting reform. On every hand was heard the question, "What shall we do with our boys?" Encouraged by the reports of what had been accomplished in New York City by Charles L. Brace, correspondence was entered into, and finally The Boys and Girls Aid Society was organized. Difficulty was encountered in finding any one willing to act as president of the organization, but George C. Hickox, a well-known banker, was at last persuaded and became much interested in the work. For some time it was a difficult problem to secure funds to meet the modest expenses. A lecture by Charles Kingsley was a flat failure. Much more successful was an entertainment at Platt's Hall at which well-known citizens took part in an old-time spelling-match. In a small building in Clementina Street we began with neighborhood boys, who were at first wild and unruly. Senator George C. Perkins became interested, and for more than forty years served as president. Through him Senator Fair gave five thousand dollars and later the two valuable fifty-vara lots at Grove and Baker streets, still occupied by the Home. We issued a little paper,Child and State, in which we appealed for a building, and a copy fell into the hands of Miss Helen McDowell, daughter of the General. She sent it to Miss Hattie Crocker, who passed it to her father, Charles Crocker, of railroad fame. He became interested and wrote for particulars, and when the plans were submitted he told us to go ahead and build, sending the bills to him. These two substantial gifts made possible the working out of our plans, and the results have been very encouraging. When the building was erected, on the advice of the experts of the period, two lockups were installed, one without light. Experience soon convinced us that they could be dispensed with, and both were torn out. An honor system was substituted, to manifest advantage, and failures to return when boys are permitted to visit parents are negligible in number. The three months of summer vacation are devoted to berry-picking, with satisfaction to growers and to the boys, who last year earned eleven thousand dollars, of which seven thousand dollars was paid to the boys who participated, in proportion to the amount earned.
William C. Ralston was able, daring, and brilliant. In 1864 he organized the Bank of California, which, through its Virginia City connection and the keenness and audacity of William Sharon, practically monopolized the big business of the Comstock, controlling mines, milling, and transportation. In San Francisco it wasthebank, and its earnings were huge. Ralston was public-spirited and enterprising. He backed all kinds of schemes as well as many legitimate undertakings. He seemed the great power of the Pacific Coast. But in 1875, when the silver output dropped and the tide that had flowed in for a dozen years turned to ebb, distrust was speedy. On the afternoon of August 26th, as I chanced to be passing the bank, I saw with dismay the closing of its doors. The death of Ralston, the discovery of wild investments, and the long train of loss were intensely tragic. The final rehabilitation of the bank brought assurance and rich reward to those who met their loss like men, but the lesson was a hard one. In retrospect Ralston seems to typify that extraordinary era of wild speculation and recklessness.
No glance at old San Francisco can be considered complete which does not at least recognize Emperor Norton, a picturesque figure of its life. A heavy, elderly man, probably Jewish, who paraded the streets in a dingy uniform with conspicuous epaulets, a plumed hat, and a 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:aWe have lost all our records of accounts.bOur net loss will exceed $400,000.SIMPLY A QUESTION OF HONOR.FirstWill each lawyer in the country send us a statement ofwhat he owes us, whether due or not due, and names of books coveredby said statement on enclosed blank (blue blank).SecondInformation for our records (yellow blank).ThirdSend us a postal money order for all the money you can nowspare.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
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. Thesubstanceof this order is official. Theformis slightly speckled with the spice of unofficiality.
F.B.P.]
F.B.P.]
Handwritten note
Handwritten note
The Clay Street Office the Day After
The Clay Street Office the Day After
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 aliveThe 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.
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 alesssum 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.