George Parrish Tebbetts: Pioneer Newspaperman by Santa Barbara Historical Museum

Vol. XVI, No. 3

Fall, 1970

GEORGE PARRISH TEBBETTS in the Middle 1880’s

COVER PICTURE The drawing on the cover, by Rus.sell Ruiz, represents the Pacific CoastSteamship Company’s PANAMA arriving in San Francisco on June 8, 1849.

GEORGE PARRISH TEBBETTS Pioneer Newspaperman

By Nathan A. Tehbetts One of Santa Barbara’s early citizens was George Parrish Tebbelts, a native of New Hampshire, who, upon graduation from Dartmouth College in 1848, despite a medical degree, took, a position with a large Boston ship ping concern just as the California Gold Rush fever had hit the Atlantic Coast. Shipping on the schooner EDWIN, and following a stormy voyage, Tebbetts reached Chagres on the Gulf Coast of Panama in the wake of an already crushing surge of gold seekers bent on getting to California by the fastest possible way. Panama was notoriously ill equipped and unready for the unprecedented crowds of people arriving by every makeshift vessel from the Atlantic Coast and even from Europe and South America. With practically no ac commodations the living conditions on the Isthmus were well nigh intollerable. Tebbetts, finding no adequate transportation, walked the sixty miles or more across the Isthmus, hiring two Panamanian boys as cargadores for his baggage. While waiting at Panama on the Pacific side, for a ship for California, Tebbetts found himself caught in a quarantine that existed on account of a yellow fever epidemic and had to remain there for two months. During this time he volunteered to attend many gravely ill persons whom he later came to know well, some of whom became prominent in California’s pioneering days. Among these was Mrs. John C. Fremont, who was on her way to join her famous husband in California. They later became life-long friends. More than 2,000 people who had already crossed the Isthmus, crowded the beaches of Panama waiting anxiously for ships to take them to San Francisco. Many had waited for months and had been by-passed at least twice by overcrowded ships already carrying capacity loads from the States by way of Cape Horn. More people were arriving every day by way of Chagres. Already the first of the newly commissioned Pacific Mail Steamship Company’s sidewheelers, the CALIFORNIA and the OREGON, after long voyages around the Horn, had arrived, each loaded to capacity but being forced to take on additional passengers to the utmost limits of the ship’s space, and had departed for California.

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Two months after the OREGON had departed, the company’s third steamer, the PANAMA arrived, loaded, like its predecessors, to the gunwales with Argonauts from the East Coast and from South America. To board her seemed hopeless, even for those who had waited so long. Tebbetts was fortunate, however, in having in his pocket a personal letter of introduction from the Captain of the EDWIN to Captain David Dixon Porter of the PANAMA, son of the famous naval hero who, himself a few years later was to take New Orleans in the Civil War and to retire as an Admiral. With this letter, Tebbetts was able to gain passage, leaving behind as as many as 10,000 angry travelers on the beaches of Panama. The ship departed for San Francisco on May 18th, 1849 in the midst of the greatest instant migration in American History. The PANAMA ar rived off the Golden Gate after 20 days of steaming and sailing up the Pacific Coast, on June 8th, 1849. Sees Hundreds of Abandoned Ships As the crowded sidewheeler rounded Telegraph Hill and finally dropped anchor near Rincon Point, Tebbetts was appaled by the sight of several hundred ships of every description which had arrived before him and had already been abandoned by their crews and passengers, all of whom had madly rushed to the Sierras in search of the illusive yellow metal which was their Pied Piper since the first moment they heard of Marshall’s dis covery at Sutter’s Mill. San Francisco, lately known only as Yerba Buena, and having a population of a few dozen Mexicans and Indians, was already becoming a crowded city with a frantically moving population, some on their way to the diggings and others returning and awaiting passage home. It was only fifteen years since Richard Henry Dana aboard the brig PILGRIM, also out of Boston, had first looked upon the all but nameless sand hills that now, at the beginning of 1850, saw forty thousand newcomers living in everything from packing boxes and ragged tents to the beached hulks of abandoned ships. Tebbels found some of the first miners already returning from the diggings, some with small fortunes and some broken in health and penniless, all ready to get back to the States or to find other means of making a liveli hood in the burgeoning Pacific metropolis,

With as little delay as possible Tebbetts acquired an outfit commonly sold to prospective miners at scandalously high prices, and secured the services of a Chinese boy as assistant and companion, and made his way to the Middle Fork of the American River.

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Unlike scores of other tenderfeet turned miners, Tebbetts was quite successful in the mining country and by wintertime he and the Chinese boy, who would not leave him, returned to San Francisco with some $70,000 in gold. He settled with the boy for his services, giving him two or three thousand dollars in gold. The boy returned to China with his small fortune and many years passed. Then, one day, nearly half a century later, when Tebbetts was living in Santa Barbara, the Chinese boy returned to America, made inquiries as to the present whereabouts of his former employer, learned that he was living in the South, and turned up almost miraculously at Tebbet’s office, a commentary on the faithfulness and persistency of the Oriental. In 1850 Tebbetts became associated with a merchant in San Francisco but remained in that business but a short time. On November 10th of that year he sailed aboard the brig FREMONT, for San Diego. There he soon opened a general merchandise store and later operated the Exchange Hotel which was the rendezvous of the day for many of the prominent early Califorians as they passed through that town on their way up the coast to the northern counties. A year later Mr. Tebbetts was elected City Councilman of San Diego and soon after. President of the Board of Trade. At this time he was also Acting Mayor of the city and later became Mayor in 1852 and 1853. In 1851 a convention was held in Santa Barbara for the purpose of considering the division of California into two halves. Mr. Tebbetts was sent by San Diego as a delegate to this conclave which took the first steps toward the establishment of two states, but its work was never completed. Indian Uprising In that same year martial law was declared in San Diego on account of an Indian uprising involving the Yumas, the Tulares and the Agua Calientes. Tebbetts was chosen lieutenant of a company of cavalry and was one of 31 volunteers to go to the mountains in search of a band of 1500 allegedly well armed red men. The Commandante of the City, Major Fitz gerald, had drawn up his forces and asked for volunteers for the impending campaign some ninety miles away. The resultant company quickly made their way to the Indians’ hideout, engaged them in combat and completely routed them, capturing their second in command, a renegade American named Bill Marshall, and a Mexican. The Chief of the revolting tribes, Antonio, was shot in San Diego after a courtmartial trial, and the two prisoners taken by the Volunteers were both hung when the troops returned to the city following two months of actual service. A story told to the author by his father when he was a boy, involved a raid by Indians on the Volunteers’ camp in the mountains during the

aforementioned campaign. He said that a young boy of seventeen was acting as scout for the company and was on duty one night as a sentry when he fell asleep, which in the military is punishable by death. The Indians, under cover of darkness, stealthily entered camp, stole some guns and ammunition and managed to get away undetected. There was naturally great excitement when the men awakened at daybreak and discovered their losses. When it was learned that the sentry had been asleep, the Commander, Colonel McGruder, wanted the boy shot. Tebbetts and some other members of the company opposed this harsh punishment and a final decision was post poned until they should return to the City. When the company returned to San Diego, a courtmartial was held and the boy was exonerated on the word of Captain Tebbetts who pleaded that he was a citizen and, only 17 years old. The verdict caused considerable ill feeling between the two officers. The incident later developed into a chal lenge to a duel to settle the affair. The San Diego Herald of November 27, 1851, described the duel as follows: A worthy medico and learned disciple of Aesculapius conceiving his honor wounded by some remark of the Major General commanding the Southern Division of the State troops, demanded reparation after the most approved methods. Seconds duly appointed and provided with Derringer’s best, loaded with blank cartridges: posted the parties on the Plaza at 2 o’clock A.M., on the morning of the 24th. inst. “Gentlemen are you ready? Fire! one, two, three,’’ Bang! went Medico’s pistol and down tumbled the General, who, quickly recovering himself, advanced rapidly upon his alarmed antagonist, threatening to blow his brains out. It is said that Medico (notwithstanding John Barley-corn templed him to stand firm) furnished the amused spectators with a specimen of tall walking, and has since claimed the protection of Martial law; painting his grieviances in a light, most amusing to all who were in on the secret. If Medico will recur to his early reading, he may chance to remember the accounts of the aspiring boy who, in his efforts to get to the top of a tall Bean, met with a mighty fall—pointing a moral that has since adorned many a tale. Hanging of Horse Thieves While Tebbetts was Mayor of San Diego in 1853 there was a hanging of three horse thieves. As was customary in those days of frequent hangings, most of the townspeople morbidly crowded around the macabre scene. One end of a rope was fashioned into a noose and put over the head of the thief, the rope was then thrown over a stout branch of a tree, and the rest of the rope was played out along the road or street as far as it would reach. The crowd would lay hold of the rope and at a given signal, pull in unison, tight ening the noose and drawing up the hapless victim. “This particular hanging,” the elder Tebbetts told the author, “caused considerable discussion throughout the country and even went so far as to have Federal investigators sent out from Washington to find out about these hangings that were going on.” My father told me that when the Federal Investigators called on him at his office in San Diego to arrest him and such other persons as were

implicated, he told the Government man that he would be glad to submit to arrest providing that he also arrested the rest of the people concerned. When the Investigators asked for the names of the other people con cerned, my father told them that they would have to arrest nearly all of the people of the town, as it was estimated that nearly 2,000 men, women and children had ahold of the rope in the hangings. The Investigators completed their report, returned to Washington and nothing further was ever heard of the incident. During Mr. Tebbetts’ residence in San Diego, the celebrated John Phoenix (Captain George E. Derby), author of Squibob Papers and other Phoenixiana, and often described as the Mark Twain of early San Diego days, was a guest at his house and wrote some of his most amusing articles at that time. George Tebbetts owned Rancho San Luis Rey out of San Diego in the early 50’s and 60’s. He used to tell stories about the Padres at the Mission allowing him to drive his cattle into the Mission during bad weather for protection. In return he supplied the Padres with grain and cattle during the months of panic when food was scarce. Vigilantes Put Down Crime It was this period that crime in California was rampant, especially stage coach robbers, ranch bandits and horse thieves. The only recourse for the protection of life and property was the establishment of the famous Vigilantes. Tebbetts was a member of this extra-legal law enforcement organi zation. Outlaws who were caught were summarily tried by the Committee and executed. The action of the Vigilantes arbitrary and harsh though it was, helped to reduce major crimes and to bring law and order to California. George Tebbetts moved to Santa Barbara in 1863 where he bought San Roque Ranch. With some associates he became interested in the promotion of the Santa Barbara Morning Press. Charles Fayette McGlasham became Edi tor on October 16th, 1880 and on December 27th became proprietor. Tebbets became Business Manager and held that position for several years. Later he purchased the Weekly Independent and early in 1883 converted it into a daily. He controlled and operated the Daily Independent until the Bank Panic of 1893. A man by the name of LaVais took over the paper but the townspeople became incensed at the change and circulated a petition urging Tebbetts to start another evening paper. This met with such favor with the business people and the bankers that George Tebbetts was able to secure a second evening franchise from the Associated Press, which was said to be the first instance in which that news-gathering organization granted a sec ond evening paper franchise to any community with such a small population, less than 6,000.

Following this episode Tebbets started and published the Daily News for a number of years, associating himself with Frank Sands, who was Editor. These years, just before the turn of the Century, were among Tebbetts’ most pleasurable. He became friends with the famous Judge C. A. Storke, father of Thomas M. Storke, owner-publisher of Santa Barbara’s leading newspaper for more than 60 years; Joel Fithian and George Edwards, the pioneer banker and scores of other business and social leaders of the time. He remained with the News until 1907 when he was 77 years old when he moved to San Francisco to live with the author of this biography. He died on January 9, 1909 and was buried in Santa Barbara Cemetary by the Masonic Lodge. In George Parrish Tebbetts’ long life he held many offices of responsi bility and trust in and out of Federal, State, County and local government. He was Assessor of Internal Revenue in San Diego, Deputy Internal Revenue Collector for his district, Postmaster of Santa Barbara under Presidents Grant and Hayes. He was several times Republican representative at con ventions in Sacramento. However, he never sought office from his party. He declined the consulship at Acapulco, Mexico, tendered him by President Pierce for faithful services. He held a commission in the United States Signal Service and for many years kept meterological data for Santa Barbara and elsewhere. He was a charter member of the Society of California Pioneers. He was married in San Diego in 1854 and in 1887 married a second time to Miss Mary Jones in Santa Barbara. never Contemporary records speak of him as “genial and obligin offensive, always sacrificing a point to conciliate an opponent. He was an extensive reader in general literature and enjoyed a well informed literary career.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Nathan A. Tebbetts, author of the preceding biographical sketch of his father, George Parrish Tebbetts, a pioneer newspaperman of Santa Barbara, was affiliated for more than a half century, with fPilliam Randolf Hearst and the San Francisco Examiner, having followed his father’s profession. Retiring in 1964, he returned to the city of his birth where he pre sented his library, an accumulation of some sixty years, including that of his father, to the University of California, Santa Barbara. It was our belief that this record of the life of an early newspaperman of Santa Barbara should have a permanent place in the history of our community. To our knowledge the only printed record of the senior Tebbetts is an article contained in Thompson and West’s History of Santa Barbara and Ventura Counties, first published in 1883. Here, then, is a brief account of George Parrish Tebbetts who first came to Santa Barbara from New Hamp shire in 1863.—Ed.

Members of the Editorial and Mechanical staffs of the early day Santa Barbara Independent. George Tebbetts seated in center.

The Daily News located on West Ortega Street in the 1890^s. George Tebbetts at extreme left. —7—

HAROLD STUART CHASE The Santa Barbara Historical Society, like many of our leading civic, cultural and charitable institutions, keenly felt the loss, last summer, of one of its most distinguished friends and benefactors, Harold Stuart Chase. Among his many generous acts was the gift of his book, HOPE RANCH, A RAMBLING RECORD” a thousand copies of which were published, profits of which were to accrue to the Society. He evinced deep interest in our institution as he did in the Art Museum, the Museum of Natural History {of which he was president for fourteen years), the Santa Barbara Trust for Historic Preservation, the Cottage Hos pital, and many others. Mr. Chase, brother of Dr. Pearl Chase, was the prime developer of Hope Ranch and built the first mansion there, “Las Terrasas” in 1925. His daughter was married in 1938 to the Marquis of Lansdown. His father established the H. G. Chase Real Estate Company early in the Century, an institution which is still doing business on State Street. Mr. Chase will be remembered for his leadership in Santa Barbara in the many civic affairs which occupied his time and attention throughout his long life.

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THE COYOTE FIRE OF 1964 By Hugh }. Weldon None of us ivho were here and watched the terrible Coyote Fire of 1964 ivill ever forget it. It must be recorded as an episode in the. history of Santa Barbara. Fortunately, Hugh Weldon, longtime associate of the Santa Barbara Historical Society, and its Second Vice-President, wrote the story of that fire on October 10, 1964, less than 2 weeks later. We have asked his permission to print it in NOTICIAS, and here it is, with all the intensity and thrill of those never-to-be-forgotten, hours.—Ed.

This is a personal account of the great Santa Barbara fire, as we saw and experienced it. Probably, the full story can never be told. There was too much happening in too short a time. Over a hundred homes were burned; orchards and gardens were ruined; great areas of brushland were devastated; the mountains were desolated. The threat of winter floods was extreme. However, there was no loss of life, except for one firefighter, caught on the summit when the fire leaped across. On Tuesday morning, September 21st, 1964, Santa Barbara was its ordinary peaceful self. When I woke up from my usual afternoon nap about three p.m., there was the sound of screaming fire engines, and the roaring of planes fairly close overhead. As these sounds are not too uncommon, fire engines often using their sirens as they return from town up Mountain Drive to the Sheffield fire station, I thought little of it. But when I went outside, I saw an ominous cloud of smoke mushrooming up over the foothills to the east, the dread sign of brush fire back of Montecito. On the way to town, I drove up the Sheffield Reservoir road, to the top of the Riviera, and from there saw a hot and dangerous fire going in the area of the Coyote Road ● Mountain Drive junction, trees and brush blazing, flames dancing, smoke rolling up in clouds, here and there a house standing in a waste of burned over, ash-covered ground. From the city, we could see the huge smoke cloud hanging over the Riviera Hills. In the late afternoon of a hot, dry day, my son Doug and I took his boy Dirk to the beach for a romp in the water. There seemed to be a definite lessening of the fire. It had gone up somewhat on the mountain slope, but stopped, and there was a small amount of smoke coming up out of one of the canyons. But it looked like the dying threat of what might have been a monster. We drove home, greatly encouraged. There was little on the radio but the fire, then and for the next two days. There were reports of homes burned, the threat to Wsstmont Collge and

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the fight to save two dormitories, from which all students had been evacuated, of men and equipment coming in from other communities. By evening, it seemed that the fire was being contained, that the worst was over. After supper, Helen was in the kitchen, and I was quietly reading in the living room. Doug came in to speak to his mother. She called excitedly to me to come and look, and I strolled to the dining room window, un* worried. That was my last easy moment for two days. For it had happened. The fire had broken loose. Great flames were leaping up the long ridges rising from Mountain Drive. We watched with horrified fascination. Then Doug and I went out to fix hoses strategically, and to wet down the roofs of our homes. The air was hot and close, with fluttering warm breezes. The flames were moving up Montecito Peak, clearly out of control. The radio told of the fire jumping into Hot Springs Canyon, which meant com ing our way. Residential areas on the fringe of the fire were being evacuated. It began to look like the “big one,” dreaded for years. Our friends, the Lewises called to offer us a home in case of need. We replied hopefully that it did not seem necessary, at least, not yet. Other friends called. But as yet, the fire did not seem to threaten us. All night, the flames moved up the mountains back of Montecito, but did not seem to be moving west toward us. But it was an uneasy night, unusually warm, and with the unpredictable threat hanging over us.

Wednesday Wednesday morning was hot and close, with warm breezes, too warm. However, when I took Dirk to the beach toward noon, it looked as though the fire had been slowed down, if not stopped, on its westerly edge, somewhat west of Montecito Peak. One canyon, high in the range in that area, was sending up great clouds of smoke; but down the mountain there was little sign of fire. Airplanes were roaring overhead, to dump borate on the hot spots. Reports on the radio spoke of Santanna winds up in the mountains, hot, dry winds that are red meat for a fire; but down below the air was comparatively quiet. All afternoon, the heat continued. There was hope, mixed with an uneasy uncertainty. The radio crackled on and on, with news of menacing flames toward the east, of a possible stoppage of the westerly drive of the fire. We began to breathe a little easier, beginning to think it might not happen to us. By dinnertime, however, all hell had broken loose on the mountain. The fire was now driving westward in great sheets of flame, roaring hundreds of feet into the smoky, heated air. The peak between Montecito Peak and Roundtop was engulfed, and in a little while Roundtop itself was ablaze.

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I was on the roof in the early evening, with the hose, and faced a burning mountain range. It was unbelievable, a wild and terrifying spectacle, a nightmare out of hell. There it was, blazing before me, but I was becoming too stunned in mind and spirit really to take it in. Flames were racing up canyons and ridges to the summit of the range, and driving into the west. Great areas of the mountain were vast sheets of flame. The radio reported that the fire, having crossed the summit, was burning down the other side toward Santa Ynez River. The fire above us, on the slopes of Roundtop, was so bright that, across the head of Mission Canyon, Arlington Crag and La Cumbre Peak were lighted up as though with floodlights. Word came that the fireguard on La Cumbre was getting out.

“This Is The End!”

Thinking

Unrelated smaller fires broke out in several places; they may have been backfires, but I could not tell. I could only stand there, alone on the fire-lighted roof, mechanically hosing it down, too numb in spirit to keep up hoping, only thinking: “This is the end. What now can keep the fire out of the lower canyon and the Town?” But they did not spread too far, these smaller fires; something toned them down, adverse winds, fire-fighting, or Providence, I do not know. The fire, great flames roaring across Upper Rattlesnake and Mission Canyons, now broke in fiery surf on Arlington Crag, and the whole moun tain side, up to La Cumbre flaming like a torch, was one continuous fiery mass. This couldn’t be fought. All that men and equipment could do was to nibble around the edges, trying to keep the fire from coming down into the lower canyons. And with the fire reaching toward the west, the radio told of men and equipment hurrying to San Marcos Pass, in a desperate attempt there to stop the holocaust. The range loomed above us; the flames were only a few miles away. From a few hundred feet above sea level to the summit at nearly four thousand feet, the fire was outspread before our eyes. It was like a vast diorama of flame. We had a ringside seat at hell. By eleven o’clock in the evening, the fire above us was coming down the mountainside, nibbling at the Tunnel Road area of Mission Canyon, beginning to threaten us all below. Helen gave up and decided to leave. We had packed suitcases with clothing and put them into one of the cars. I had put my photographic slides and a few valuable papers in them. We were ready to go, leaving our furni ture, books and home behind. Helen telephoned the Lewises. Then we were off down Tornoe Road, Helen driving the Rambler, I following in the Lincoln. After Helen was shown her room, she drove me home in the Rambler, and (Continued on Page 14)

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From La Cumbre Peak to Old San Marcos Pass Road the mountains were a mass of f

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—Photo by Eldon Patch for Santa Barbara News-Press

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then went back. Doug and I were staying on the job, but we wanted the women and the cars out of there, except for a car for Norma, when she decided to leave, and my old car for emergency. From time to time, Doug and I went up to hose down our roofs. By three o’clock in the morning, the whole mountain range north of us was ablaze. The fire was driving toward San Marcos. The sky was lighted up with flames, and with moonlight tarnished by smoke. Towering flames were only a couple of miles up Tunnel Road, and coming fast. The radio said that the people in our area should evacuate.

Areas Must Be Evacuated We felt fairly safe where we were, as there was little brush or dry grass around our homes. But if the Canyon flared up, the heat would be ter rific, and the trees on the slopes below us and around us might catch fire. Then we could be in for it, and hoses dribbling on the roof wouldn’t help very much. A little after three, Doug decided that his wife and boy should get out. was asleep, and he stayed asleep, fortunately, as Doug brought him out and laid him gently on the front seat of the car. Doug and I debated as to whether one of us should follow Norma out toward Goleta, where she

Dirk

had sanctuary in a friend’s house. She would be driving alone, with a sleep ing four year old beside her, and no telling what activity on the roads. He realized all this, but he could not bear to leave his threatened house. Finally, it was decided that I should follow her out in my car, be sure of her safe arrival, and then come back to join Doug in the watch on the fire. I was glad I went. Not that she was in any real danger, but we had the satisfaction of knowing she and the boy were safe. But more than that, I had a tremendous view of the fire to the west. From La Cumbre Peak to the old San Marcos Pass Road, the mountains were a mass of flame, great spires of fire leaping up, canyons blazing, fire roaring up to the summit of the range. The fire had swept along the mountain over five miles since midnight. It seemed as if it were driven by a great wind. It had the look, along the base of the range, above the foothills, as though a giant on a great pogo stick had travelled along the mountain, starting a blaze whenever he landed. And the fire was starting to come down into the foothills.

Beautiful, But Wild and Frightening It was a vast and beautiful scene, but wild and frightening. There was flame and smoke, but no sound; the blazing mountains were wrapped in i an eerie silence. It was all as though it were the moving backdrop for a terrible, tragic play.

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Returnin C” I knew Foothill Road was closed, so came back on the Freeway, and up Alamar Avenue. There I was faced with a flaming hill, the hill at the upper end of Alamar Avenue, flaring like a giant’s fireworks. A strong wind the wrong way could have driven the fire across Foothill Road, into the San Roque tract of homes. But that was one thing the night mare night spared us. Back on the hill, Doug and a friend were loading the friend’s truck with such things as Doug particularly wanted to save. I thought of paintings by our friend Sara Danner, others by my old friend Belmore Browne, and other friends, etchings by Borein and Henry Chapman Ford. These were bundled into the trunk of the Pontiac. Then we could only watch and wait, hosing down the roofs from time to time, agonizedly watching the Canyon fire coming down our way. About four o’clock, the Canyon fire was somehow stopped, how, no one will ever know. There was only one pumper truck up there, as we later learned; a change of wind, and a kindly Providence seemed to be the only help we had. The Botanic Garden was saved, and some homes up Tunnel Road, but a number were burned.

Fire Roars Down San Roque Canyon At five o’clock, when we were beginning to feel that the worst was over, there was a great burst of flame on one of the hilltops north of us, evidently a home burning. Would that start it all on the march again? Then, the fire roared down San Roque Canyon on the west, and under the bridge, threaten came by to advise us ing a large area of homes out that way. A neighbor to get out. Wallace and Lucie, my brother and wife, did leave, and others near us had gone. But Doug and I stayed on, not knowing when the demon might rise again. Finally, about six o’clock, I left to bring Helen home. Norma, leaving the boy at her friend’s house, came about the same time. I tumbled into bed about seven o’clock, and slept most of the day. It was a sad and gloomy morning. The danger in our area seemed to be over, although still threatening out Montecito way, and there was still a chance of flareups. On the mountains, occasional patches, acres in extent, which the fire in its angry hurry had bypassed, did flare up, with great flames and smoke. It seemed that the fire, in its demoniac rage, could leave nothing on the mountains untouched. The fire had devastated the Range as far as Painted Cave and San Marcos Pass, burning eight or ten homes there. It stopped at the Pass, but was driving down into the foothills. Shirley and Horace Pierce on the foot hills had their home entirely surrounded by flames. Their orchards were

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ruined, and outbuildings, with a caretaker’s cottage, were burned, but the main house was saved. The great fire had reached far into the back country, and had stretched down toward 0>ai, after threatening Carpinteria. Great damage was done out in the Montecito country, the fire coming down in places almost to Valley Road. By Thursday evening, the fire area on this side of the range was fairly well contained at San Marcos Pass, along the foothills, and along the Monte cito perimeter. There was still danger, however; it had broken out once before, it could again. A crew of men was kept on for nearly a week, watch¬ ing for, and dousing, flareups as they occurred. By the end of that furious week, everything seemed fairly safe. Now planes are seeding the burned areas with grass seed, in hope that early rains will be light, so that the grass can start without being washed down by heavy rain into the canyons. Plans are afoot for debris dams in the canyons, to save lower areas from floods of silt and mud and debris. The city reser voirs along Santa Ynez River are in danger of serious silting. Yes, the fire is gone, but the dangers linger on. The party is not yet over.

AN EDITOR’S APPRECIATION I recently came upon the manuscript of a bit of writing that so delighted that I determined to publish it when the opportunity presented itself. After reading it again I called up the author and like Oliver, asked for more. The me

result was a longer piece, but with the same delightful flavor of another day in Santa Barbara, a pastoral community of long ago. This we intend to save for a future issue of NOTICIAS. It is my feeling that occasionally we must luxuriate in the nostalgic nuances of the simpler life that existed long before the age of computers and instant playback and do it deliberately and unashamedly, for the good of our souls. As I sit in this old adobe which housed men and women who watched the building of what we now call “the Old Mission,” and listen to the passage far overhead of a “747” traveling at close to the speed of sound, I feel a responsibility to remind our readers of what life was like when we were young and Santa Barbara was a very different place from what it is today with its traffic controls, its freeway, its “plazas” and its more than 300 doctors. So, as we contemplate our magnificent new medical facilities, let’s go Visit to the Doctor a long time ago, with sincere appreciation to Mrs. Helen T. Weldon who painted this word picture for us. Ed. on a

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A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR Helen T. Weldon One summer, in the year 1900, Mama decided that she would like to take her three little girls on the train and go away back to Ohio to visit her mother and father. I got sick about a week before we were ready to start. That worried Mama, and she didn’t know whether she ought to put off our trip for awhile, or not. So she said to Papa: “Please take Helen down to see Dr. Elmer, and ask him whether he thinks it will be safe for her to go in a yeek.” Papa hitched up the horse while Mama got me all cleaned up, and even made me clean my fingernails so that I wouldn’t scare the doctor. As Papa and I were driving down Garden Street, I noticed a team coming up, and I said: “There comes Dr. Elmer now.” Papa’s eyes weren’t very good, so he asked: “What makes you think so?” I said: “He is driving two horses, and one is galloping and the other is trotting. His horses always act like that and he doesn’t care.” “That’s so,” said Papa, and almost pulled our poor horse down on to her haunches to make a quick stop. Then he raised his arm to hail the doctor. The doctor stopped, too, and Papa told him about me. He asked Papa some questions, which Papa mostly answered: “I don’t know.” Then he asked me some questions, and I answered, just like Papa: “I don’t know.” I wished Mama were there, because she would have known something. The doctor stayed in his buggy on his side of the street, and we stayed m our buggy on our side of the street, with the shining street car tracks lying between us. There was no traffic problem in Santa Barbara then. We had the street all to ourselves. Then Dr. Elmer said: “I think it will be all right for her to go to Ohio.” He smiled and started his horses. Papa said: “Whoa! Wait a minute. I might as well pay you now as any

time.' Then he reached down into his pocket and pulled out a bright silver dollar, and tossed it across the street. Dr. Elmer was a good catcher. He just held up his hand and caught the dollar, and slipped it into his pocket. Then with a wave he started off, one horse trotting, one horse galloping. I said to Papa: “He didn’t even see that I cleaned my fingernails.” Papa said: “What a shame!” and turned the horse around and took me home.

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I REMEMBER WHEN By C. H. Tallant

Santa Barbara was just a little sleepy country community of some 6,000 peaceful people, just before the turn of the century. The Southern Pacific railroad came up Guiterrez Street from the east side, with a station at Cha pala and the end of the passenger line at Castillo and Victoria. A freight carrying extension went out to Elwood, with a station for walnuts at Goleta. High tides splashed against the cliffs between Castle Rock and Second Point. (The building of the breakwater so changed the tidal action and the move ment of sand that what was originally six feet of water at mean tide is now' the location of the football field.) Railroad passengers from San Francisco and points below came down on the Southern Pacific to San Luis Obispo, transferred to the narrow gauge line to Port Harford and then bv steamer to Santa Barbara. Most passengers, however, came all the way from San Francisco by steamer and Steam’s wharf w’as a busy place on the “steamer days.” San Francisco was “the city” as Los Angeles w'as considered just another country community of 20,000 people. The Southern Pacific went down through Ventura and Santa Paula and then over the hills to Los Angeles. The high school, originally San Marcos College, was in the old San Marcos building at State and Anapamu. State Street was not paved and during the rainy season very muddy. The sidewalks were wooden planks. Santa Barbara’s first transportation system w'as open mule-drawn cars, moving on tracks up the middle of State

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Street. When the system was electrified, in 1896, it was indeed an electri fying epoch in Santa Barbara’s history. The main trunk was of course up State Street from the beach to Victoria. The upper branches were one east side to the Mission and westside to the Cottage Hospital and toward Oak Park. Another branch went out Haley from State to Milpas and down Milpas. Beachside it went along the waterfront to the westside bath house. Santa Barbara had indeed arrived.

Six-Horse Stage Line The six-horse stage line went up over San Marcos Pass to Los Olivos, the terminus of the narrow gauge line from San Luis Obispo. Mattel’s Tavern, opened about 1884, hosted the weary travelers in splendid fashion. Another popular eating place was the Raffour House, across De la Guerra Street from the commodious De la Guerra mansion. Raffour was a jolly fat Frenchman and his meals had a decidedly French flavor, served quite informally. Now' long gone, the downtow'n commercial hotels were the Mascarel. at State and Cota, and the Morris House at State and Haley. The “downtown” boys had a racket that they practiced regularly. When they were sent to the butcher shop by their parents they were ahvays ready to ask for “pilon,” a piece of bologna gratus from the butcher. Pierce Brothers was the furniture store; Boeder & Otl sold plumbing supplies and did plumbing. Boeder was a pretending pessimist. On one job which he hoped to make S1,000 he only made S500 and went around moan ing that he had lost S500 on it. Frink’s Great Wardrobe was the place for in men’s clothing. The corner of Cota and Chapala was the location of Wilson’s Stable, Pierce Lumberyard and Nixon’s Planing Mill. Nixon was a sharp operator. Rumor had it that on one occasion an irrate customer told him that his conscience must be pretty well worn and his reply was that it was as good as new because he never used it. All of Santa Barbara’s streets had names of some significance but three were more than normal — Canon Perdido, Quinientos and Salsipuedes. Earlier in Santa Barbara’s history some playful Spanish youths had stolen one of Fremont’s cannon from the Presidio, carted it away and hid it in the sw’amp on the eastside of low'n. It was never recovered and was always referred to as the lost cannon. Hence Canon Perdido (lost cannon). Gov. Mason fined the community S500 for the theft. Hence Quinientos (500). Salsipuedes was a muddy street, practically impassable in rainy weather. Hence Salsipuedes (Spanish for “get out if you can”). Mission Street was the northern city limit. What is now Oak Park was an open tree-studded field where the children were allowed to play. It was privately owned. Once the somewhat rapacious owner announcd that he intendetl to subdivide the tract, thereby depriving the children of their play-

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ground and the grown ups of a pleasant picnic spot. Henry Tallant, who had brought his family to Santa Barbara in 1873, was furious. He at once or ganized a penny saving campaign in the city schools and raised enough money to buy the whole tract. He promptly deeded it to the city in fee simple for a permanent city park, named Oak Park. He was later honored by having Tallant Road named in his memory and a large bronze placque commemorat ing the generous act erected on a rock at the park entrance. His wife, Caroline, was one of the founders of Cottage Hospital. Mission Creek, along the west ern edge of the park, was a full flowing stream where trout could be caught. Humor had its place in the life of the community. Once Ed Tallant and Hiram Pierce mounted a stuffed deer head in the brush of San Roque canyon the day before the deer season was to open and had all of the eager nimrods shoot at it, in violation of the game law. The Game Warden had been told so no warden appeared. The badly shot up head was later displayed in a store window, to the utter discomfiture of the hapless victims. Haircuts “Two Bits99 Hair cuts were two bits, with bayrum thrown in. One customer, who well knew the value of a dollar, was known to always tell Homer Whitney, the long suffering barber, to “put on all the bayrum you can for the two bits.” Mike Finneran had an apple orchard at top of San Marcos Pass, where he raised very tasty apples. Once a month Mike would come to town with a wagonload of apples, dispose of them promptly, load up with his monthly supply of provisions and go on home. At least once, however, he did not dispose of his full load and was starting on his way home with ap ples not sold. When asked about it he said: “I could have sold them all by noon, only for talking.” Father Stockman was the head of the Roman Catho lic church and lived in a big rambling house in the center of town. He had a little old Irish biddy for housekeeper. She lived at home and came daily for her duties. One afternoon two men appeared and asked the good father if he could give them something to eat. They were two acrobats in a traveling troupe which had failed and were making their way back to San Francisco. They were promptly fed and put up for the night. The next morning Father told them that on account of his position as head of the church he did not see many public entertainments and asked them to do their stuff on his front lawn. They were turning handsprings, cartwheels and assorted acts when biddy came around the corner of the house for daily tasks. She promptly drew back and gasped “look what the Father has them doing for pennance this morning and me with only my skirts on.” George Culbertson liked his beverages clear and was a steady customer of A. Goux & Co., liquor dealers at the corner of State and Figueroa. Some days after the arrival of his firstborn he was walking down the street and proudly told passersby that his baby had said his first word — goos, goos.

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Tom Storke, a brash young Stanford graduate, bought out the nearly bankrupt evening paper, The Independent, and parlayed it into the now big and important News-Press. Along the way he absorbed the rival Daily News and bought the Morning Press from the Fernald family. The printing plant and office were in a ramshackle old building at the corner of Ortega and Anacapa. The Walsh boys and the Tallant boys were the carriers, using bicycles for the then princely sum of S6.00 a month. They had to hand fold each copy as it came off the handfed press. Manuel Ortega was the pressman. Theodore Roosevelt endeared himself to the people, largely through his courtesy to Mrs. Hannah Hollister. Her favorite son, Stanley, was stroke oar on the famous Harvard crew at the outbreak of the Spanish-American war and enlisted in the Rough Riders, at Teddy’s request. He was wounded in the battle of San Juan Hill and was invalided home to the Army hospital at Newport News. Due to his wounds and fever contracted in Cuba he died in the hospital. Later Roosevelt came west, while still president, on a trip of state and ordered his staff to drive him to Mrs. Hollister’s home where he greeted her and gave her his condolences. Yachting was a favorite sport even before the construction of the break water. Many exciting races were held each season. On one race Don Leach was washed overboard from the leading yacht and the gallant skipper prompt ly luffed to pick up Don, thereby losing the race. He was later heard to re mark “it is better to have luffed and lost than never to have luffed at all and lost your Leach.” Polo, on spirited polo ponies, was also a favorite sport among the many fine horsemen who lived in the area. The old polo grounds were out beyond Figueroa and San Pascual, and many famous names were established there, some of them to become nationally known. Deer Were Plentiful Santa Barbara was a hunters’ and fishermen’s paradise. Deer were plentiful in the hills and mountains and quail by the thousands lived every where. Ducks were regularly hunted at the Guadalupe Duck Club, on Guada lupe Lake near Santa Maria and some had been killed at Hope Lake, now a real estate project. Mountain lions had been seen and heard above Montecito. The quail limit in those halcyon days was fifty birds a day and one season Ed Tallant and George Little hung up a record of 1016 quail. The many friends and neighbors regularly enjoyed quail on toast, enhanced at the first rains with wild mushrooms. People always caught fish off Steam’s wharf and boat fishing out beyond was excellent. The Larco boys were the commercial fishermen. A familiar weekly sight was Sebastian Larco going from house to house with his little horse-drawn wagon loaded with fresh caught fish for the appreciative housewives. Each purchase was weighed out on his hand held scales, at ten cents a pound. Jerome Johnson and Elwood Cooper sold pure homepressed olive oil for fifty cents a half gallon.

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Fi>5i Southern Pacific Railroad Station at the foot of Victoria Street.

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One of the early civic tragedies was the burning of the old Pavilion. This was a huge wooden structure on the flats out beyond Haley and Olive and was used principally for the annual fashion show, the forerunner of community Fiesta. The favorite decoration was pampas plumes, because of their size and color and profusion in many yards. One year the day before the show was to open, someone carelessly lighted a match in the wrong place and ignited the plume decoration. The resulting fire completely destroyed the hall and all exhibits. It was never rebuilt. The old “town clock” was on the roof of one of Santa Barbara’s “sky scrapers” at the corner of Figueroa and State. It pealed out the hours for all to hear and many timepieces were regularly set by it. This clock was later eclisped by the new clock that was mounted on the roof of the new Fithian Building at State and Ortega. This clock not only pealed out the hours but had quarter-hour chimes as well. Chinatown was the block on Canon Perdido between State and Anacapa. The property was mostly owned by the Hollisters, including the old “opera house” at Canon Perdido and Anacapa, later known as Lobero Theater. What a feast we favored boys had Chinese New Year, stuffed with lichee nuts, candied pineapple strips and sugared watermelon rind. These were heaped on us by the forwardlooking Chinese tenants. The big thrill, however, was the lighting of the many strings of firecrackers, touched off by the superstitious Chinese to drive off the devils. The family living at Chapala and Montecito had planted a small dec orative tree in their front yard — a Moreton Bay fig. Little did they realize that in time it would drive them out of the home and no one ever visualized the huge tree that ultimately spread clear across Chapala. Toward the beach from this spot was Burton Mound, with its hot sulphur springs. The hopeful health-seeking people “enjoyed” the hot sulphur baths, immersed in hot mud. Later Milo Potter acquired this property and built his famous Potter Hotel, as a rival to the old Arlington uptowm, but never eclisped it. Potter made his hotel quite a showplace for the showy people. It was later burned down and never rebuilt. Ed Dunn was the manager of the Arlington for many years. He had the reputation of never forgetting a name or face and this served him well. The Arlington was the favorite place for the people who liked the best. Among guests who stayed there were presidents McKinley and Roosevelt. It survived an earlier fire and was rebuilt but the 1925 earthquake marked its end. A fitting end to these remembrances is the history of the community Christmas tree at Chapala and Carrillo. This tree was planted by Dr. Win chester, for years the family doctor of the Hollister family, to honor the birth of James Hollister in 1878, in the old family home there. Dr. Win chester had bought the seedling — a Norfolk Island pine — from Joe Sexton’s nursery in Goleta.

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President “Teddy'' Roosevelt at Plaza del Mar in Santa Barbara, May 9, 1903. Others in carriage: Mayor Edtvards, Sec retary Loeb of Welcoming Committee, and T. D. Wood. Outwalkers in high hats, Secret Service men tvith Presidential party. Guard of Honor, sailors from training ship “Alert" anchored in bay.

SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY OFFICERS President

Francis Price Mrs. Wilson Forbes

First Vice-President .. Second Vice-President

Hugh J. Weldon Mrs. Charles H. Cannon

Secretary Treasurer

... William K. Serumgard Mrs. Henry Griffiths

Museum Director Editor of Noticias

Courtenay Monsen

DIRECTORS Mrs. William B. Azbell Mrs. Charles Cannon

Edward Kemble Mrs. Leo T. McMahon

Rev. Virgil Cordano, O.F.M. Mrs. Edwin Deuter

Dr. Edward Lamb Mrs. Godwin Pelissero

Col. Henry deB. Forbes, Jr. Mrs. Wilson Forbes

Francis Price W. K. Serumgard Garrett Van Horne

Whitney T. Genns Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill

Hugh J. Weldon

John Jordano, Jr. HONORARY DIRECTORS Thomas More Storke

*John Galvin *Deceased

HISTORICAL SOCIETY MEMBERSHIPS Classes of membership: Benefactor, $5000.00 or more; Life, $1000.00; Patron, $500.00; Fellow, $100.00; Associate, $50.00; Contributing, $25.00; Sustaining, $10.00; Active, $7.50; Student, $5.00. Dues are tax deductible. Mailing Address: 136 East De la Guerra Street

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Santa Barbara. California 93101

Contributions to the Society are tax exempt.

Nen>Profil Org. QUARTERLY BULLETIN

U. S. Pottoge

OF THE

PAID

SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY

Sonta Barbara, Colif. Ptnnit No. 534

136 EAST DE LA GUERRA STREET SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA 93101