Arlington Hotel Issue

1

Arlington Hotel Issue

VOL. IX, NO. 2

SUMMER, 1963

NOTICIA5 QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY

President McKinley's Visit

By Thomas M. Storke In May, 1901, President William McKinley, year after his election to the Presidency for his second term, visited Santa Barbara. C. A. Storke was mayor and introduced him to a large group of citizens from the .porch of the old Arlington Hotel. In the accompanying picture, McKinley is stand ing at the far right with a high hat, and immediately to the rear and behind the left shoulder of McKinley is Joseph J. Perkins. Perkins was a prominent real estate man in Santa Barbara during the eighties and nineties and early days of the century. His home, which he built in the nineties, was at the south east corner of Pedregosa and Anacapa Streets.

The gentleman behind McKinley’s right shoulder was Frank Whitney.

Whitney for several decades was prominent in civic and political activities in Santa Barbara. He served as mayor during that period.

In the center of the picture and to myfather’s left is Edward Iverson, an old pioneer in Santa Barbara who was greatly interested and active in civic affairs. His one hobby and aim in life was to get the Southern Pacific to close what is known as the “Gap”. The Southern Pacific line from the south reached Santa Barbara in 1887 as far as the Ellwood Ranch, at which time there was a civic ceremony celebrating the occasion. From Ellwood the pro posed route (the “Gap”) went to Santa Margarita at the foot of the moun tains north of the city of San Luis Obispo. The president of the Southern Pacific at that time was Collis P. Huntington.

Iverson was more instrumental than any other man in having Huntington look favorably to closing the “Gap” at the earliest possible moment. There was an exchange of letters between Iverson and Huntington almost weekly.

The Santa Barbara papers at that time featured these letters and gave encour agement to Iverson.

Father, who was mayor at that time, standing at Iverson’s right, de livered the welcoming address to President McKinley. McKinley made ex tensive remarks and covered many subjects; as President McKinley stated later, he was encouraged to lengthen and cover these many subjects because of Father’s inquisitive address welcoming him.

Immediately behind Father’s right shoulder is a Department of Justice man, nowadays referred to as FBI. He was the lone protector of the Presi dent. Had the President had adequate protection when he was making his speech in Buffalo a few months later he would not have been assassinated.

1

The gentleman with goatee and high hat to Father’s right is none other than John Hay, President McKinley’s Secretary of State and the great execu tive secretary to Abe Lincoln. Sitting close to Hay’s right and at a lower level is the late William G. Griflilh, prominent Santa Barbara attorney and the father of Yale Griffith.

As a reminder of the fast passing time and the changes in our statehoods is the flag that is seen in the picture immediately above President McKinley.

It is noted that there are 36 stars, indicating that we had only 36 states at the time this flag was made, as against 50 at the present time.* On the bal cony, joining in the ceremonies, are all of the fine old families of Santa Barbara, particularly the ladies, gathered. There never was a gathering in Santa Barbara that meant so much to the community and which brought out practically our entire population.

In the foreground, as close as I could get to the President and my fa ther, I stood. I was particularly interested in this ceremony because, while I had been a reporter for two or three years, I had only been editor and publisher of my newspaper a few short months before this ceremony. * It was difficult to purchase large flags in Santa Barbara at this time. This one was an old flag that was pressed into service on this important occasion.

The Old Arlington

By Harry Du.nn A few weeks ago I was sitting with my old friend, Alfred Edwards, at a reunion dinner of the college fraternity of which we were members, and Alfred began reminiscences of our lives in Santa Barbara when we were small boys. This talk brought back to me, and to Alfred, too, memories of happenings long forgotten. Much of it revolved around the old Arlington Hotel, for that was where 1 lived, and it was a rendezvous—and a very excit ing and happy hunting ground—for all my boyhood friends. My father, E. P. Dunn, had been employed at the Arlington in the late 1880’s, and had taken ovei; the management of the San Marcos Hotel (where the building of that name now stands) where I was born. I believe it was in 1895 w’hen he moved back to the Arlington, as the lessee and proprietor.

The Arlington was not large as hotels are thought of now—probably about 200 guest rooms but everything in it was spacious. In those days lobbies, dining rooms, parlors and guest rooms were large and high ceilinged.

The original hotel building and the annex” were three stories high, with wide and easy stairways. I remember there was one elevator—used princi pally by the elderly and infirm—operated by pulling on a rope.

The hotel was the social center for Santa Barbara. A recent article in Noticias described the St. Cecilia Club. I well remember the annual St. Cecilia Fairs held in the hotel’s public rooms—the most exciting and im pressive social event of the year. Another recent article in Noticias described the visit of President McKinley to Santa Barbara in 1901. Selden Spaulding wrote of his shaking the hand of the President. 1 was there, too, and shook the great man’s hand and received his pat on my head and the polite remark that I was a “fine young man.”

2

Those, of course, were horse and buggy days. My father iiad a buggy and a mare named Kate which were brought over to the hotel each morning from Sam Stanwood’s stables, nearby on Victoria Street, and tied to one of the hitching posts in the driveway in the front yard. My father would then drive down State Street to make his regular calls at the Commercial Bank and at Diehls and at Show and Hunts and at Larcos, and Otts’ Hardware, and at other providers for the hotel. Father always did the buying of supplies himself. He wanted to see what he was getting and he wanted the best.

Father took a nap regularly after lunch, and then he was up and until late at night as the Host, greeting guests and making them happy and com fortable. In this my mother was a full partner. In those days there were no salaried “hostesses” or “public relations directors.” My mother and my father were the hosts and all those patronizing the hotel were their guests, in the best meaning of those words. As I remember it, there were two cate gories or kinds of guests. First were the “traveling men”—representatives of wholesale firms who came to sell their wares to Santa Barbara merchants.

My impression is that “traveling men” have now almost ceased to exist—at least in the old sense—because of modern communications and transportation facilities. But in the 1890’s and 1900’s the traveling men came on the trains from Los Angeles or San Francisco, and sometimes from the East, and stayed two or three days. These men—all good friends of my father’s—were the bread and butter, the backlog, of the hotel. They came regularly and con tinually and my father had a special rate for them—as I remember, about S3 a day American Plan, three meals included.

The second group of guests were the tourists, some from San Francisco and Los Angeles, but principally from the East—New York, Chicago, Boston, etc.—and they came, many in their private' railway cars, and stayed for a month or more, some for much longer. These guests paid more than the traveling men—probably S5 a day American Plan—not much for the best according to present standards, but considered fair and sufficient 60 years ago. My father did very well with the tourists and made many warm friends among the “great and near great” of the Eastern metropolises. But these guests were the special responsibility of my mother. She was kind and soci able and rapidly gained the friendship of the ladies of this group—and on many, many occasions (as she has told me) was their confidante and con sultant on their personal and family problems.

This reference to my mother reminds me of the article in a recent Nolicias on “Holdup in the San Marcos Pass.” No mention was made of my mother in that article and she was probably not in the stage referred to there, but 1 remember well a story which she told me of a stage robbery in the San Marcos very similar to that described in Noticias. The story is that when mother was a small girl (Margaret Ann Robinson) living in San Luis Obispo, she was on a stage coach held up and robbed in the San Marcos Pass—and several of the adult passengers hid their jewelry and money in my mother’s clothing and thus saved them. The robbers paid no attention to the little girl.

The hotel grounds occupied a full block between Victoria, State, Sola and Chapala Streets. The hotel was rambling as all the Resort Hotels were then. I think the only one left of that era is the Del Coronado. There were wide verandahs, towers, flat and accessible roofs, and many outbuildings, engine room, shops, storage bins, greenhouses, etc. It is not hard to imagine 3

whal a fasciiialinjr place it was for small boys, particularly when one of them lived there and took advantage of his position as son of the proprietor. We roamed over llie entire establishment and played all kinds of wonderful games. We seemed to be in awe of the guests and left them pretty much alone, but we very unfairly set traps for the employees and tormented them no end. However, they were our friends and usually entered into the game and did not mind too seriously, although Alfred Edwards reminded me of one occasion when we dumped buckets of water from a roof on two of the Chinese cooks and they pursued us, wielding knives and shouting impreca tions in Chinese, through various passageways until we finally lost ourselves in a hideaway that was secret and inaccessible to all but us. Then there were the animals and the birds. The hotel raised its own chickens—and strange as it seems now, its own turtles. Evidently in those days soups and other delicacies made from turtles were very popular—and the ingredients could not readily be bought in stores. We had a small menagerie near the State atul Sola Street corner to interest the tourists and their children—deer, rab bits, harmless snakes, parrots, pigeons and sometimes small wildcats and mountain lions. All wonderful for restless and adventurous boys. Arcjiie Edwards, Edward Starbuck, Jack and Winthrop Austin, Alfred Edwards and his brother Jack, and Jack McKinley were the regulars, but there were many more, and when the hotel guests had sons young enough for our gang we added them as nonresident members.

All of this was before 1908. In that year my father gave up the Arlington and moved to San Francisco where he took over another hotel. In 1909 the old Arlington burned. A new hotel was built on the same grounds, and. in 1911 my father was asked to return and be its lessee-proprietor. So we moved into the New Arlington and stayed there until my father retired in 1920. But that is another story, and a more adult one—the story of the New Arlington.

Santa Barbara Youth in the Nineties

By Frances Cooper Kroll It was a big day for Santa Barbara: The coastal steamer Santa Rosa, had just arrived from the north. Among the passengers were my brother.

Bill Cooper, Wilson Dibblee, Johnny More and Sam Stow. They were re turning for their summer vacation from Belmont, a preparatory school near San Mateo.

After collecting their luggage, with a superiority that made their cal lowness more apparent, they tilted their new stiff straw hats to a highly sophisticated angle, and, following several tourists, climbed into the Ar lington Hotel bus, one of the few vehicles allowed on the wharf. The driver cracked his whip and they started.

Off to the left, sharply interrupting the long line of the curving beach, Castle Rock stood out, dark, craggy against the shifting lights of the water.

Above it. back from the point, one could see the large white house that Thomas Dibblee had built for his family some years before. In the early Spanish days, a fort had stood there, and for that reason they called their home Punta del Castillo. It was a stately, impressive house, and, standing 4

~:iZ '

vlF I

"h

t.

i

t

I ■

)i"

,

i

\k,:

|iaj

●‘: lit' .f!

I

Wi

1

\\V

: Ji , 1

1

i M

i

li finr i'i II

))i

^ ) Jii

h r ●;/ /,/

I

I

.

I

^ll,

. n

I,

I'

\

^ !

M i .

i;

II

I ^ mm *

I

I

I

li

I

),

M n:

I.

1

■|

iHh . i*

;)

i

■#

0

f

-

j i

\ l:

[l

M

H ,■

! 'I

7

)

K L

I I

k

/,'.I,

'I

● 5 ● i

?

1

I11.^

ji

<● / //'

(

;

V

>' V f

T

y

> y r

■ ‘li

I i

»

3^'

/jt

I

LOUISE COOPER Reproduction boys,

of drawinB by Gilbert

Stewart

Edward.

Gilbert,

While Rugec,

●secund of Roderick

tlie five White

and

Harwood.

>

alone as it did on that jutting, prominent part of the Mesa, to us it seemed to dominate the town below.

J. P. Barbour, later Mayor of Santa Barbara, had been the architect.

A famous artist was brought from France by Mr. Dibblee to decorate the walls and ceilings of the more formal rooms. The grounds were beautifully landscaped, and it was Santa Barbara’s pride.

To the right of the wharf, as far as one could see, the gray blue moun tains, undisturbed as yet by man, reached up to touch the sky.

Even with its straight main street and scattered houses, Santa Barbara never had the aspect of a pioneer town; its Spanish influence had set it apart, softening and blurring all harshness.

Undoubtedly, as the bus rumbled off the wooden planks onto solid ground, the boys saw Mr. Dixie Thompson sitting in his buggy waiting, as he never failed to do, for his old friend. Captain Alexander, the skipper who had brought them down from San Francisco. Together the two old cronies would drive up State Street, perhaps stopping at Goux’ Liquor Store for a nip before continuing the few blocks to the Thompson home. Winter or sum mer, the Captain wore a broad-brimmed black felt hat, which he would raise, with a courteous flourish, to any person he recognized.

Members of Wilson Dibblee’s family were no doubt waiting in their carriage, near the end of the wharf, to drive him home. It was a long, hard pull up the dusty, winding Dibblee hill to the top and on through the grove of eucalyptus trees to Punta del Castillo. There were only a few families, the Meigs and Captain Low’s among them, then living on the Mesa, that beau tiful slightly rolling country, high above the seemingly endless stretch of the

Pacific.

After hurried greetings, the transfer of Wilson’s luggage, and goodbyes, the bus started again. State Street must have looked much less busy and im portant to the boys than when they had left it after their Christmas vacation —but it naturally would, they had so recently walked up Market Street in the City.

As they drove along, they craned right and left. There was Larco’s Fish Market! Had the old white pelican flown in again from some distant place on his yearly visit to be petted and fed? Turning to the left, they cguld see Burton Mound, the dark leaves of the ancient oak trees on it shining in the afternoon sun (One could still dig and find interesting Indian relics there— it was always exciting to unearth something).

One of the strangers—a woman—sitting across from them in the bus, suddenly exclaimed, “What a quaint old house—that blue plaster one in the lovely garden—with the iron fence around it!” She looked inquiringly to ward the boys.

All talking at once, they answered, “It’s an adobe—it’s Dr. Shaw’s home.

There’s lots of them here! You’ll see a couple right up on this very street— we’ll pass right in front of them.” Then turning, one of them called , out, “Hello, Jerry—how’s business?”

The colored bootblack, on the sidewalk in front of the Morris House, looked up from the shoes he was shining, and grinning broadly, waved a welcome with a blackened polishing-cloth.

Now, far ahead, up the gentle slope of State Street, loomed the tower on the Clock Building. There was Trenwith’s Dry Goods Store! There was A1 6

and Seth Loomis’ Saddle Shop, as usual with a few men lounging in the en trance. A1 and Seth were very popular—people liked to drop in for a chat and look at the fine saddles on display, also to enjoy the clean, pungent smell of leather and saddle soap.

One of the tourists, looking over her shoulder, turned quickly, exclaim ing, “What a strange, unusual street!”

The boys informed her that it was Chinatown.

“Oh, couldn’t we stop just for a minute—to look at it?”

The driver, striving to conceal his willingness, scowled and pulled the bus into the curb.

“It’s so different and fascinating -it really is the Orient!”, the stranger went on excitedly.

She was right. It was a bit of the Far East grafted onto this western stem, a graft never really taking, never entirely blending, but giving enough of its color to enrich and enhance the other.

Only one block of it, one side of its street ended abruptly against the old Lobero Theatre. Not many Chinese there at this hour; most of them busy in the kitchens of their employers, but when night fell they would'come padding down State Street, in their soft felt slippers, from different parts of the residential district.

A few old men, wearing their black satin skull caps above their graying pigtails, sat thoughtfully smoking their long pipes on the benches in front of the shops, and occasionally a woman in her dark silk native coat and trousers, carrying or leading her children, tottered stiffly along on her bound, hoof-like feet.

With its worn plank sidewalk, its bulletin board smeared with orangecolored announcements, the smell of incense from its Joss house and the large faded lanterns from above, it had the mystery and limitation of a theatrical stage set.

The bus moved on. There was Show’s Grocery Store on the left! The old blacksmith shop next, its forge glowing brightly within; a horse was being shod, another, tied to the iron hitching-post at the edge of the sidewalk, dozed comfortably, awaiting their turn.

Then the Laundry. “Remember the time we threw the old tomcat in

there?

“And old Fung choked on the water he was spraying the clothes with!”

“And fell into the washtub.” But the boys were definitely shamefaced although they laughed.

As they passed and pointed out the familiar places, so much a part of their lives, to the interested and amused strangers, their recently assumed “man of the world” attitude was giving way to pride and the eagerness of youth. Suddenly, one of them announced that he was hungry for a tamale.

“Tamale—what is that? We’ve never heard of them in the East.”

“Well—they make them here in Las Islitis—that’s Spanishtown, down around Haley Street. They use corn husks—lots of ’em—with the masa in between, and they stuff them with meat and olives and raisins and . . .”.

“You’ll like them—they’re swell! They’ll tell you at the Arlington where to get them. We had some in the City—that’s San Francisco—but they weren’t any good, and they cost a lot more. Here the beef ones are ten cents and the chicken fifteen.”

7

The bus lurched violently as the driver, muttering angrily, threw on his brake and stopped the team abruptly to allow several riderless horses to wander leisurely across State Street, in front of them, stirrups dangling from the empty saddles, the reins wound around the horns.

“Are they running away?” one of the women asked anxiously.

“No, Mam!” The driver replied emphatically. “People who hire ’em just turn ’em loose to go back to the livery stables, after they finish ridin’ ’em. But they’re a nuisance—it oughn’t to be allowed! They slow things up!

And they eat, too. Et all the roses off Miss Harrison’s hedge the other day.

Gosh, she was mad! Hey there—git!” Snapping his whip, just missing the rear end of one of the equine offenders, he released the brake and they started.

Suddenly one of the boys stood up, and stooping, peered excitedly out of the bus. “There comes the old street car—they got a mule hitched up with the horse today!” Leaning out, he shouted, “Hey, Charley, how’s the boy?

We’ll be riding down to the beach with you tomorrow. So long!”

The interested tourists, looking back, saw the street car stop. A woman climbed down, walked across the sidewalk and entered a store. But the street car did not go on—it stood still in the middle of the street.

“What’s happened—what’s it standing there for?” One of them asked.

“Oh, Charley’s waiting for that woman that got off—she’s gone into McPhail’s to buy something or other. She’ll come out pretty soon.’’

And so she did—leisurely crossing to the patient, unconcerned vehicle, she climbed aboard, a package under her arm.

“Well, I’ve never seen anything like that, before!” The astonished Easterner exclaimed, looking after the slowly moving street car.

“Charley doesn’t care—there’s no hurry. Everybody does it,” was the calm reply.

On the right, protruding out onto the sidewalk, stood the massive old red brick Catholic Church. The tourists turned in their seats to look at it in admiration, observing that it had an old world look.

But the boys were interested in other things. “There's Dr. Bates office— wonder if the Doc’s still riding his bike.” Then to the strangers, “He has two buggies, but he likes that bike—sometimes makes his medical calls on it, too.”

They were now just passing the San Marcos Hotel, and could see, rising above the buildings between, the imposing tower of the Arlington.

As they crossed Victoria Street, the attention of the strangers was called to the corner. “See the old man sitting on the bench. It’s old Beachy. He waits there every day for the Spanish ship that went off and left him behind—Dad says it was forty years ago.”

“Say, Bill,” one of the other boys interrupted, “What about this shindig your mother and father are giving next week for your sister, Bessie, and Mabel Nixon? Do we have to wear a dress-suit? I haven’t got one.”

This dilemma was echoed by the others.

“No,” Bill answered. “Mother says any dark suit will do. They’re only asking us to be sure there’ll be enough men to go around.”

“But the invitation says it's a ball—a Cotillion or something. Sounds sort of formal, to me.”

8

Oj;6 of the women leaned forward, Hasn’t the Tuxedo craze reached here?” she asked.

She was met with blank stares. “Tuxedo?”

“Yes, the informal dinner suit. The men are wearing them a great deal in New York.”

“Maybe that’s what I saw at Christmas time in the window of The Great Wardrobe!” Bill said thoughtfully.

“Mr. Pierre Lorillard originated it—about ten years ago. He had one made, and called it after his Club at Tuxedo Park.”

“Mr. Lorillard? Why he comes out here every winter to stay at the Arlington. 1 see him riding with a lot of his friends all the time.”

“So do i—he must like Santa Barbara”, one of the others replied with

pride.

The driver was turning into the gate of the attractive hotel. As the boys climbed down to go their various ways, with the waiting members of their families, everything seemed to click into place—it was as if they had never been away. They were home!

Bill, driving with father along Sola Street, politely raised his hat as they passed Dr. McNulty in his carriage, his coachman on the box, the two spotted dogs, as always, trotting underneath, side by side in the dust close to the hooves of the horses. We called them Coach dogs—we had never heard of Dalmations—and we children were greatly impressed by the magnificence of the Doctor’s entourage.

Bill could now see our large Victorian house—the palm, the Norfolk Island pine and the magnolia trees behind the white picket fence. Father slowed down as they reached Chapala Street. Several cows, driven by a work man, chewing a long straw, were ambling unhurriedly along in front of them.

They belonged to the Louis Dreyfus family, good friends of ours, who lived just around the corner on Victoria Street. Every morning their cows were driven past our gate on their way to graze in a large field about a mile away, and every afternoon the hired man, chewing his long straw, brought them home to be milked in the corral back of the Dreyfus stable.

As Father and Bill passed the Dugdale, the charming old family hotel across the street from our garden, they could see the high cypress hedge at the back of the large Charles Edward's house. My father and Mr. Edwards were good friends and we children played often together.

The bay mare turned sharply right and they started up the short drive way that led to the entrance of our stable. The bricks, that over the years had faded to a beautiful pink, showed in places through the dense ivy that cov ered the large building. The long line of walnut trees ahead, the blue flagbordered walk, the formal brick-edged garden—the familiar charm of it all must have been a warming sight to Bill.

We children ran shrieking with delight to hug him, hoping to discover in his pockets candy or a present. On the lawn under the giant rubber tree.

Mother was standing with outstretched, welcoming arms, the Chinese cook was leaning out of the kitchen window, and the two Basque maids were peering around the peavine-covered trellis—it was good to be back where one belonged.

At last the day of the ball arrived and with it the culminating excitement that had been mounting all week. Frank Whitney, one of the town’s slightly 9

older sophisticates, who was to lead the cotillion with Bessie, earlier had been commissioned by Father to go to Los Angeles to select and purchase the favors, and had done so. The large orchestra, which was to play instead of the usual four-piece Spanish Band, had already placed its instruments in the ball room in the Arlington Hotel, which was now decorated with Caroline Custer and Lady Banksia roses, the inevitable smilax and gracefuly draped bunting.

To add to the list of local guests, many must have come from Los Olivos and from some of the ranches in the Santa Ynez Valley on the stage coach that labored across the mountains on the winding San Marcos Pass. They were, no doubt, tired from the wearisome changing of horses at the relay sta tions, and from the anxiety of being late, because of trouble with a wheel at Cold Spring, before they reached the summit.

They must have sighed with relief, when late in the afternoon, the driver swung his six sweating horses from State Street through the wide gate, up the graveled driveway, and, turning in a perfect and showy half-circle, brought the heavy vehicle to a precise stop in front of the office door that opened onto the spacious verandah of the famous hotel.

I can see the passengers, rising stiffly, climbing down and brushing futilely at their dust-covered suits, as they walked toward the office where the popular host and manager, Mr. Dunn, met them with a warm welcome, and, no doubt, an offer of some even warmer cheer.

Meanwhile, the bell boys waited expectantly at the edge of the verandah while the porters unbuckled the heavy straps and opened the large leather boot at the back of the stage coach, to take out and lift down the numerous valises and hampers. This completed, the driver—it may have been Tom Coe, Frank Wines or Saline Carrillo—released the brake, cracked his long whip and made an impressive and, undoubtedly to the six tired horses, welcome exit from the hotel grounds and on to the stable a few blocks away.

Perhaps on the train from Saugus, certainly less exhausted and dusty, came other guests from Carpenteria, Ventura and even Los Angeles.

But adding most to the brilliance of the affair, to cause considerable envy among the local swains, were the Naval Officers, in their smart dress uni forms, from the U.S.S. Philadelphia, the warship that had arrived the day before and lay at anchor in the bay.

On that day of days for two excited young girls, Bessie Cooper and Mabel Nixon, it must have been unbearable to have their mothers insist that they lie down—get their beauty sleep—while all the time, looking across their rooms, they could see the lovely white Swiss dresses, mere fluffy clouds, swinging from their padded hangers, and the new slippers and silk stockings laid across the chairs. How slowly the hands of the clocks must have crept around the dials—would evening never come? Had they had telephones, they would surely have found excuses to call each other hourly.

Then the delightful flurry of dressing! Was this sleeve too short—did the full skirt dip a little at the side—was the pompadour too high—which flowers should they choose from the many that had been sent? Oh, dear—oh, dear! How they fussed, and all the time their tall oval mirrors must have assured them that they were young, fresh and lovely.

Later, as each left home with their parents in a hired gurney, they passed groups of guests on their way to the hotel—some in carriages, others walking.

10

the young girls swinging in their hands the pretty silk bags that held the slippers in which they would so soon be dancing.

The Arlington must have been a charming sight that night, the lights seeming to carry the music with them out through the long windows of the ball room, to turn the wide sweep of lawns into an intense unreal green, and make gleaming globes of the white blossoms on the magnolia trees that even the gay Chinese lanterns strung beneath them could not dull.

I insist that there was a moon—it would have been cruel otherwise, for along the sidewalk and crowding for space on the old, wooden bench that curved closely around the spreading oak tree at the corner of State and Vic toria Streets where the hotel grounds ended, were many people waiting to enjoy vicariously the gayety, to watch those young couples, who, having man aged to evade the vigilant eye of their chaperones, had wandered out between dances to stroll in the shadow of the long verandahs, or to catch a glimpse of a pretty girl leaning back against one of the vine-covered pillars, looking softly and romantically up at the young man standing before her.

Along the sides of the ball room sat the older people, some looking with ill-concealed disapproval at the closeness of certain couples, swaying to the languid rhythm of the waltz. Others, no doubt, were beaming with pride and thinking how pretty their daughters were—and so well-behaved. The host and hostess were kept busy, I am sure, seeing that all was going successfully, and frequently consulting with Mr. Dunn.

During the first part of the evening, a mild punch was served; but I am certain that Father had quietly arranged, if desired, that any of the gentlemen present could wander at discreet intervals into the hotel bar, which they no doubt did, to return to the ball room smelling strongly of cloves or pepper mint.

A supper came later—the usual creamed chicken, oyster patties, salad, etc.

I cannot claim the memory of this event, for I was a little girl tucked in my bed at home, but I recall sleepily listening to the sound of the distant music, and drowsily hoping that my big sister was having a good time at the party papa and mama were giving for her.

Perhaps it was on the way home, long after midnight, that Mabel whis pered something to Bessie about Harris Laning, the handsome Middy whom she had met that night, and danced with so many times during the evening.

He had asked to conduct her personally over the U.S.S. Philadelphia the next—or rather that afternoon—at the reception on board the warship.

Bessie and Mabel were two of the most popular girls in Santa Barbara.

The former, tall and slender, had a fine, delicate wit and a sense of humor so keen that she rarely missed the amusing angle of any incident.

And how often her quick, gay laugh would ring out. No, it was never dull where Bessie was! Though many of her friends were prettier, always when she entered a room it was as if the gaslight suddenly turned brighter; she never had to wait—the young men flocked around her immediately. She danced divinely and would have been happy to go on dancing till dawn.

Famous for her swimming, she thought nothing of the long swim that took her past the raft—the anchored haven and destination of less venture some bathers on and out to the wide brown belt of kelp—that broad band 11

of floating seaweed that still lies lazily moving with the swell. Had she not been forbidden to do so, she would have slipped across it—on and out be yond. I can see her now in her ugly navy-blue flannel bathing suit, with its sailor collar trimmed with white rickrack braid, and the inevitable black cot ton stockings on her long slim legs.

Incapable of resisting a good time, no matter what the cost, on the long trip by launch to one of the Channel Islands for a picnic, she would lie on the deck during the entire journey, so ill with seasickness that she was un able to raise her head. No doubt, many in the group thought her on the verge of death; but when they reached their destination, like the Phoenix, she would arise, not only to become the gayest of the gay, but apparently to give no thought to the suffering that awaited her on the return trip.

Mabel Nixon was one of Santa Barbara’s prettiest girls. Artistically en dowed, she had a studio under a large walnut tree in the garden of their home on De la Vina Street, where, taught by Mrs. Billy Burton, she learned the then fashionable art of burnt leather. Her belts, her bags and other ar ticles were exquisitely designed and executed.

Undoubtedly, she inherited her creative talent from her father, Thomas Nixon, one of the first architects of note in Santa Barbara. To him goes the credit of planning and erecting the Fithian Building at State and Ortega Streets, the Hopkins Building opposite the Clock Building, the Hall of Rec ords, and I believe the first Court House. The charming Spaulding residence on Sola and Chapala Streets was one of his last achievements. He had a fine knowledge and love of beautiful woods; the panelling and doors in many of the homes he designed showed excellent examples of that interest.

But to us children, his greatest and most successful architectural triumph was the play house he had planned and built in the Nixon garden, for his four daughters when they were small. It had a little verandah and was large enough to allow us to stand upright in its one large room. The family was most generous to all of the young people and we were welcome to move in and occupy it at any time.

Occasionally, one of the Nixon girls would come out and sit on the lawn under the loquat tree and tell us interesting and amusing stories.

They could remember the family of Indians who used to ride in from Cathedral Oaks every Saturday—several of them on an old white horse.

They wore real feather head-dresses, and one of the squaws carried a papoose on her back. And late in the afternoon they would pass again, dead drunk, to return to their rancheria. We would shudder delightedly as we listened.

When she and her sisters were very young, Mabel told us, they would often open their front door at nine o’clock in the evening while the Mission bells were tolling, to hear the coyotes howl in Mission Canyon.

But the story that I loved best was the one Mabel told us about the comet. She was only four years old, when one night her father awakened her, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her in his arms out into the garden.

She said she saw what looked like a gleaming star that swept swiftly across the eastern sky, leaving behind it a trail of gold. She had never forgotten it, and thought often of it with wonder and awe. I never tired of hearing her

tell of it.

In their early teens, somone remarked that Bessie Cooper and Mabel Nixon were always up to something. They loved the excitement of the un13

usual and the different. Suddenly, they would tire of riding their horses or of driving about in Mabel’s pretty dog-cart, of light wood elegantly uphol stered in tan corduroy, and pulled along by her beloved little bay, EHck, and they would rent for seventy-five cents a scrawney, ill-kept donkey, owned by Sunny Lucas, the colored boy who delivered the newspapers.

The two girls would ride happily along on the ill-tempered animal—it was something different! At times the donkey would balk, refuse to move; Mabel and Bessie would dismount and calmly walk away and leave it to re cover from the sulks and go home by itself. They always quickly found some other equally original form of diversion.

There was the Lavender Ball—Mabel and Bessie suddenly thought of that and immediately went into action! Sexton’s Hall in Goleta was rented for the occasion, and the Spanish Band would furnish the music.

Everything was to be in lavender—the invitations, the dancing programs and their little pencils, and definitely all dresses. No one was to be allowed to enter garbed in any other color! The boys were let off more easily—a boutonaire of that hue would suffice.

As usual, wanting to do things in a hurry, the invitations were sent out so shortly before the event that there was little time to prepare the costumes.

Mabel, and Bessie, never very adept with a needle, made their own—of laven der cheesecloth, gathered full at the neck and falling voluminously to the floor. To quote Mabel, “They could have resembled nothing more than two badly constructed Mother Hubbards.”

To supply transportation, and even more originality, at Father’s sug gestion, a large wagon piled high with hay carried them the eight miles to the Hall. On the way, during the merriment, most of the girls fell or were pushed off the high vehicle into the dusty road. “I hate to think what we looked like when we finally arrived”, Mabel wrote in one of her letters.

But in spite of the many mishaps the affair was a success, and, like the heady perfume of the flower that inspired it, the memory of it, tinged with amusement, lingers still in the minds of a few old-timers.

There was always something exciting to do those years—moonlight beach suppers, digging clams at More’s Landing, picnics at Hope Ranch in the spring, where they bathed on the lovely, lonely beach, and after a picnic lunch gathered the yellow Johnny-jump-ups that hid themselves in the tall, lush grass under the oak trees—a hundred other delightful and often unex pected things.

And there was the Stow Ranch, La Patera. Kate and her brothers, Sherm and Sam, kept it full of their young friends. Later Peggy and Edgar did the same. One rode or drove out past Goleta for a mile or two, turned at the wild blackberry-edged lane that led to a small country schoolhouse, then to the left along the road up the little hill that ended in Cousin Ida Stow’s beautiful garden. Like Mother, Cousin Ida loved her garden, and it was an enchanting place filled with rare flowers and shaded by tall, exotic trees. I remember clearly one of those trees. It awoke only after evening fell—then opened its small, creamy blossoms to send forth a fragrance so heavy with sweetness that it would often reach faintly the groups of young people sitting on the wide verandah in the moonlight.

14

Ihe stately old white house, with its green shutters, seemed made for dancing and laughter—the hours there flew by far too quickly. There was the orchard with its wonderful fruit, the vineyard with its seasonal turning from jade green to scarlet—the vegetable garden from which, early every morning, the gardener brought the day’s supply of vegetables, the dew still glistening on them. But, best of all, below the reach of the garden was the large, mysterious pond.

Once in the boat that lay at its edge, with effort one poled one’s way through the thick, high-growing tules, to come out suddenly into open spaces of clear water, up through whose surface rose tall, delicate stems to flaunt above the beauty of heavy, pink-tinged lotus lilies. It was like being in another

world.

The regret of good-bye to La Patera was always somewhat lessened by the thought of the ride back to town. After leaving the lane and turning into the county road, one could look back across the sweep of meadow, for a last glimpse of the white house among the trees, on the ridge—the only habitation in sight.

Upon reaching Goleta, it was always a ritual, to stop at the long wooden watering trough, near Dew’s General Store, to give the'horses a sip. They, well watered before starting, didn’t need it, but they enjoyed wetting their noses and snorting loudly in play, and we never tired of looking across to watch the blacksmith at work, in his shop at the corner.

Ahead of us, at times we recognized Mr. Ellwood Cooper’s carriage, he driving with Mrs. Cooper beside him, his two daughters sitting on the back seat of the heavy vehicle. It was a long drive from his beautiful ranch, well beyond Corona del Mar, into Santa Barbara.

(How well I remember the large blue and while jar in the pantry of the Cooper’s charming ranch house, from which Miss Ellen would daintily take out the most delicious cookies in the world, to hand to two hungry wide-eyed girls, Amy Broome and me.)

We never passed the Ellwood Cooper’s carriage on the county road— we slowed down, for it was not courteous to annoy older people with the dust our horses would leave behind.

But we didn’t mind loitering a bit on that delightful up and down road, edged with wild flowers and pretty grasses. Occasionally we saw a quaint old farm house or a walnut grove, but mostly it was open pasture where horses grazed and cows chewed happily. And off to the left were the eternal, misty mountains; and from the right, at times, came faintly the tangy, salty smell of the sea.

Always in our own charming garden, there was much diversion, tennis, croquet, tea in the large arbor, there were also many more serious moments for the girls. Often Mabel and Bessie would drive out to Oak Park in Mabel’s cart, where, in the quiet and the shade of the trees, Bessie would read aloud.

Mabel remembers how much they enjoyed Vanity Fair, and how well Bessie read it.

As all young girls do, the Nixons and Bessie loved pretty clothes. Most of them were made by Mrs. Hardy, the town dressmaker. The long pique skirts, the stiffy starched shirtwaists with their high collars and black ribbon ties, the numerous chiffon veils thrown back from hats that, anchored by long 15

pearl-tipped hat-pins, sat stiffly on the high pompadours—it was an age of uncomfortable elegance.

Once when Blanche Nixon appeared in a Nile-green organdy confection with row upon row of narrow ruffles, that began at the neck and ended at her feet, one of her beaux told her that she looked exactly like a head of let tuce, and did she have ruffles in her pockets?

Byrd, her older sister, who was soon to marry Oscar Hinsdale, the wellknown lumberman, move to Oregon and live on a beautiful island in the Umpqua River, overhearing this questionable compliment, remarked dryly, that evidently good manners had gone out of style—that the era of courtesy and romance she had known was on the wane.

She was right! No longer did one’s admirers come to the gardens by moonlight to stand in the shadow of the trees or hide behind the bushes, while the musicians they had brought with them sang yearning love songs as they strummed their guitars.

A new camaraderie was steadily developing; freer conversations, less chaperonage, a tolerance of many things before looked upon with disapproval.

How shocked the older ladies, sitting under their parasols on the beach, black buttoned shoes carefully drawn under their long, ample skirts, must have been at their first glimpse of bare white “limbs” entering the water.

Out at Louise Eddy’s, at the edge of town, the girls were meeting weekly to play a game called Basket Ball, and—they wore bloomers that barely reached their calves! That was bad enough but it was said that actually men had gone out to watch them! A few daring feminine riders were forsaking the side saddle to ride astride and it was whispered that one or two girls had been caught smoking in the dressing room at the Woman’s Club during a dance. What was the world coming to?

Suddenly and appallingly, a well-known “society girl” from San Fran cisco appeared in a skirt—plain on one side and plaid on the other, but Hor ror of Horrors, it was actually three inches from the ground. She called it a golf skirt. Sports clothes had arrived! ● And Santa Barbara was changing too. The beautiful old two-story adobes on State Street were being torn down to make way for shops and modern buildings. The Indians who came in from the rancheria wore hats, not feathered head-dresses. Homes were being built in Mission Canyon, and the weird howls of the coyotes, driven further back into the mountains, only faintly accompanied the tolling of the Mission bells.

There had been a time, if a fire broke out, the first man to reach the fire house to ring the bell had received five dollars, as did he who brought his team promptly to pull the engine to the scene of action. But the fire de partment now owned its own horses. Efficiency had taken over!

The Cotillion, given that summer night at the Arlington Hotel by ray parents for Bessie and Mabel, was far more elegant and formal than the Lavender Ball of several years before, so perhaps the officers from the U.S.S. Philadelphia did not find Santa Barbara too backward and provincial.

The reception given on board the warship, the following afternoon, was a brilliant and unusual event in the social history of the town. Though I was uninvited. Mama took me with her, in my new straw hat with its unturned brim and two long ribbons hanging down my back.

16

I

i i

Oh, it was thrilling—that trip in the shining, spotless launch, manned by white clad sailors, who saluted with such precision! And as we crossed the stretch of water that lay between' the wharf and the great ship, stirring music reached us from the band playing on its deck.

I remember that afternoon with its excitement, as if it were yesterday.

There were so many pretty girls—I thought Bessie and Mabel the prettiest of all—the handsome officers, the dancing and the delicious refreshments, but mostly I remember the moment when a tall man in uniform bent over a plain, embarrassed little girl to tie around the crown of her hat, with its upturned brim, a black silk ribbon, on which was woven in gold letters, U.S.S. Phila

delphia.

Mama said, “Thank the kind gentleman, darling.” I don’t think I was able to, but I hope I managed a smile.

Mabel did go on, as she planned, to Art School in San Francisco, but not to become famous as had been predicted. She did not graduate—she married her handsome Midshipman, instead, who was to have a brilliant career as he rose to the rank of Admiral. Also added to her happiness was the joy of becoming the mother of “the prettiest girl in the Navy”, Hester, now Mrs. Sargeant Pepper of Hartford, Connecticut.

Bessie never married. She, who had always wanted to swim far out be yond the great brown belt of kelp, to go on dancing through the night till dawn, died much too young. But laughter and gayety are immortal.

Those early days in Santa Barbara were good days, happy days—to me the memory of them is like the golden glow that Mabel saw that night from the shelter of her father’s arms, as the shining comet swiftly sped across the eastern sky.

Family Recollections of the Arlington

By Harold Chase

/

I have been asked by Noticias how I and my sister Pearl happened to come to Santa Barbara, as we did shortly after the turn of the century.

During the 1880’s and early 1890’s, C. S. Wheeler was proprietor of the “Old”, then new, Arlington Hotel, located, as for many years thereafter, on State Street between Victoria and Sola. The drawing of the Hotel repro duced on Page 20 was taken from a pamphlet* in my collection on which there is a pencil notation of publication in 1893, while the illustrations were given 1892 and the County National Bank’s financial statement was dated July 9, 1891.

C. S. Wheeler was an uncle of my mother, who invited her in 1885 (a year before her marriage) to visit California. This she did, touring many featured areas of the State, often by stage and coach, and of course staying, while in Santa Barbara, with her uncle at the famous Arlington Hotel.

Mother evidently fell in love with Santa Barbara, as have so many others before and since; and when my father, H. G. Chase’s health failed (as the consequence of a severe accident suffered in early manhood) some years ●To be reproduced soon in its entirety by the Editors as an “occasional paper”.

17

0 t I

THANKSGIVING DINNER. SOXJP».

Chicken Broth.

Green TiirLle, willi Old Slierry.

P’ISPi. Baked Cod a lu Hollandai.se.

cor*iD 3dzsi?:eSBoast Beef.

Crab Salad.

Corned Beof.

Mutton.

Ham.

Beof Tongue.

Boned Turkov, witli Aspec Sanee.

BOILEX3. tlorned lieefand Cabbage.

Leg of Mutton, Caper .Sauce. f'i Ham. Beef Tongue. hicken, with Salt Pork.

Bib of Beef.

J..oin of Mutton.

Bib ofMutcon.

Loin of Pork, with Apple Sauce.

J^oin of Veal.

Ham,Champagne Sauce,

Stuffed Pig.

Spring Lamb, MinlSauC“.

Turaey, Cranberry>S;iuce. de P’oie Gras.

Pin Wing buck, with Jelly.

EIsTTR-EES. Baked Brain.s a la Italian.

Fillet ot Veal Larded and Braized au.\ (dmmpignons.

Beef Heart Larded a la Jardiuier.

Escal loped Oysters.

Brouchet ofTurkey Giblets, Tartar Sauce. Peach Fr;tter.s Claret Sauce PtELISKES. tiemuui Pickles.

Olives.

Worcestershire Sauce.

Celci V.

Lelliuro

Tomato Catsup.

●Slicetl Tomatoes.

Pepper Sauce.

Pickled Bcol.s.

Baked, Boiled and Mashed Potsitoos.

Boiled Rice .

Parsnips.

Squash.

Boiled Onions.

Baked Sweet Potatoes.

Turnips.

New Beets.

Spinach.

Cabbage.

Tomatoes.

Oy.ster Plant.

Mince Pie. Cabinet Pudding, Bran ly Sauc ".

Apple Cream Cake.

Chocol ate Cake. laidy Fingers.

Pie.

IDESSErtX. Santa Barbara Almonds. .\|iples.

Baisins.

Oranges.

Santa Barbara Walnuts.

Vanilla Ice Cream.

:^COFFEE.-^

From the colleetion of Harold Chase

1 N L

LIS

CliA Ivd I=» A Gr 3STE. Cal. Cliampagnu, (tl. A. W. A) ti

Cal. Miisdutell, (S. I>iu;hinaii)«. ('arte D’Or Pi| er Heulsirk Private Cuv eu, \j<rii}' <& Co) Dry Mono(iole, (Elcidsick tt Co) iiOuis Poederer, {(3irle Blanc) Or,-^E.ET. Table Claret Cal. Claret, (S. La<diiiian) St. Jiilicn, (R. V. ))(( Xoalelac)...

Cliateaii Larnac (Mialeaa Raro.'^, (Ch.<1e Htiiiccj Ciiaieaii I<eov lie, (Jules Iliie.Tli. Lamarque ifc Co) (L'hateiiu Mar^aiix. (Cli. do Rnliee) Clialeaii fjatitte. (K. V. lie Ncjalelac) S^TJTETllsrE. Cal. White Wine, (H. (icrke) ..

Haiti Saiitei'i’ i, (A. no Sioiitz) “ (B. l ertifcCo) (dmioaii Yijiieni ....

B XJ E. O TJIST E “S' Gliainbortin.

Volhay, {Tli. dti r.utlee) Cliabli.s, (Cleovise, lOx J xpedii Verllon Freie.s)

● PUS... $l 00

●Qis...

2 no

“ ...

3 on

<0

Pts...

Qt.s...

Pl.H,., (its...

-Pts... (its...

Pts... (its...

Pis...

1 3 I ●!

-2 .3 2 .1 2

●Qls...

7i.

00 To 00 no 5(1 00 00 on lO l!l

...

1 no ,

.. ... ... ... ...

1 2 2 2 2

00 oo 00 50 fyC

... ... ...

I 00 2 00 3 00

‘ ... ‘ ... ‘ ...

3 00 2 00 2 50

... ...

76 2 00 1 50

... ... ... ...

2 3 2 2

I':

£Iooe;.

Cal. Mock, (S. Daclnn-in) Jobanne.sbi’rger liockheiiner. (180H) SHEEEY. Cal. Slierry Old Harmony Man/.imillo Ainantilaido...

Duff Cordon...

lO

EOET. fill. Poll, ((j. Groe/.inger), Old Na/ariiu; .Migni‘1 Yglecia EIC3E EXJES. Vemioiitli Marnsidiino Cliartrciieo Ivirscli Wasser.

Ahsinllio 3S^.A.EX

00 00 50 00

‘ ... ... ...

1 00 3 00 2 00

‘ ... ... ● ... ‘ ... ‘ ...

1 2 2 1 2

00 00 00 00 .50

EKaXJOES.

Teunenl's Ale

... .Pts..

Qts.. .Pts... (its...

(Jiiiniuiss’ Porter Champagne Cider BEA.KTE'Z'(Jld Vinianl Pioin-ielnr, (1831) Old Sa/arac.

Pinei Ciistilliiin

1 00 50 I 00 50

' ...

■ ...

■1 00 3 00 3 00

● ... ● ...

2 00 I 50

■WHISKEY. Private Sl(»i:k Unite I We Stand Old FVtiirbon

I r

after having to assume the management of several large shoe manufactories located in Massachusetts and Maine, Mother thought of Santa Barbara as a haven and a place where Father could regain his strength. Thus our family came to Santa Barbara first in 1900, stayed a year and returned in 1903.

Father then started the H. G. Chase Real Estate office which is still going, these 60 years later.

Father loved Santa Barbara too and never returned to Boston, the place of his birth. He was particularly interested in the agricultural development of the ranches in the Tri-Counties and was always concerned that hotel visitors and other newcomers should have a full and fair understanding of the community. Father’s appreciation of Santa Barbara was expressed in the descriptive slogan he composed and used for so many years: “Sun-Kissed, Ocean-Washed, Mountain-Girded, Island-Guarded Santa Barbara Enjoys the Most Equable Climate on Earth”.

Undoubtedly very many loyal residents of our city and county are here because, years before, their parents or grandparents visited Santa Barbara, perhaps but briefly, and were hospitably entertained, as was my mother at the Old Arlington.

THE MOST OELIBHTFUL SUMMER & WINTER RESORT IN CAUFORNIA.

7 ● G .’.G..'WH EELE'R,Praprielor.

Th/nmtnrriaiv'adflmsmt H:'k ntrs. oMjip^jrts 3mAt wra/rmt^nu Attattn. br u/ttO.MMH.COKfWT’ KWOMOm CAllfOfimA.

rarfijUnin^dWsnikhultJ Attrlit itammrruHuImt

20

Dr. Joseph A. Andrews At,tlie turn of the century, Dr. Andrews was the “eye doctor” who had his office on the second story of the Upper Hawley Building, within a stone’s throw of the Arlington Hotel. He was a man wdth a great fondness for horse back riding and, like Dr. C. C. Park, he often was seen in his riding clothes on the streets of Santa Barbara. Here, both men were somewhat conspicuous because they rode “eastern style”, that is, they preferred eastern, or English, pigskin saddles and riding breeches and polished riding boots to the much more common heavy, leather, “Mexican” saddles, braided head-stalls, and silver-inlaid “Spanish” bits.

Dr. Andrews was greatly gifted as a draftsman and, though almost all of his pictures are lost now, he delighted his friends and patients with care21

/ ( TiiHng" at The Thacher School.

fully drawn sketches of themselves qnd their friends. The drawing on the cover of this issue of Noticias is of Mr. William Eddy and Mr. Vail, the father of Hugh and Ed Vail. For years this fine likeness stood on Mr. Herman Eddy’s desk in the County National Bank. The picture of the young man on horseback (Page 21) was drawn in 1901 for the Annual of the Thacher School, of Nordhoff*, California. * Now “Ojai”.

Leonardo Barbieri^ Painter

By Charlotte P. Myrick Little did I think when the editor of Las Noticias suggested that I write a short article on the subject of Leonardo Barbieri, painter, that I would be embarking on a wild goose chase after a man of mystery. Five fine portraits by this excellent artist adorn the walls of the Santa Barbara Historical So ciety headquarters in the Old Mission, all of them representing prominent Spanish-American citizens of this locality. It would seem to be a simple matter to find material on such an important painter, who had worked in various cities up and down the coast from San Diego to San Francisco.

23

However, inquiries at various historical societies in California, as well as art reference libraries elsewhere all resulted in the same answer—“Yes, Leonardo Barbieri was an Italian artist who came to California in 1847 and painted portraits of a number of important members of various SpanishAmerican communities.” With this oft-repeated statement information about Barbieri began, and unfortunately ended. The Bancroft Library, the Frick Art Reference Library in New York, the Fogg Art Museum in Cambridge, libraries in Washington, D.C., and even as far afield as Paris were unable to shed any light on this popular painter of the mid-19th century.

He seems to have been an itinerant artist, who set up a studio in the Carrillo Adobe in 1850, and worked there for three months. One source says that Barbieri came to California in search of gold but may have found mak ing portraits of his new friends more profitable. Ruth M. Pico writes that the portrait of her grandmother, Rosario Estudillo Aguirre, was painted in the latter’s home, Casa Aguirre in San Diego, where the artist lived with the family and was paid 8500 for his work. It is reported that Barbieri “painted portraits of the men of the Constitutional Convention” held in Monterey from September 4th to October 13th, 1849. There were 48 members at this convention but the record does not state how many of them sat for their portraits. Another reference to Barbieri is in the Alta California News paper of December 12, 1849, which says: “He has established himself in San Francisco where he had on hand several portraits of residents.” Among others, Barbieri painted his friend Conde Gaston de Raousset Boulbon. Tliis portrait was discovered in Paris and sold in 1939 to the California Historical Society in San Francisco where it is now. There is a story that the count went to Mexico, became implicated in a political plot, and was shot August 12, 1854, “dying bravely.” Since Barbieri disappeared from the scene shortly before this date it is possible to speculate that he may have met a fate sim ilar to that of his friend the count.

Let us take a look at the works of Barbieri now on view at the Santa Barbara Historical Society headquarters.

First comes Ramona de los Angeles Lorenzana, of whom her grandson’s wife Mrs. L. W. Tryce of Bakersfield writes: “It was originally a very large portrait. Some one had applied what looked like shellac to it and this had darkened the portrait until it was quite undistinguishable. While I had it stored vandals broke into the storehouse and tore it badly—Later it was cut down to the tear and so now there is only the face of Ramona and the picture is about 6 x 15 inches.” It is good to report that through the great skill of Helmer Ericson a miracle of restoration has been performed. The fragment of canvas was attached to a new full sized canvas, the edges being painstakingly dove-tailed together at the junction to prevent slipping or uneven stretching. Where strong soap and harsh scrubbing had removed bits of paint Mr. Ericson applied new matching color and it was necessary to rebuild the left side of the face as it had been trimmed down in such a way that a considerable section was missing. These operations are now im perceptible and we now have the likeness of Ramona, her dark hair parted in the middle with a jewelled circlet across her forehead, several strands of pearls around her throat and her lovely brown eyes gazing serenely at us.

The second portrait is that of Don Jose de la Guerra painted in 1850.

It hung over the fireplace in the living room at the San Julian Ranch where 24

DON CARLOS ANTONIO CARRILLO*

decades of smoke and fumes had brought it to a sad condition. Our director <!iscovered it there and with the permission of a member of the family brought it to Santa Barbara where it was restored by the same hand that worked the marvelous transformation on Ramona Lorenzana. Don Joae was born in 1779 near Santander, Spain and at an early age was brought to America. After some years in Mexico and Monterey he came to Santa Bar bara in 1806 where he fell in love with and married Maria Antonia Carrillo.

Maria Antonia’s name appears frequently in subsequent generations of the family. Don Jose became the patriarch of his people and was the last com*In lliis rejiroduclion, unfortunately, the reds are not true to tlic.^e of the original.

25

mandante at the Santa Barbara Presidio. This portrait was the first Barbieri exhibited by the Historical Society.

Next comes the portrait of Judge Joaquin Carrillo. This portrait was discovered in a Santa Barbara barn where it was, like the one of Don Jose de la Guerra, so blackened by dirt, smoke and general neglect that the sub ject of the painting was difficult to recognize. Again Mr. Ericson’s skill was called upon and with a craftsman’s patience and knowledge he restored it to its present condition and we now have a fine representation of Carrillo’s judicial features. The judge who, although a third generation Spanish-Californian spoke no English, came from distinguished lineage being related to Picos and de la Guerras. His marriage to his sixteen year old cousin was a happy one and after her death he remained a sad and lonely widower for the last fourteen years of his life. He managed his inheritance shrewdly, developed a great cattle ranch and at the same time gave much service to his community. Presiding over all the District Courts of Southern California he maintained the prestige of his own people throughout the 55 years of his life. He died in 1868 and lies buried in the Old Mission at Santa Barbara.

The portrait produced herewith is that of Don Carlos Antonio Carrillo, born in 1783. Distinguished as a scholar one of his speeches “Exposion Sobre el Fonde Piadoso” was the first book published by a native Californian.

Continuing research shows Carlos Antonio to have been one of the most in fl uential figures in the development of the southwest. Barbieri has represented him as a man of character and determination. Cigarette in hand he sits sur veying the world with an appraising eye that follows one around the room wherever one moves. He wears the pleated shirt, wing collar and somewhat jaunty hat of the period and is the picture of aristocratic composure. This excellent portrait was in the possession of the Leo Carrillo family until the actor’s death in 1960 when through the courtesy of his daughter it, together with the painting of his wife, was loaned to the Santa Barbara Historical Society with the assurance that when the Society moves into its new build ing both would find a permanent home in the room which will be devoted to Carrillo memorabila.

The last portrait in this room is that of the wife of Carlos Antonio Carrillo who like him is poised and serene with a direct gaze, as indeed may be said of all the Barbieri’s seen by this writer. Maria Josefa Raymundo Castro y Romero, wears a close fitting black hat on her severely dressed hair, a large scarf or shawl fastened with a small cluster pin of pearls around her shoulders and her clasped hands hold a white paper or perhaps a napkin.

She appears in the prime of life blooming with health in which diet is unknown.

One other work of this Italian artist remains in Santa Barbara. It is the portrait of Jose Maria Gonzales Rubio O.F.M. which hangs in one of the rooms of the Mission arcade. Father Rubio in the habit and tonsure of the Franciscan order appears seated at a desk pen in hand looking up from his work as if momentarily interrupted. The portrait was painted as a testimon ial in recognition of the affectionate regard of his people and was presented to the padre by citizens of Santa Barbara who raised a fund of S300 to defray the cost. The tribute is lettered in the lower right hand corner of the canvas.

Like most of the others this picture was in dreadful condition when it came to light but was completely restored by Rob Wagner, brother of the late J. R. H. Wagner of Santa Barbara.

26

OTHER KNOWN PAINTINGS OF BARBIERI Padre Jose Gonzales Rubio at Old Mission, Santa Barbara (31” x 39”)—Painted at studio. Car rillo Ado^i 1850 Dr. William McKee

William E. P. Hartnell—Painted in Monterey Sehora W. E. P. Hartnell—Painted at Alisal in 18S0’s Edward H. Harrison, Collector of Port San Fran cisco—Painted in 1849

Mrs. William McKee (nee Concepcion Munras)— Painted in Monterey Don Jos6 Antonio Julian de la Guerra y Noriega (27*4” X 3S}4”)—Painted at studio, Carrillo Adobe. 1850 Conde Gastdn Raoul de Raoussct-Bouibon (14 X 18)4”)—California Historical Society —Purchased from a Paris dealer—Owned since 1939 Dona Catalina Manzaneli y Ponce Munras—Painted in Monterey

de

Leon

Rosario Estudillo Aguirr Painted in 1850, pos sibly in Santa Barbara but said by a descendant to be painted in her home, “Casa Aguirre”, in Old Town, San Diego Prudenciano Vallejo, sister of <3eneral Vallejo and wife of Don Jose Amesti—On loan at Customs House, Monterey

de Judge Joaquin Carrillo* Governor

Dona Ramona Lorenzana—Donated to Santa Bar bara Historical Society by Mrs. James Tryi Painted at studio, Carrillo Adobe, 1850

Carlos

Antonio Carrillo*

Maria Josefa Raymunda Antonio Carrillo*

General Jose de Castro (25)4” x 32)4”)—Painted in 1852—Owned by City of Hayward

●Painted in

Castro, wife

of

Carlos

1850 at the Carrillo Adobe studio

Director's Report The annual Spring luncheon of the Santa Barbara Historical Society was hel(J in the Garden Room of the Carrillo Hotel on April 22, 1963. Dr. John H. Kemble spoke on “The Maritime History of Santa Barbara.

Dr. Kemble of Pomona College is an authority on this subject and his talk was of unusual interest to the large audience of members and friends of the Historical Society.

This was an anniversary meeting commemorating the founding of the Royal Presidio of Santa Barbara, April 24, 1782 by Don Felipe de Neve, Fray Junipero Serra and Jose Francisco Ortega with his leather jacket sol diers. This anniversary is of special significance because of the Society’s project for several years of translating the Spanish California History of the Royal Presidio by Geraldine Sahyun and others for the Society archives.

Senate Bill 779, originally sponsored hy the Society was introduced by Senator Alvin C. Weingand on February 26, 1963. It has been passed by the California Senate and Assembly in Sacramento and is now on the Gov ernor’s desk for signature. No. 779 is a County enabling act similar to Assem bly Bill No. 2832 relating only to Cities, which was approved by the Govern or on July 16, 1959 and was used by the Santa Barbara City Council in enacting “El Pueblo Viejo” ordinance. Both Senator Weingand and Walter C. Frame, Chairman of the Conference of California Historical Societies, are to be congratulated on the passage of this important preservation legis lation.

This past year the story of Santa Barbara’s El Pueblo Viejo and the work on the preservation of her architectural heritage have become of na tional interest. Williamsburg, New Orlean’s Vieux Carre, the Beacon Hill Architectural Commission, the National Trust for Historic Preservation, all have been interested in what Santa Barbara has accomplished in preserving its unique atmosphere. Mr. John Codman of the Beacon Hill Architectural Commission and Mr. Jacob Morrison, lawyer for the Vieux Carre Commis sion in New Orleans, are writing a book together on historic preservation legislation. The story of Santa Barbara’s El Pueblo Viejo ordinance and the years of effort for architectural control will be documented in this legis lative book.

27

Your Society has been in correspondence with many Eastern and Cali fornia cities, answering questions about “El Pueblo Viejo” ordinance and whether a similar ordinance c^ help to preserve their historic areas. Among these are inquiries from Saint Augustine, Florida, from the City’s Historical Restoration and Preservation Committee. All available information was sent them for their Master Plan. Saint Augustine is picturesque and its historic architecture is in close sympathy with Santa Barbara’s.

Information was sent to the historic Savannah, Georgia Foundation, Inc., in answer to their request for a story of Santa Barbara’s “El Pueblo Viejo” for publication in their local paper. This was to inform their citizens what another community had accomplished in the preservation of its history.

On April 25, the Savannah Morning News printed this story entitled “Tourism Important to Santa Barbara”, which reviewed the history of his toric architecture from the Spanish period through the American period, the Bernhard Hoffman renaissance of Spanish Colonial architecture in the 1920’s to the enactment by the City Council of July 16, 1960 of “El Pueblo Viejo” ordinance.

Among the many communities in California which have asked for in formation and assistance, and in many cases have had conducted lours of our historic area, is San Juan Capistrano. This community presents opportun ities for development of a historic area. The City of Capistrano, through the efforts of its Chamber of Commerce, already has passed an ordinance called “Capistrano Viejo” creating an historic Pueblo area of 250 acres, surround ing the Old Mission. Because this site is mainly undeveloped except for a few historic landmarks, Capistrano has a unique opportunity to create a beautiful and attractive California Pueblo which could be without equal in the Los Angeles and San Diego areas; At the request of Simon Eisner and Lyle Stewart, and to be incorporated into their Master plans of both the County and City of Santa Barbara, your director, with the assistance of Robert E. Easton for Santa Maria, Rudolph Bagdons for Lompoc, Mrs. Robert P. Gleason for Santa Ynez, Horace Sexton for Goleta, Mrs. Guy W. Stockton for Carpinteria, has made a survey of the County and City and designated 94 landmarks and sites worthy of pres ervation and being marked. These have been located on City and County maps for Master Plan use.

About 30 years ago when one paid a gas bill at the local gas company office on the corner of Anacapa and Figueroa Streets, he would see and ad mire on the wall a very large and beautiful John M. Gamble painting, en titled “Wild Lilacs and Mountains”. This is one of his best canvasses. Then this picture disappeared, but not from the memories of many, and led a lonely life in different company offices in Los Angeles. On June 11 this mas terpiece unexpectedly was presented to the Society by the local Southern Counties Gas Company, a fine and very much apj)reciated gift.

On the 17th day of April, 1845, Pio Pico, Governor of the Department of the Upper California, granted to Dona Maria Antonia Dominguez de Cabellera, a tract of land in the County of Santa Barbara (The land grant was called The Sisquoc). In 1842, James H. Huie filed with the American Land Commissioners a petition to settle this private land claim. The land grant was finally approved by the U.S. District Court of Southern California 28

on February 5th, 1866. This important official land grant document is the recent gift to our Society by the former owners, Robert E. Easton and James Hall Bishop, representing the Bishop family. With this document was also a gift of an Abstract of Title of the Rancho Sisquoc, with the recording of transactions, law suits and all ownerships of this historic property.

On the corner of Santa Barbara and De la Guerra Streets, the building of the Society’s new home is now in an interesting stage. Of the 75,000 adobe bricks 25,000 now have been made on the site. The footings and founda tions have been laid and the walls of the basement are being poured. The enormous mound of earth that one observes will be used in part in making the remainder of the adobe bricks.

The basement will be 300 feet long and 24 feet wide, and presently is nearing completion. The adobe walls of the exhibition rooms, the library and stack room will rise to complete one of the important large adobe struc tures in the State. The basement on the De la Guerra side will be storage space for paintings, furniture, artifacts and other historic material not at the moment on exhibition. There will be a vault for the preservation of the rare books, manuscripts and family papers; and a store room and work room for the large collection of photographic negatives, some taken as early as the 1880’s, photographs of the Missions of California by Norman H. Reed.

Beginning on the Santa Barbara Street side of the basement will be a dark room. Next to this space will be two large rooms for storage of early rec ords of the County Courthouse from 1850 to 1870, and library storage.

The plan of the exhibition rooms on the first floor will be described in the next Noticias.

NEW MEMBERS ACTIVE Mr. and Mrs. Shreve Ballard

Miss Helen Murphy Miss Mary Murphy Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon T. Mills

Mrs. Walter K. Bast Mr. and Mrs. Robert Bales

Dr. John D. Mackellar Mrs. Barbara Sexton MacLean

Mr. and Mrs. E. P. Bradbury Mr. and Mrs. Harry P. Brobst Mrs. Frederic Brossy Mrs. William A. Doane Mr. and Mrs. Jack Edwards

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor McDougail Miss Matilde Lowery Mrs. Adeline R. Ogram Mrs. Irving D. Parmeter Mr. and Mrs. Fred Pierce

Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Ellison Mrs. George Elmott Mr. Eugene Fowler Mr. John G. Goodman

Mrs. Mary D. Reynolds Mrs. Clarence Rouse

Brig. General and Mrs. Ralph H. Goldthwaile Miss Joan Gray Mrs. Dorothy Griffith

Mr. J. E. Robertson Mrs. Joan Cady Sartorius Miss Hazel W. Severy

Mr. and Mrs. Alwyn Hartnell Mr. and Mrs. Gordon D. Hernlund

Mrs. V. R. Seymour Mr. William Smitheram

Mrs. Gary Hess Mrs. Frank Hodges Mr. and Mrs. Josiah C. Jenkins

Mr. and Mrs. Cecil I. Smith Mrs. Howard Smith

Mr. and Mrs. George Kammer Dr. John H. Kemble Miss Geraldine Messick

Mr. and Mrs. Harry S. Turner Mrs. Richard Tryce Mr. William P. Van Horn

Mrs. Jessie Stinson

29

Mr. and Mrs. John C. Vesey Mr. and Mrs. Rugee White Mrs. L. E. Woods Mr. and Mrs. Richard Whitehead Mr. and Mrs. C. P. York Commander and Mrs. Allan D. Yost

Mrs. Joseph L. Seligman Mr. and Mrs. Justin Sholes Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Wheeler Dr. and Mrs. Kent Wilson CONTRIBUTING

SUSTAINING Major General and Mrs. Wayne R. Allen Miss Helen Andros Mr. and Mrs. Albert T. Case Dr. and Mrs. Daniel M. Clark Miss Margaret Daley Mr. and Mrs. W. H. Ferry Marchese and Marchesa di Ruffano Ferrante Mr. and Mrs. A. J. Hooper Mrs. Francis Kauffman Mr. Harlan Meredith Mr. and Mrs. John MacVeagh Mr. John R. Northup Mr. and Mrs. Robert Pitts Mr. Francis Pratt Mrs. Rhoda Prud'homme

Mr. E. A. Gilbert Mr. and Mrs. William Luton Mrs. William Maris PATRON Mr. and Mrs. Roy M. Bauer Mrs. Harold C. Bodman Dr. and Mrs. William Bollay Mrs. Byron L. Doty Mr. and Mrs. Allan G. Hancock Dr. Frances Holden Mrs. Herbert T. King Mr. and Mrs. C. H. Jackson, Jr. Mrs. Helen Olmstead Mr. and Mrs. William Pettis Mr. and Mrs. David Pitts Mrs. Margaret Von Soosten

Activity Report—Women's Projects Board On April 23, Mrs. Ray II. Paine, chairman of the board, entertained with a garden buffet luncheon at her home, at which time new members were welcomed, Roster and By-law booklets were distributed, and summer plans were completed.

Mrs. L. E. Wood headed the committee on arrangements for the “Doll Festival” held at the Fernald House on May 3, as a benefit to provide funds with which to build display cases for a growing collection of costumes and other treasures given by friends. This exhibit of “Dolls of Yesteryear” was the third in a series of “soirees” planned for this year, and was so well received' that a similar event may be given next May. The first “soiree” of the series was held at the home of Mrs. Paul Jones, on November 16, 1962, with Mrs. Ernest Menzies showing motion pictures which she had taken in India during the years the Menzies were living in Calcutta. A collection of art objects, saris and jewelry were also on display.

A second event was presented at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Edmond Katenkamp, on April 6. Mrs. Hal Kelly, of Riverside, sister of the hostess, told of her experiences as a student of an outstanding Navajo silversmith.

Yellow Hair”, in Arizona, and brought her collection of her own handwrought jewelry, as well as fine examples of work made by Hopi, Zuni and Navajo craftsmen.

The June 11 “soiree' was held at the home of Mrs. Riley Brown where colored slides taken this past year by Miss Eleanor Hoffman, author-lecturer, in Timbuktu, French West Africa, were shown to the guests.

30

Participation in Old Spanish Days has become traditional for the Pro jects Board through the Casa Tours (visits to historic adobes or other homes of interest). Members are busy making arrangements for the fourth annual tour, scheduled to be held on Sunday, August 4, prior to Fiesta week— August 7 to 10. Homes tentatively arranged for are those of Byron A. Abra ham, Dr. Paul L. Ashton, Robert Hoyt and the Hunt-Stombach home, through the kindness of the Assistance League. Refreshments will be served in the gardens of the Fernald House and the Trussell-Winchester Adobe.

Proceeds from the Casa Tours are used for maintaining the two historic homes throughout the year.

Newly-elected Honorary Members are: Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill, Mrs. Elmer H. Whittaker, Miss Pearl Chase, Mrs. Max Schott, Miss Maria Lorenza Trussell, Miss Jennie Kimberly, Mrs. Herman Eddy and Miss Rosario Curletti. Other new members are: (Active) Mrs. Frank C. Learned; (As sociate) Mmes. William S. Barton, Riley Brown, John Delos Elliott, Wil liam Harrison, Francis B. Manchester, Josephine Plunkett, Richard V. Ray mond, Sydney Barton Robinson, Elizabeth M. Smith, Edward L. Tuohy, William Van Buskirk, John C. Vesey, G. D. Hernlund and Arthur Kvaas.

Recent donors and their gifts: From Cameron Rogers (a grandson of Judge Charles Fernald) a collection of photographs of his paternal grandparents, the Hon. Sherman S. Rogers, and Christina (Cameron) Rogers; of Robert Cameron Rogers and Beatrice (Fernald) Rogers, the donor’s father and mother, and of his maternal grandfather, Charles Fernald, also several portraits of himself and his two brothers, Sherman and Alan, made in 1907, in “Buster Brown” suits. Mr. Rogers also presented an autographed copy of his biography, “A County Judge in Arcady” to our growing library.

From Mrs. Ernest Menzies—“Navajo Trading Days”, by Elizabeth Compton Hegemann.

From Mrs. Inez Vanachek small doll which had been her grand mother Felicitas Peleda’s, in Mexico, more than one hundred years ago.

From Mrs. Herman H. Eddy—three formal Victorian chairs, six cot tage-type, rush-bottom chairs, a rosewood console table, and an Indian horn-spoon.

From Mr. Nils Fredor Nilson—an old Spanish cannon ball which he picked up last winter on the beach below the former site of the early-day Spanish fort at the top of the cliffs.

A new Guest Register was presented by Chapter IJ, P.E.O. Sisterhood, through member Mrs. George H. Finley, as an expression of appreciation for the use of the Fernald House as a meeting place last January.

On May 11, the Fernald House provided an appropriate setting for a display of old “Americana”—dolls, quills, china and glassware, tintypes an d other items of interest from pre-Revolutionary days to the 1880’s— by the alumnae of Gamma Phi Beta sorority. Members of the Women’s Projects Board assisted as hostesses and guides for tours in the two houses.

School tours continue to be popular, with two classes of fifth-graders and their teachers, from Goleta Union School, on March 28; a fourthgrade from Goleta Union School, on April 15, and a fifth-grade class from the Cathedral Oaks School, on June 3. Letters of thanks were written by 31

the students following their visits, while many of these children have re turned with their parents, so that they can also view these historic dwell ings.

With the splendid cooperation of local news-media, attendance at the Sunday afternoon guided tours is steadily increasing. Any members of the Historical Society who might wish to assist in this activity should contact Mrs. Charles Stevens, Sr., staffing chairman, or Mrs. Ray Paine. Their assist ance will be very welcome.

Progress at the Memorial Garden The Fernald House Memorial Garden, formally dedicated last Novem ber 18, is moving rapidly to achieve the form outlined in its master plan, created by John H. Hartfeld, local landscape designer. Trees and shrubs planted last Fall, as well as a variety of ground covers, are blooming and seem well oriented. Green enamelled metal markers identify the various plantings. Work is under way in the area surrounding the ancient Sapota tree which stands to the west of the Fernald House, in order to preserve its life. A stone-lined well is to be constructed around its base, and flag stones and pebbles will be used for finishing the surface of the higher elevation within the circle.

Mr. Hartfeld, who most generously is donating his services to the project, not only in its planning but in supervising the planting and main tenance, was honored guest at the dedication tea in November. The event was presided over by Mrs. Gene M. Harris, then chairman of the Women’s Projects Board, and Mrs. Godwin Pelissero, chairman of the garden pro motion committee. The Rev. Richard F. Ayers, rector of Trinity Episcopal Church, officiated at the outdoor ceremonies.

The names of donors to the garden project, as well as those in whose memory the contributions are given, are inscribed in a memorial book.

Contemporaries of Judge Charles Fernald from the time of his arrival in Santa Barbara (1852) until his death (1892) will be accepted by the re search committee. Recorded to date are: Henry Chapman Ford, artist and first president of the Santa Barbara County Horticultural Society—donor, the Santa Barbara County Horticultural Society; Don Nicholas A. Den, prom inent stock raiser, first owner of Dos Pueblos Rancho, last alcalde of Santa Barbara under Mexican rule—donor, his great granddaughter, Mrs. George Hammond Fiske; Mrs. Rebecca Ruth Ord Peshine, only daughter of early physician and rancher. Dr. James L. Ord, and his wife, Dona Maria de las Angustias de la Guerra (daughter of Jose de la Guerra and his wife, Maria Antonia Carrillo, the latter a daughter of Raimundo Carrillo)—donor, Mrs. A. W. Thompson; Jarret T. Richards, law partner of Judge Fernald, found ers of the law firm which has become Price, Postel and Parma—donor, Price, Postel and Parma; Miss Sarah Eliot Blanchard, daughter of Nathan Weston Blanchard (founder of the City of Santa Paula, and one of the original trustees of Pomona College), niece of Mrs. Charles (Hannah Hobbs) Fernald, and author of “Memories of a Child’s Early California Days”— donor, her nephew. Dean Hobbs Blanchard. The Fernald Family garden has been provided for by the Women’s Board.

WiLBERTA M. Finley

32

SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY OFFICERS Presidenl First Vice President....

Second Vice President

.Dr. Hilmar 0. Koefod Hugh J. Weldon Mrs. Wilson Forbes Paul G. Sweetser

Secretary Treasurer Past President

Mrs. Henry Griffiths .Thomas J. McDermott

DIRECTORS Mrs. Charles H. Cannon Mrs. Robert Ingle Hoyt John D. Gill Garrett Van Horne Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill Elmer H. Whittaker Rev. Virgil Cordano Dr. Irving N. Wills Mrs. Godwin Pelissero Thomas M. Storke* John Galvin* John Jordano, Jr. Lockwood Tower Edward S. Spaulding * Honorary Directors W. Edwin Gledhill Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill

.Museum Director Curator Editor-in-Chief

Edward Selden Spaulding

GIFTS Mr. James Hall Bishop Mr. Henry M. Brown The Dibblee Estate Madame L. D’larbre Mr. Robert Easton

Sister Mary Dominica McNaiiiee Mr. James McPhee Miss Maria Margeili Mrs. Dwight Murphy Mrs. M. Russell Perkins Mrs. Paul Rea Mr. Max Richter

Mr. Eugene Fowler Mrs. G. Hiles Mr. Prynce Hopkins Cdr. Dudley J. Kiernlfl Miss Lois Jean Kinevan Mrs. William Lassiter Mrs. W. H. Lazear Miss Anna Blake Lincoln

Mr. Cameron Rogers Mrs. .A. B. Ruddock Mr. Russell Ruiz Southern Counties Gas Company Miss Ann Seeling Mrs. Malcolm K. Smith

Mr. and Mrs. John Lomis

Mrs. Marguerite Eyer Taylor Mr. R. S. Williams

Mr. Timothy McMahon

IN MEMORIAM Miss Inez Dibblee Mr. H. S. Cable Dr. McKinley Helm

Mr. William McDuffie Mrs. Howard Outerbridgc Dr. Neville Ussher

HISTORICAL SOCIETY MEMBERSHIP Classes of membersliijH Benefactor, $100; Patron, $25; Contributing, $15; Sustaining, $10; Active, $7.50; Student, $5. Dues are tax deductible.

MAILING

ADURESS: OLD

MISSION, SANTA

BARBARA, CALIFORNIA

NOTICIA5 QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY OLD MISSION SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA

Non-Profit Org.

U. S. Postage PAID Santa Borbara, Calif.

Permit No. 534