Christmas At Rancho San Juilan

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Santa Barbaras Community Christmas Tree on Court House Lawn, 1923

VOL.

WINTER, 1974

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION THE NATIONAL MUSEUM OF HISTORY AND TECHNOLOGY WASHINGTON, D C- 20560

October 23, 1974

Mrs. Silvia Griffith, Director Santa Barbara Historical Society Museum 136 East De la Guerra Street Santa Barbara, California 93102 Dear Mrs. Griffith:

your more from your

It was very kind of you to provide me a personalized tour of wonderful museum, especially with such brief notice, I felt than esthetically and historically rewarded for my break-away the Gran Quivira conference tour; my decision to try to visit museum was more of a vindication due to its success.

Truly, I was extremely impressed by the collections of the Historical Society. As chairman of a department in another history museum, I was very gratified to discover the same range of materials and interpretation that we attempt here. That may sound self-serving, but I do believe we share many approaches and goals in common.

It was particularly satisfying to see the range of social activities represented in the museum. The devices for leisure and entertainment, for equestrian display and for the practice of an Eastern faith were outstanding. Perhaps more than most large American towns, Santa Barbara has a culturally varied history that can surely enrich the present. Furthemore, the social variation in modest and grand familieshas given their heirlooms a more meaningful context in your museum than they could enjoy in a collection restricted to the fine arts.

May I congratulate you and the Society on the accomplishment so splendidly embodied in the Santa Barbara Historical Society Museum?

Again, thank you for treating me to its collections so late in the day.

Sincerely,

3 Richard E. Ahlborn Chairman Department of Cultural History

CHRISTMAS AT RANCHO SAN JULIAN* ‘Sing away sorrow, cast away care.

— Cervantes

This could well describe my mother alone with three small children dur ing one of the wettest winters on our ranch, completely out of touch with civilization; telephone lines down, bridges out, roads completely washed away, cattle mired, the vaqueros coming in tired, wet and discouraged. The men would gather after lunch in their large mess hall with a blazing fire, sometimes playing cards, sometimes just sitting and waiting for the wind to change with perhaps a break in the storm. Fortunately the Chinese cook had seen that the larder was well supplied with sacks of sugar, flour and beans, and provisions had been brought in from the garden. Beef had been slaugh tered and was hanging in the meat cooler.

But for three small children each day was a dreary continuation of rain and sky and we counted the days until Christmas (yes, we counted on our fingers and toes, sometimes in English or Spanish, sometimes in Chinese) in anticipation of Santa and sugar plum trees. To the very young, hope springs eternal, and was not our Dad to be with us on Christmas? Surely he would bring us the dolls my sister Nanice and I so wanted, for which we had been so good for so long. My brother’s want was a fire engine. There could be no new Christmas tree this year, and last year’s manzanita looked so forlorn pushed back in the corner. Then our mother told us that not only would Santa not be able to come this year but that our Dad would not be able to get through from Santa Barbara due to the road wash-outs, bridges down, and unrelenting downpour. With weeping and wailing intermingled with the baying of coyotes, there went up a cacophony that exploded into

●San Julian was one of the “royal ranchos” attached to the Presidio by the King of Spain in order to provision the soldiery. In 1837, under Mexican rule, it was granted to the comandante of the Presidio, Jose de la Guerra, by Governor Alvarado.

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San Julian Ranch

the night. How our poor mother put up with us I do not understand to this day. She finally got us quieted and put to bed, tears streaming down our cheeks. I fell asleep as mother sang and prayed the zither.

That evening a young man boarded the train in Santa Barbara, wearing a heavy slicker and carrying a great bundle which he and the porter had to heave in before him. An hour or so later the train slowed down for him at Gaviota, where he jumped off and tied the bundle to his back. He then began a twelve mile hike in the dark and the downpour to get through to us at San Julian. As he pushed on, the bundle got heavier and the going got rougher. He had to ford an arroyo, then another, and once he lost his footing and slipped and almost lost the great bundle now pulling hard on one shoulder.

About five hours later and with mud up to his knees, he decided to take a short cut through a field as he was nearing the ranch house, and in the dark he stumbled over something which he soon discovered was a large — 2 —

bull. The sack of toys went one way, he another, and the bull in still another (he told us later he did not know who was the more frightened, he or the

bull.

Christmas morning we were awakened by a weary and happy father who told us that he and Santa had just been able to get there, and behold, under last year’s manzanita tree were all the presents any child could ask for. My dolly’s hair was a little muddy and the rear wheel was off the bright red fire engine, but late into the evening three happy children had a Christ mas surpassing their wildest dreams.

— Frederica Dibblee Poett

JACOB’S LADDER “And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God as cending and descending on it.” —Genesis, 28:12

Christmas trees, so dear to the hearts of young and old that they have come to be considered an almost indispensable part of the holiday festivities, were not common in Santa Barbara of an earlier day, even among those of Anglo-Saxon heritage. They were scarce and costly, consequently their use was generally confined to Sunday schools, clubs, and lodge parties, and to more affluent citizens. However, with true pioneer resourcefulness, substi tutes were sought, and where could the inspiration for a solution be found more fittingly than in the stable?

Every barn had a ladder, and some families, following the symbolism of Jacob’s dream, would bring in the ladder and set it up against a wall, cover its frame with Christmas greens, deck it with ornaments and small gifts hung from the rungs, and pile others at its base ●— a simple but mean ingful focal point for many a happy family celebration. And who knows but that seen through the eyes of small earthly angels, and of those who lovingly prepared it for them, “the top of it reached to heaven.”

I myself have never seen a Jacob’s Ladder, but my mother, Geraldine Dowell, used to tell me about those she saw at the home of her grandparents, Henry and Ann Penry, when she was a child.

— Geraldine Valde Sahyun — 3 —

MR. STEWART When I was about seven years old we lived in a corner house across from where the Museum of Natural History is now. One of my early mem ories concerns the children’s friend, a Mr. Stewart. Who he was or where he lived we did not know at the time. He came about once a week with things to sell to my mother. We asked where he lived, and he said, waving his hands vaguely in the direction of the mountains, “I live over there, over the mountains.” However, it was quite indefinite and it was some time before we found out where he lived.

Often he brought firewood for my mother to buy — two little bundles of sticks strapped on the bark of his donkey — for about twenty-five cents a load, if I remember correctly. Like ourselves, no one else seemed to know >5 who he was or where he came from. He was just “Mr. Stewart.

On Sundays he would be seen riding to town on his donkey, to go to church at the Old Mission. ?Ie would have his hair carefully parted in the middle, combed to both sides and back. He never wore a hat, as far as I can remember. He would be dressed in an old black suit, now shabby, but with evidence of having been a good one once, years ago. Where he kept it between Sundays was not apparent, as it was never well-pressed but probably just hung in some old closet.

We lived near the Old Mission, in sight of the mountains, and on Sundays we would see him riding on the rear end of his donkey, down the road past our house. He would have nothing to sell on Sundays: he just went to church and then home again, wherever that was — somewhere toward the mountains, since he alwavs came from that direction and went home that wav.

Alwavs, Sundays or otherwise, the little donkey would be wearing a pair of pants on bis front legs with suspenders lined up over his withers and tied across his neck. Amused by the donkey with pants, we asked Mr. Stewart “Why do you put pants on him?” and Mr. Stewart would say “Be cause he likes to chew his knees. The pants keep him from doing it.” We would ask “And why does he chew his knees?” He would reply “To get the taste of salt, which he craves.” Apparently Mr. Stewart hadn’t thought of getting a salt lick for the poor little donkey.

On weekdays we children would see him coming down the road from the mountains, and as soon as we saw him we would run down the drive way to meet him. “Can we have a ride on the donkey?” we would ask. “Talk to your mother and ask if she’d want anything to buy,” he would answer.

He would have his little bundles of wood or some other small item to sell.

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If she does, you can have a ride.

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Bridge at entrance to Mission Canyon

I can remember going into the house and talking to Mama about buying his little bundles of wood and saying “He says if you do we can have a ride on the donkey.” Then he would go into the house and sell what he had to sell to Mama, and while there, eating something Mama had given him, he would let us ride the donkey, two or three of us at a time, to the end of the lane and back. That was an event in our lives, riding that patient, perfectly sage little donkey, for he would not have bucked for a bushel of carrots, indeed probably could not.

I pictured Mr. Stewart living in some beautiful place in the mountains, perhaps on the other side of the range, and I kept hoping that some day we could find it and see his nice house in some beautiful spot.

Finally I was disillusioned. I was riding with my Papa in the horse and buggy up Mission Canyon near where the Botanic Garden now is, crossing a little gully over an old wooden bridge where a little creek, then dry, ran down to Mission Creek. There we saw him, his home a little shack in the gully by the side of the road, his little donkey tied to a small tree. He was getting himself something to eat over an open fire, and when he saw us he waved.

I said to Papa “Why, there is Mr. Stewart. And that is his home in the mountains?

‘Yes,” Papa replied, “that is Mr. Stewart and that is where he lives; not far from us.

I

My picture of the friendly gentleman living in some beautiful place up in the mountains faded away and I felt sad about it. My final memory of him is seeing him on his little donkey, going around to the back of the Old

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Mission for what I supposed was a handout from the fathers. That was the last I remember of him. What happened to him, or when, I never knew.

My Papa may have known, but if so he did not think to tell us children. So Mr. Stewart just faded out of our lives, leaving me only the memory of a kindly old gentleman and of the patient little donkey with pants on his front legs.

Helen T. Weldon

The history of Santa Barbara is no exception to the rule, that if a story is repeated often enough and long enough it will be believed in the face, of all challenges, for legend can be more persistent than fact. How ever, challenge we must in the interest of truth, and the paper which follows holds up to the light of scientific inquiry one. of Santa Barbara’s historical “facts.” It was written in 1969 by Douglas F. Jones for a course in geog raphy at the University of California at Santa Barbara, and in this connec tion it should be said that although students regularly use the Cledhill Library for various academic projects, the Library uses them as well: we ask students to share with us the fruits of their research, with beneficial results such as the paper at hand, published here by permission of its author and edited for these pages.

Editor.

THE GOLETA SIMOOM OF 1859 A Summary of Facts Walker Tompkins, the noted local historian, relates in his book Goleta, the Good Land (Goleta Amvets, 19C2) that in 1859 a freak simoom struck the Goleta area, causing the temperature to rise to a phenomenal 133 degrees for several hours in the afternoon. Tompkins goes on to claim that this heat record stood on the U.S. Weather Bureau books until 1934, when a reading of 134 degrees in Death Valley exceeded it. This is enough to tax the credi bility of any geographer, so I present here a summary of evidence to sup port or refute the authenticity of the simoom story.

The source of Tompkins’ narrative is the U. S. Coast Survey’s Coast Pilot of California, Oregon and Washington Territory, which contains an account by one George Davidson, published in 1869:

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The only instance of the simoom on this coast, mentioned either in its history or traditions, was that occuring at Santa Barbara, on Friday, the 17th of June, 1859. The temperature during the morn ing was between 75° and 80°, and gradually and regularly increas ed until about one o’clock P.M., when a blast of hot air from the northwest swept suddenly over the town and struck the inhabitants with terror. It was quickly followed by others. At two o’clock the thermometer exposed to the air rose to 133°, whilst the burning wind raised great clouds of impalj)able dust. No human being could with stand the heat. All betook themselves to their dwellings and care fully closed every door and window. The thick ADOBE walls would have required days to warm, and were consequently an admirable protection. Calves, rabbits, birds, etc., were killed; trees were blighted; fruit was blasted and fell to the ground, burned only on one side; and gardens were ruined. At five o’clock the thermometer fell to 122°, and at seven it stood at 77°. A fisherman, in the channel in an open boat, came back with his arms badly blistered.

Davidson goes on to say that while offshore in the late summer of 1850 he often experienced hot blasts of air from the mountains, “the north wind apparently bringing the heated air from the valleys behind the sierra.” How ever, this phenomenon only slowed navigation by distorting star positions, and had “not near so elevated a temperature as that sweeping over Santa Barbara, and was quite fitful.”

Before proceeding to an examination of this document, it might be helpful to know just what a simoom is and what causes one to occur. Webster defines the word (Arabic for poison) as “a hot, violent, sand-laden wind of the African and Asiatic deserts,” but this is no real help. The only good discussion of these winds I could find is in The Desert World, by Alonzo W. Pond (Thomas Nelson, 1962). Pond relates that exceptional desert winds are considered animate beings, and are given proper names by which they can be recognized. In Libya there is the ghibli, a south wind occurring in the spring which sandblasts the desert for several hours to three days, causing — among other things — sickness in women and children. The sharnal of Arabia can blow up to fifty miles an hour, and can keep sand airborne for days. This is a year-round wind caused by a severe stationary pressure gradient. The Egyptian haboob moves in a thirty mile front at thirty miles an hour. A pillar whirlwind of sand is a zoboa, and the Palestinian khamsin must blow for fifty days or fifty hours to maintain its reputation. A simoom is the same as a khamsin. Other members of this group of similar winds are the sirocco of the Sahara, the harrnattan of West Africa, the brickjielder of

Australia, the palouser of eastern Washington, and our own Santa Ana. The wind that struck Santa Barbara, therefore, was not a simoom but a Santa Ana. Our terms thus defined, the supposed simoom becomes considerably less mysterious, since the behavior of Santa Anas is well known and documented: they are caused by the massive subsidence of air over the deserts of Utah, Nevada and California. Their heat is generated by an increase in pressure as they descend and by ground radiation as they sweep along. The velocity of a Santa Ana is the direct result of the quantity of air which subsides, and the amount of dust they carry varies with velocity, season, and ground moisture. Thus, an ideal Santa Ana is quite capable of speeds up to fifty miles an hour, temperatures twenty to thirty degrees above normal, and dust transport well into the Pacific Ocean. However, the Santa Ana normally strikes the Los Angeles Basin, and Santa Barbara is usually on its fringe.

One would expect, therefore, that Los Angeles, if anywhere, would have been the victim of such heat, but a glance at the records shows that even the worst Santa Anas will cause the temperature to reach no more than 110 de grees. Nothing even close to 130 degrees has ever been claimed or reported in Los Angeles. The Santa Ana is hot, true, but not that hot.

So how could it get that hot in Santa Barbara? Several possibilities other than the Santa Ana remain, and these must be dealt with. For obvious reasons we can dismiss volcanism as a cause. The Davidson report, however, stales that the wind came not from the desert but from the Central Valley around Bakersfield. This would rule out Los Angeles as the source, and the phenomenon becomes even more unlikely. First, the San Joaquin Valley is less favorable as a hatching ground for Santa Anas than the Mojave, since it is smaller, wetter, and bounded by cold mountains. Second, Bakersfield itself has never had a temperature near 130 degrees, and since any air es caping to the coast would first be cooled by the mountains, it is unreasonable to assume that such heat could have come from there. However, there is documented evidence that the hottest temperature ever recorded in Santa Barbara was caused by winds from the San Joaquin. This was at the time of the Toro Canyon Fire of June 16, 1917. Accounts from the Santa Barbara Morning Press shed light on how hot it got, why, and whether ever in mem ory it got hotter.

Conditions for a heat streak were as favorable then as they could be without igniting the city. Forest fires raged near Ojai, in Mission Canyon, on Hollister Ranch, and in Toro Canyon. The hot Bakersfield wind was blow ing through the fires and into the city. On the morning after the fires had slowed (June 17) the newspap>er had this to say concerning the cause of the heat: “The unusual hot blast that came late in the afternoon and con tinued during the night caused considerable speculation as to its source. It

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started over in the San Joaquin Valley . . . The weather started for the coast and it was the real cause for the hot conditions that prevailed.” Those hot conditions were 108 degrees at Hollister Avenue Ranch, 103 downtown, and 110 in Santa Ynez (which proves that the wind was in fact that hot before hitting the mountains or the fires). A new record heat was recorded that day of 115 degrees, but I don’t know exactly where it was taken. Stella Rouse, writing in the Santa Barbara News-Press of June 18, 1967, reports that “weather observer George W. Russell’s report shows that the nearest heat record to that which Sunday set a new top notch of 115° was in 1914, when the mercury climbed to 108° as a fire raged in the Hope Ranch District.”

As final evidence that the Toro Canyon Fire was the liottest ever, a reporter wrote the following in the Morning Press of June 19, 1917: “In the memory of the oldest inhabitant, no such freak weather as that recently visiting Santa Barbara . . . can be recalled. The hot waves came at intervals and in spots, like a l)reath from an oven door, causing the mercury to jump 30° in two minutes.” It seems reasonable to suppose that an elderly Santa Barbaran in the vear 1917 would have remembered the simoom of 18.59 had it occurred.

The evidence is overwhelming that the simoom did not reach the re ported temperature. George Russell, the official government weather reporter, was, I am told by those who knew him, a meticulous and accurate man with extensive knowledge of past weather patterns, and it is clear that he had no knowledge or record of the simoom, nor does the U.S. Weather Bureau. The oldest resident, who surely would have lived through it, could remember nothing hotter than the 115 degrees of 1917, nor wa.s anything hotter re corded by the local newspaper. All these sources state flatly that 115 degrees was the hottest temperature ever known in Santa Barbara, and nothing close to it lias been recorded since. The only claims that the simoom did occur (e.g. Tompkins, ffestways magazine, Thompson & West’s History of Santa Barbara and Ventura Counties) cite as their only source of information the Davidson account. The State Archives in Sacramento contain nothing other than Davidson’s report. Lieut. Comdr. Trutsky, chief of the Coast and Geo detic Survey in Los Angeles, finds that even Davidson’s own outfit had no record of the simoom except his, and that no one from the government was here in those days to record the event had it happened. Davidson, he says, was the top man of the Survey at the time, but there is no official information available. So the question of the authenticity of the high temperature boils down to believing Davidson or believing the entire body of climatological and historical evidence massed against him. The facts indicate that a tem perature of 133 degrees in Golela did not occur.

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So how did the story get into Davidson’s report in the first place? He states that he got it from “history or traditions,” which would mean that someone told him it happened, and he, knowing of the Santa Ana, wrote it up. It was placed in the Pilot as a curiosity. How did the person who told Davidson come up with his figures? In all likelihood, his readings came from a thermometer placed in the sun, which would have inflated its read ings.* Several things indicate this from the report. The thermometer was “exposed to the air” when read, and the temperature remained inflated until sundown, when it suddenly dropped. That is not the way Santa Anas work. They remain hot in spite of sundowns, as an earlier reference stated.

I would guess that what happened was that when the Santa Ana hit, the ranchero put his thermometer outside in the sun, so that an actual tempera ture of a bit over 100 degrees would have registered 133. At five o’clock the real temperature was down to 90, but the exposed thermometer distorted this to 122. After sunset, the thermometer read accurately again at 78. As for the dead animals, blistered fruit, etc., that is doubtlessly accurate. Eye witnesses of the Toro Canyon Fire have told this writer of sapling trees bending over double, grapes turning to raisins on the vine, and animals suffocating. All the events described by Davidson, therefore, could easily have happened at between 100 and 115 degrees. The wildly exaggerated thermometer readings would have had no bearing on that, and there is no cause to doubt that a Santa Ana did in fact hit Santa Barbara in 1859, raising the temperature to over 100 degrees and wreaking havoc as noted.

It should be kept in mind that Ojai, with a forest fire virtually on top of it and all residents evacuated except for observers, still reached only 128 de grees (June 17, 1917). It may as well have been on fire, for that is how hot such a temperature is.

The fabled simoom of 1859, then, probably was no more than a Bakers field Santa Ana, and the temperature was in line with recorded data from similar occurrences at later dates. It is unfortunate that a story like this must suffer when placed in the light of factual evidence, for the myth is much more enjoyable to relate than the reality. Goleta, however, has lost its place in climatological history.

*Edilor’s note: Mr. Jones is correct, for it -was evidently customary for thermometers to be placed in the sun. In the Diary of "fudge” Charles E. Huse, edited by William Henry Ellison, University of California at Santa Barbara, 1953 (unpublished) appears the fol lowing entry under the date April 7, 18.55: “At three-thirty in the afternoon, by Hinchman’s thermometer, it was 101 degrees Fahrenheit in the sun. McGuire says that at midday it had been 121 ...”

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Statue of Saint Barbara by Francis Sedgwick, in the Historical Society's courtyard.

SAINT BARBARA According to tradition, Saint Barbara was born in Nicomedia in Asia Minor in the year 218 A.D. Her father, Dioscorus, was an officer under the Roman emperor Maximin, and during one of his absences the girl embraces the teachings of the Christian doctor Origen. Her father orders a new house built for his daughter where she can receive suitors, but Barbara prevails upon the builder to install three windows in her bedchamber — instead of the two ordered bv her father — to symbolize the Holy Trinity. During an argument between Barbara and Dioscorus over the meaning of the windows, she admits to him that she has become a Christian and that she rejects the suitor chosen for her. Angered, Dioscorus denounces her as a Christian before the prefect Martius and she is condemned to death. Dioscorus seizes a sword and kills her, whereupon lightning strikes him dead where he stands.

Thus Saint Barbara has become the patron saint of artillerymen, grave diggers, architects, gunners, miners and masons, and protectress against lightning, sudden death and impenitence. Although widely popular during the Middle Ages, her entire story is probably a pious legend. There is no mention of her in the early martyrologies and her legend is no older than the seventh century, her cult not spreading until the ninth century.

Be all this as it may, the City of Santa Barbara took its name for a simple reason: in 1602 Viscaino entered the harbor on the eve of December 4th, Santa Barbara’s day, and according to Spanish custom, the Channel was named for her. The Historical Society starts the Christmas season with an old-fashioned tea on the feast day of Saint Barbara.

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NEW MEMBERS STUDENT Mr. Dale Hernlund

ACTIVE Mr. Jerome W. Baumgartner Mrs. Albert C. Cain

Mrs. Harry P. Hedge Mrs. Shirlee Edwards Rezak

Mrs. LeRoy W. Delbrook Villa

Mr. Phillip Ross

Mr. and Mrs. Robert Medley

Mr. & Mrs. Thomas A. Vandervoort

SUSTAINING Mrs. Consuelo Rickard Wells

Mr. & Mrs. Jerry Brown

CONTRIBUTING Mr. & Mrs. Charles H. Johnston

Mr. & Mrs. Danily Bell

IN MEMORIAM Mr. Louis Miratti

Miss Anna M. Baker

Dr. Hazel W. Severy

Mr. Curtis C. Jordan

Mr. Russel D. Spicer

Mrs. Hilmar O. Koefod

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.

Contributions to the Society are tax exempt.

Mailing Address: 136 East De la Guerra Street

Santa Barbara, California 93101 — 12 —

SAJVTA BARBARA fflSTORICAL SOCIETY OFFICERS Mr. Francis Price

President First Vice-President ...

Mr. Patrick Lloyd-Butler

Second Vice-President

Col. Henry deB. Forbes, Jr.

Secretary

Miss Lillian Fish

Treasurer

Mr. John D. Gill

Museum Director

Mrs. Henry Griffiths

Editor of Noticias

Mr. Courtenay Monsen

DIRECTORS Mrs. William B. Azbell

Mr. Gene Harris

Mrs. Charles Cannon

Mrs. Abel Maldonado

Mrs. E. G. Chambers

Mrs. Charles E. Piper

Mrs. M. Cameron Conkey

Miss Frederica D. Poett

Monsignor 0. B. Cook Mrs. Bertie De L’Arbre

Mr. Russell Ruiz

Mrs. Edwin Deuter

Mr. Stuart S. Taylor

Mr. William Russell

Col. Henry deB. Forbes, Jr.

HONORARY DIRECTORS Dr. Hilmar 0. Koefod*

Mr. Thomas More Storke*

Mr. E. Selden Spaulding

Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill

Mr. Hugh J. Weldon Mr. Paul G. Sweetser

Mr. Edwin Gledhill Director Emeritus

Sir John Galvin

LIFE MEMBERS Mrs. Charles Deere Wiman

Mrs. Alfred Millard

Mrs. Elizabeth Bechtel

Mr. Don Kilbourne*

Mr. J. V. Crawford

Dr. and Mrs. Melville Sahyun Mr. M. Cameron Conkey *Deceased

Non-Profit Org. QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY 136 EAST DE LA GUERRA STREET SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA 93101

U. S. Pettago PA I D Santa Barbara, Calif.

Parmlt No. 534