The Goleta Issue

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ThdJ GoletiL^ Issuer VOL. VII, NO. 1

SPRING, 1961

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N€TICIAS QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY MAILING ADDRESS: OLD MISSION, SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA

Go I eta The exact episode in our early history that fixed the name of “Goleta” first of all on the considerable estuary some eight miles to the west of Santa Barbara and, later, on the whole area that surrounds this estuary is not certainly known today. Because the word is of Spanish origin and means in English a “schooner” or, possibly, “a small sailing vessel,” it seems to be obvious that the name derives from an event in Spanish or Mexican days in which a ship featured prominently. Gudde, in his admirable and authorita tive book “California Place Names” (University of California Press, 1949), states that “The community developed on the land grant ‘La Goleta’ dated June 10th 1846 ... the place was originally so named because a schooner (goleta) was built there in 1829. According to other and probably more authentic sources, the name originated because an American schooner, stranded in the estuary, lay there for many years (AGS: “Santa Barbara,” P. 168).

A ‘diseno’ of La Goleta grant shows a wreck at the mouth of the estuary.”

In “Occasional Papers, Number 5, 1943, Museum of Natural History of Santa Barbara,” archieologist Phil C. Orr writes: “At the close of the Pleistocene came a period of great erosion during which the run-off from the Santa Ynez mountains, finding its way to the sea, eroded out a valley leaving the harder, more resitant Miocene rocks in the center. A later subsistance filled the valley with salt water, but erosion gradually filled the inlet until only channels remained in the otherwise marshy ground. This filling has been comparatively rapid in recent years. Old timers around Goleta remember when the island (Mescalitan) was completely surrounded by water.

One man kept sheep on the island and described swimming his horse out to Goleta, then known as ‘La Patera.’ The name ‘Goleta’ comes from the Spanish word for ‘ship,’ as ships formerly put in at this inlet.”

Tom Storke, in his recent book, “California Editor,” states (Page 21): “In 1^6, Daniel Hill was granted the 4,400 acre Goleta rancho adjoining Dr. Nicholas Den’s historic Dos Pueblos grant. A schooner had been wrecked at the point of land (now a part of the University of California campus) fronting the Hill Ranch. I remember seeing the barnacle-encrusted ribs of the hulk sticking above the surf when I was a small boy. The Spanish name for schooner is ‘goleta,’ which gave the name to the Hill land grant and the college town which now occupies the site.”

There is a legend, well known to many of the early settlers of the Valley and told by Horace Sexton, to the effect that, from the earliest times, the region about the “Big Slough” was known as “Goleta or “the Goletas.” It 1

was the center, or focus, of the Indian population of this region and to it, when the young men of Santa Barbara wished for a while to go native, an was occasional paisano repaired. When this happened, and when inquiry made of the young man’s whereabouts, friends were accustomed to say with a shrug of the shoulder and a wave of Ae hand: “Oh, he’s gone to the goletas for a while.”

Arthur Chard writes that: “Prior to the 1849 Gold Rush, Mr. Burke, Mr. Toombs, and my grandfather, John William Chard, had their ship cap size in the Gulf of Mexico and so they were forced to proceed overland to Santa Barbara. They settled in the community for the period required to build a sailing vessel. This vessel was built a few miles to the west of the Pueblo Santa Barbara. As the work progressed on the new ship, people began to refer to the slough area as the place of the ‘Goleta.’ (The definition of ‘goleta’ at that time was a sailing sloop or schooner.) The ori^nal goleta was christened ‘Peores Nada’ or, in English, ‘Better Than Nothing.

In this ship Mr. Toombs and Mr. Chard continued their voyaging farther up the coast. Mr. Toombs eventually opened a grocery store in Tehama County.

Mr. Chard became a rancher. Mr. Burke married a native Santa Barbaran and remained here.

“The northwestern section of the Goleta Valley was called ‘L.a Patera because of the numerous ducks found throughout the swampy area that extended from the James Williams property to the Stow Ranch.”

It is known that, in addition to this schooner built by Messrs. Burke, Toombs and Chard, one or two other boats of small size were built in this area; but, in spite of its close proximity to the sea, Goleta never has become a ship building center of importance. Probably, the shallow water immediately off the sand spit and the lack of native wood suitable for shipbuilding purposes were the chief reasons for this lack of enterprise on the part of Santa Barbarans.

It is noteworthy that, in the days of the canoe and dugout, the Indians of the entire Channel Area were famous for the quality of the boats they constructed with only the rudest of tools. Seeing one of these native boats as it circled his cumbersome, heavy craft as it moved slowly up the Channel, Viscaino, in 1602, recorded in his log that “since Noah’s Ark a finer and lighter vessel with timbers better made has not been seen.”

Even during the Second World War, when the need for small craft of many kinds was so very urgent, no boats were built at Goleta. When, after many years of discussion, a harbor for small craft was built, this was a breakwater type of harbor constructed off the West Boulevard at Santa Barbara rather than a dredged, land-locked harbor at Goleta.

The Editor

2

. . and the Shells Came

By George W. Edmonds “J-J'J-JORGE, t-t-t-the J-J-J-aps are s-s-s-sh-sh-shelling Ellwood!”

“What did you say?”

“Thejapsareshellingellwood!”

“Now take it easy. Start all over again — slow and easy.”

“I told you the first time: THE JAPS ARE SHELLING ELLWOOD!” Thus began one of the most interesting nights, journalistically speaking, in any newspaper office, and certainly in the editorial offices of the Santa Barbara News-Press.

And this is the story — not of the Ellwood shelling, which is already well known but of how a newspaper handles a world-wide news scoop under the most hectic and impossible conditions imaginable. To any but a journalist the News-Press offices were nothing but a madhouse that night, a bedlam of confusion, noise, scurrying feet and, above all, ringing, ringing, ringing telephones. Yet order instead of chaos ruled throughout the night, with each member of the staff doing his job . .. and doing it well.

It all started with the conversation which opens this story. I was then Night Editor in charge of putting out the morning edition of the News-Press, and was home peacefully enjoying “my last good meal for the next two days” (and listening to President Roosevelt admonish the American people to prepare themselves for further reverses on the war fronts) when the ’phone rang. It was George Learned, who was then assisting me on the night desk. He was so excited I literally could not understand a word he was saying, and when the words did come clearly I was too astoimded to believe them. I made him repeat them over and over.

That was about 7:15 o’clock on Monday night, February 23, 1942 (the first shell was fired about 7:05 p.m.). It was still light enough to see the silhouette of the sub.

And the story that was to flash around (and shock) the world began right then. The “flash” had come from Mrs. Lawrence \^ffieeler, who, with her husband, operated a cafe at Ellwood only a few hundred feet from where the shells hit. I instructed George Learned to call her back on the ’phone and keep her on it as long as possible for an eyewitness account. In the same breath, James Anderson, sports editor, was started on his way to Ellwood, and, from home, I called H. E. “Mac” McAllister and got him headed for Ellwood with his camera “and plenty of plates, Mac.” Then, in quick succession, went calls to “T. M.” (Publisher Thomas M. Storke), Managing Editor Kenneth S. Conn, Charles A. Storke, then Secre tary-Treasurer and later associate publisher; Herbert F. “Herb” Orriss, the dean of all reporters, and Business Manager Bert D. Lane. Each was given the names of various staff members to contact — all in accordance with the preconceived plan any newspaper has for an emergency.

Just as I reached the door, George Learned called back. He had Mrs. Wheeler on the ’phone and she was giving him a running account of the shell flashes from the sub. As he held the ’phones together I heard her say; 3

“There comes another one!” And sure enough, the whistle of the shell was audible over the ’phone — a sound I was not to hear again until the invasion of Okinawa.

Of course the military was notified immediately, and one question never satisfactorily answered was why the Marine combat pilots at Goleta were not given the order (or authority) to “seek out and destroy” the invading sub.

The newspaper staff was assembled, more reporters had set out for Ellwood, the composing room, business office and circulation department were preparing for an “Extra”; rewrite men were putting into story form every scrap of information that came in, trying their best to sift the truth from fiction and rumor ... and then came the blackout!

The blackout was ordered at 8:20 p.m., about 20 minutes after the original Southern California-wide alert had shut off radio stations. Within 10 minutes of the blackout signal sounded by the wailing sirens, virtually all lights in Santa Barbara and neighboring communities were out. They remained out for just short of four hours when the all clear sounded at 12:12 a.m.

Meanwhile, the outside public, as well as the local citizenry, had little idea of what was going on, as the military had clamped censorship on the release of any news. After repeated efforts of the News-Press staff, permis sion was given to divulge and print what was known to be fact. That is all any good newspaper asks. The word was flashed to all newspaper services and, through them, to the world.

The News-Press had equipped the composing room with blackout cur tains and shades and had similarly equipped one editorial room about 10 X 12 feet on the second floor — never, of course, dreaming that one night the world’s attention would be focused on us and from that one tiny room we would be called upon to feed news-hungry journalists from New York, Chicago, Boston, San Francisco, Seattle, Philadelphia — yes, even from London.

When the blackout came, the business staff, the telephone operators and all those who could not crowd into our already overcrowded cubby hole had to work in the dark. They had jobs to do and did them. How? It is hard to say today, but that night everyone took his assignment in stride and got it done somehow. Reporters and rewrite men took telephoned notes in the dark, then came through the double supposedly light-proof curtains protecting our bitzy editorial “room” to write their stories. Their memories were good, for later on some of them could not read their own scrawls made in the dark.

At one point our efforts to keep newspapers throughout the country in formed with the latest news “nearly” came to a disastrous end. The blackout curtain on one of the two outside windows of the editorial cubicle did not fit properly and light was leaking out. A Home Guardsman notified us, not once, but two or three times of the light leak and each time we tried to seal it tight. Finally, he threatened to shoot out the lights — through the window!

An extra heavy curtain solved the problem, and with it news dissemination continued.

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Never before, in any newspaper office, have so many done so much in such little space. In that 10 x 12 blacked-out room were four desks, with typewriters, and two telephones. It obviously was not designed as the center stage for a news-eager world. As soon as the word of the shelling was flashed to the news syndicates the ’phones began to ring from many comers of the globe. Because of the strict censorship, only a few individuals were permitted to give out the facts as they were gathered. All of such calls were taken on the two ’phones in our little “workroom.” And each out-of-town newspaper, once it succeeded in getting through on either ’phone, tried to keep the line open, seeking all the news it could get and, it is suspcted, preventing rival newspapers from completing their news-seeking calls.

And all the while, from this same room, other staff members were put ting into shape the “Extra” that would hit the street as soon as the all-clear sounded. There were no copy tubes to the composing room from the tiny room, so other News-Press employees were pressed into service as “copy boys” to run copy from the editorial room to the composing room — down a flight of darkened stairs and through a black passageway.

The editors were drafting the layout for the first and following “Extras” as more news stories came in, editing the copy for accuracy, pressing their reporters for latest developments, conferring with military, police, sheriff and civil defense authorities and trying to keep from tripping over one another — all quite satisfactorily, everything considered.

Editorial staff members working ’round the clock that night and all the next day helping gather, assimilate and dispense news of the world-shocking shelling were, besides those mentioned previously, Len E. Swanson, Franklin Howatt, Ardle Pierce, Stanley M. Elliott, Paul Whitney, Tom C. Holt, Floyd D. Kenney, Lester Koritz, Elinor Hayes, Litti Paulding, Verne Linderman, George Clyde, Karl Krebs, Ellis Stafford, and Lewis Paul. And of course there was Victor Manning and his composing room crew and many members of the business office staff and circulation departments called in by Bert Lane to help out.

But upstairs the night editor was anxiously awaiting word from Jimmie Anderson and Mac McAllister — whom he had started immediately towards Ellwood — and from City Editor Ardle Pierce, who had headed up the coast a little after the other two. Rewrite men were standing by for Jimmie’s and Ardle’s first hand accounts of the shelling from eyewitnesses, while the engravers had been alerted to develop Mac’s pictures. Where were they?

Why didn’t they call?

Then the calls came from Jimmie and Mac. They were only as far as Goleta!

Both had been stopped by the military several times, but had managed to talk their way as far as the Marine Base at Goleta (now the campus of the Santa Barbara Branch of the University of California). There they were halted: the military was letting no one into the Ellwood or immediately adjacent area.

But Ardle slipped through “the lines” somehow and got to Ellwood, only to suffer the worst frustration of all — he couldn’t find a telephone. By the time he reached Ellwood all the places had closed up and there was not an available ’phone to be found. He was the fiirst reporter on the scene and no 5

way of getting the news out! He inched his way through the blackness to Goleta and a ’phone, to give us what on-the-scene news he had gathered.

Jimmie and Mac waited at the Marine Base through most of the night and, early in the morning, were among the first newsmen and photographers officially allowed on the scene (Ardle’s night prowling was unofficial, to say the least). Their stories and pictures were sent ’round the world.

The night of February 23, 1942? The News-Press staff of that day will never forget it!

A Picnic at Hope Ranch (From “Life in California” by Robinson) “While preparing for a trip to San Diego, and about to leave, I received an invitation to participate in a ‘merienda,’ which was to be given by Dona Maria Antonia N—. As strangers who visit Santa Barbara are often enter tained in this way, a description of this may be interesting.

“Early on the day appointed, I found all busily employed in preparation for the entertainment, and that several ox-carts laden with children and serv ant girls, were about to start off. The company were to assemble at the house of Don Anastasio C—, a brother of Dona Maria Antonia. All having arrived there, the necessary arrangements being concluded, at the word of command our Ganenes or drivers stuck the points of their long poles into the sides of the oxen, and the procession started for the ‘Laguna blanca,’ the place selected for the scene of our diversion.

“The cart of Dona Maria Antonia took the lead, drawn by two stout oxen. It contained, besides herself, her daughter, daughter-in-law, grand daughter, and Dona Concepcion, her sister; leaving just sufficient room for me to squeeze in between the latter and Dona Maria Antonia, with my legs dangling out behind. The cart was well made, arched behind, and covered with bleached cotton, like many of our wagons at home. The next, in succes sion, was a cart containing the children with their respective Indian attendants to guard them from accident. This was lined with hides, which made a secure, as well as a comfortable, conveyance. After this followed another, the fourth, the wheels of which squeeked under the weight of roast turkeys, chickens, beef, mutton, tamales, dulces, etc. The rear was closed by about fifteen or twenty persons on horseback.

“After a slow but pleasant ride of one hour, we arrived at the spot selected for our encampment, ‘la Laguna blanca,’ a spacious amphitheatre, and one of the most lovely places that could have been chosen for the oc casion. The surrounding hiUs were plentifully covered with small oak trees, and the grass around was beautifully enriched with flowers. In the center of the area was a circular pond, bearing the name already stated, which had been increased by recent rains to a circumference unusual except at this season of the year (early spring). During the preparations for dinner I took my rifle and strolled into the woods in quest of game; succeeding in killing some quails, I returned just in time to take part in the feast.

“A large white tablecloth was spread on the grass, upon which were tastefully arranged our different dishes of meats, pastry, fruits, and sweet meats; and around these we accommodated ourselves, some reclining, others 6

seated upon the ground. At the conclusion of the dinner the boys amused us with a ‘toro’ or bull, which they had brought from a neighboring farm; but he soon managed to escape, and made his way to the center of the pond, where he remained quite secure from their torments. Being foiled in this amusement, they commenced racing their horses, and gave us a good speci men of their superior skill in riding. While they continued these diversions, others of the party scattered about in little groups, where the music of the guitar and singing seemed more attractive.

“At evening we returned to the Presidio, in the same order in which we left; each one well satisfied with the day’s amusement.”

Two Picnics at More's Landing

By Edward S. Spaulding Long ago, in the days before Santa Barbara was connected with Los Angeles and San Francisco by railroad and with every part of the State and Nation by highways and freeways (I do not mention the incredible airways), when large ships, both passenger and freighter, made regular runs up and down the California Coast, there were long wharves running into the sea from the shore at many of the convenient shipping points — at Gaviota, Goleta, Santa Barbara, Summerland, Carpinteria, and other similar “ports.”

There was, also, an inconsiderable number of smaller craft that, when oc casion warranted, made short runs across the Channel to Santa Cruz and Santa Rosa Islands or along the Coast westward to More’s Landing, at Goleta, or eastward to Serena and Carpinteria. By present day standards, these small boats were clumsy, heavy, and slow; but, in those easy-going days, when no one was in a hurry and when a journey of any sort might be a pleasant part of the destination, they served our purposes admirably.

One afternoon, late in summer, a party of twenty-five or thirty of us, having chartered Henry Short’s launch “Charm,” for a trip to More’s Land ing and back, met at Stearns Wharf, at the foot of State Street, with our dinner packed in boxes and baskets and our bathing suits rolled in towels, and boarded our sea-going chariot.

As I remember the day, the usual, light breeze was blowing from the west and the usual, lazy rollers, under the wind’s propulsion, were following each other toward the shore with continuing regularity under a light surface chop. Such a New England sea captain as was old Captain Low, who lived on the Mesa to the west of town and overlooking the Channel, probably designated the day as a flat calm; but, to us less experienced mariners on the lumbering Charm, there was motion enough to be noticeable. As the boat headed westward into the light breeze, the broad rollers raised and with persistent monotony. dropped our bow up and down, up and down Soon, it was noticeable that there was less light and gay chatter in certain quarters than there had been at the start of the cruise. One or two or three sought the seclusion of the cabin, but this proved to be a mistake. The strong smell of gasoline, carried by the light breeze from the throbbing engine, so filled the cabin that these unhappy ones quickly reappeared on the open, breeze-swept deck. Long before the Landing was sighted, several 7

of the boys were lying face downward on the deck at the bow; and an equal number of girls sat on the bench that ran around the stem with their faces in their crooked arms in the rail and made no pretense of gayety or of keeping up appearances.

To those who were not afflicted with nausea, it was a pleasant but rather uneventful voyage. We saw no whales or curving porpoises or other large denizens of the deep. There was some singing within the group of the songs popular in that day. After a cruise of about two hours duration we arrived at our destination, tied up to the rickety wharf that, even in those early days, was beginning to break up, and went ashore. Changing into our bathing suits in the rooms of a weathered shed that stood roofless on the wharf, we soon were splashing and playing in the somewhat heavy breakers and swim ming and paddling about in the quiet, relatively deep water immediately beyond them.

Well before darkness began to fall, we broke up into small groups and, going up and down the wide, smooth beach, we gathered driftwood for our fire. When this fire was built and lighted, we sat in a great circle around it on the warm, dry sand and ate the supper that we had brought with us in the Charm.

As the twilight deepened, the moon appeared on the eastern horizon, full and round and large, and made a yellow pathway across the water to us.

Again there was much singing, this time the singing of the sentimental songs that seemed to suit the occasion with especial gracefulness; and, I doubt not, a word or two was murmured here and there within the circle, and a bright, meaningful glance cast, that expressed the tenderness that the moonlight ever kindles in young and romantic hearts.

About nine o’clock, we again boarded the Charm and prepared for the return trip. I remember that there was some talk between two or three of the boys of walking home; but the light breeze had gone down with the sim and now a calm held the sea, the surface looked to be quiet and serene under the full moon; and so, in the end, the thought of walWng the eight or nine miles home along the dusty Goleta Road was given up.

The return trip proved to be somewhat different from the outgoing one; now, the rollers went with us. Each one, coming to us from the stem, picked us up smoothly and easily, carried us forward for a moment or two, and then gently set us down once more. The sensation was one of more than ordinary speed forward.

There was also the added attraction of the sight of the little fish that swam or lay on or near the surface of the water as they darted out of the Charm’s path. It was a night when there was a great deal of phosphorescence.

As the bow of the Charm thrust forward through the water, turning up a curl of white light on either side, it frightened into quick activity many fish.

These made off through the water as fast as their fins and tails could propel them. This darting activity on their part so agitated the quiet w'ater around them that the billions of micro-organisms that made up the phosphorescence turned on their micro-lights; and so the courses of the frightened fish were clearly outlined in lines of white flame in the water.

We arrived at Stearns Wharf about an hour before midnight and, getting into our waiting carriages or moxmting our horses, as the individual case 8

might be, we rode and drove up the quiet streets of the sleeping town to our homes.

Our second picnic at More’s Landing was like the first one only in that it was held at the same place. This second time, we met at the Austin home and proceeded from that starting point to the More beach on horse back and in carriages via the Goleta Road. This was a ride of eight or nine miles and, again, it was a pleasant part of our destination. It took about the same time to accomplish this journey by horse as it had done to make the cruise in the launch.

When the whole party was assembled, we set off up Santa Barbara Street, which, along with all the other streets of the community, save only State Street, was unpaved. Coming to Mission Street, we crossed to De la Vina Street and then continued westward on that street until it merged with the country road sometimes known as Hollister Avenue but, more often, simply as “The Goleta Road.” (Constance Avenue was surveyed and opened at a later date than the one of which I write.) On state occasions, this country road was referred to as a part of El Camino Real; but the real vogue of this high sounding title came later, with the advent of the automobile.

The first four miles of the ride was over relatively level land on a straight road. (The only bend in the Goleta Road was at its intersection with State Street, in the 2900 block.) Then it passed over two or three small, rolling hills that were a trial to the bicycle riders of the day and dropped down to the low, flat land of the Goleta Valley proper. The five mile “stone” (really, it was not a stone but a heavy block of wood) was located on the far slope of the last one of these small hills and was a well known landmark.

We passed the landmark and, almost immediately came to the tall Lom bardy poplars that lined the Goleta Road on both sides from this point onw’ard to San Jose Creek. It was these handsome trees that in large measure were responsible for the compliment of “Avenue” being given to this ordinary country road. They are gone now, and gone to all intents and purposes is the road that they shaded so pleasantly. The modern, hard-paved highway that today is Hollister Avenue is not recognizable as the pleasant, dirt road that once was there — the wide, dirt road with the hayfields on either side of it that used to be so pleasant a place to ride and drive!

Arriving at last at the short and rather steep road that had been cut in the face of the cliff to give access to the beach and wharf below, we dis mounted. The girls proceeded at once on foot to the beach, and the boys remained on the cliff top until the horses were cared for by them. Then we, too, repaired to the beach, carrying with us the heaviest portions of the ample lunch the Austins had prepared for us.

Once on the beach, the procedure was somewhat different from what it had been on the previous picnic. Now, we had the whole day before us and so, after putting on our bathing suits, we each one spent the time according to his or her inclinations. There was much swimming and playing in the surf, of course, for this was a recognized part of every beach party; and between swims, there was much lying indolently in the sun on the hot, dry sand. At one time, a boy, moving more or less purposelessly on the wharf, made a rim across it and jumped out and down to the soft sand, a drop of six or eight feet. This was something new to us and so, from that time forward for a 9

half hour, we vied with each other in seeing who could jump the farthest.

The contest ended without final decision when Royal Austin, a fast runner and a strong jumper, misjudged the length of the plank flooring from which we sprang as he made an all out effort to set the record for that day.

He missed the end of the board completely in his final stride and went spin ning into space. I still can see in my mind’s eye his frantically beating arms and his pounding legs as he fell out and down to the sand. Luckily, the sand was soft and deep where he landed, and he was not seriously hurt; but the incident stopped the jumping for that day and turned our thoughts to other matters.

Someone, a girl as I remember it, standing ankle deep in the water as the waves swept up the beach and then receded with equal velocity, noticed rather idly that the rushing water tended to wash the sand from under the soles of her feet and that, as a consequence, she was sinking very slowly into the wet sand. Presently, she felt one foot come in contact with something hard and, reaching down with her hand to see what the obstruc tion might be, she came up with a clam about the size of a silver dollar.

This interesting discovery set us all to searching with our feet and hands for more clams. I learned that, if I stood in the shallow water almost any where along the beach and worked ray feet sidewards back and forth as the waves swept in and out again, I was able to sink into the sand some three or four inches in a very few moments. Each time that I did this, almost without a miss, I came upon a clam with heel or toe. What happened in the end to all the clams we dug in this way I do not know, for no effort was made by anyone to collect and put them to some useful purpose.

A few of us made the long walk along the beach on the hard sand to the entrance to the Big Slough, but none of the party attempted to swim in the warm water of the estuary because it was common knowledge that this was a favorite place for the stingarees to lie. When we returned from this jaunt and attempted to put on our shoes and socks, we discovered with some dismay that the soles of our feet were caked solidly with soft asphaltum that had drifted to the beach in small gobs from the oil slick off Fish Rock.

At mid-afternoon, we climbed the dusty road to the top of the cliff, saddled and harnessed the horses, and in cheerful mood set out for home.

The ride back to Santa Barbara that hot afternoon was uneventful except for the fact that one of the girls, who had eaten too plentifully of the red raspberries and cream that had been the dessert of the luncheon, became 80 ill that she had to dismount from her horse and to ride the rest of the way home in one of the carriages.

Again, as on the previous occasion, the journey to and from the land ing had proved to be a pleasant part, possibly the pleasantest part, of the whole occasion. Riding today in a fast moving automobile over this road, it is all but impossible to imagine how pleasant it once was for the boys and girls, and for men and women, too, for that matter, to jog and lope along the same road in the days when there was not a single automobile in all of California!

10

The chope! and ranchcria at Las Cieneguitas are partlolly reconstructed in this drawing

by Russell Ruiz. Crosses In the Indian cemetery indicate Christian burials, while the pole with hangirsg eogle feothers is on Idol to the pogan god of land and oir, a protector of crops, colled Chupu or Sup.

The Lost Chapel of Cieneguita

By Gloria Brooks Forsyth Las Cieneguitas is a lovely, lilting word meaning little marshes or swamps. In the plural or singular form, it once described an area four miles west of the business center of Santa Barbara, where a tule-fiiled cienega extended in a rough Y-shape from St. Vincent’s School (Las Cieneguitas Ranch) southward beyond Modoc Road.

Artesian springs provided pure water for the large rancheria of CanaUno Indians on the western edge of the slough, and the thick-growing tules and swamp grass were near at hand for thatching their willow-frame jacales. Undoubtedly, there was good fishing in the stream that flowed into the cienega, and good harvests of acorns in the oak grove on the hundredfoot knoll between the arms of the swamp. Waterfowl, small game abounded there.

Long before the Canalino rancheria of Alcajeh, there had been a settle ment of “Oak Grove People” on the knoll. David Banks Rogers discovered II

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this settlement and cemetery in 1923 and he describes it and the Canalino rancheria, which was called Cieneguitas or San Francisco Xavier by the Spanish, in his authoritative book, “Prehistoric Man of the Santa Barbara Coast.” At the time of his explorations in the ’20s the cienega and surround ing countryside was still wild and overgrown; so much so that the partner of the notorious burglar, “The Lone Wolf,” buried $20,000 worth of loot there in the wild raspberry vines. The hiding place of the jewelry stolen in 1923-24 from the homes of wealthy Santa Barbarans is still a mystery.

Shrouded in mystery, also, is a Mission chapel built in Las Cieneguitas in 1803. Few residents today remember it still standing, and the hard-working Mission padres had no time to record the details of construction.

According to the census of Indian rancherias sent by the Presidio commandante Captain Felipe de Goycoechea to Governor Diego Borica in March, 1796, Alcajch had 51 population. For some reason the Franciscans did not take these people into the Santa Barbara Mission community but allowed them to retain their village life under their chief, Sumumaguit.

Probably the transportation difficulties caused the padres to establish one of their four chapels there and bring the Christian message to the pagans by means of circuit-riding priests.

The early years of the Mission Santa Barbara had seen an amazing number of Indian baptisms, the 2,000th being recorded in 1803, the figure climbed to 3,000 in 1804. About the same time the adobe Cieneguita Chapel was built by Indian labor, a chapel of the same design (27' by 66') was con structed on the Goleta laguna at the rancheria of Sagspileel or Mescaltitan.

In 1804 an adobe chapel and living quarters went up on Rancho San Marcos (See Noticias, October, 1958). There was also a chapel in Montecito on pres ent-day East Valley Road. Among these chapels travelled the padres, bap tising, teaching the catechism, offering Holy Mass, sanctifying marriages and conducting funerals. Thus these first circuit riders brought Christianity to villages from the Santa Ynez Mountains to the Channel Islands, aided by trained neophytes.

One can imagine that the Indians of Las Cieneguitas tilled the soil, raising wheat, corn, barley and beans, as did those of other rancherias, under the supervision of a mayordomo. Their village was part of the vast Mission holdings, which in 1804 extended from the Santa Ynez River to the Rincon.

So the livestock, crops, etc. went to the Mission.

In theory the land was held in trust for the original owners, and it is interesting to note that at Cieneguitas a 16-year-old Canalino, Francisco Massilili, laid claim in 1849 to a garden established by his maternal grand father. In a document in the Mission Archives signed by the Alcalde of Santa Barbara and the Missionary Father, Francisco was made heir to a gar den of “three hundred and sixty Spanish yards of timber, six fig trees, twelve pear trees, eight peach trees, fifteen grapevines, one prickly pear cactus and one water ditch.”

First-hand information about Cieneguita Chapel is scarce. A photograph of an oil painting by May Kellog in 1873 and a sketch by Elizabeth Mason in 1890 show a simple but sturdy structure of adobe with tile roof. From a floor plan at the Historical Society made from the recollections of Teresita Moore it is evident that the oblong chapel measured 61' by 25', with wooden 14

benches on either side of a wide aisle. At the altar end a door opened into a small sacristy, while inside the entrance, steps led up to an organ loft with window over the front door.

Mr. Rogers says in his book, published in 1929, that the chapel remained intact as late as 1886; “The neighboring children frequently climbed to the organ loft to extract more or less melody from the few remaining keys of the antiquated melodeon that had in times past accompanied the solemn chants of the neophytes.”

Continues Rogers, “At one side of the wide entrance of the chapel stood two massive, forked posts crossed by a heavy beam from which swung three sweet-toned bells, lashed in place with rawhide thongs. Within the memory of those still living, these bells responded to the taps of wanton sightseers.”

Fr. Maynard Geiger, Mission Historian, speculates in his booklet, “Mis sion Bells of Santa Barbara,” that a pair of old church bells sold to two wealthy Easterners for their country estates came originally from this chapel.

The painting by May Kellog shows but one bell on the cross beam.

After the Cieneguita Chapel was finished, the padres had the usual adobe living quarters constructed for the Indians. (They actually preferred their dome-like jacales.) Measuring 18' by 12', with one movable window, plastered and whitewashed througout, each one-room hut was furnished in what Mr. Rogers calls “true Canalino fashion, with native beds, tule mats for partitions and floor coverings, and woven wicker slings hanging from the ceilings to hold personal belongings.”

It was in Cieneguita Chapel that the Franciscan padres held services for a time when the second Mission biulding was made unsafe by the earth quake in December of 1812. The terrible quake made great cracks in the mountains but did not harm the adobe chapel.

The chapel withstood a battle, as well. It was not much of a battle, the Battle of Cieneguita, but it was of historic importance as the first in which Californians fought Californians. Joaquin Sohs and his band of northern rebels, en route to capture Santa Barbara, were ambushed by the Presidio soldiers under Romualdo Pacheco on January 13, 1820. To avoid being cut off in a cienega Pacheco’s troops retreated to El Presidio. This battle site should be marked, for the Battle of Cieneguita is described by Bancroft and other historians.

'The artist who did the accompanying sketch of the chapel and rancheria at Las Cieneguitas, Russell Ruiz, is a ninth generation Santa Barbaran de scended from Pablo Cota, a Presidio officer.

“My great uncle Cayetano Ruiz, who died two years ago, used to attend the occasional services at the Cienguita Chapel. There were only a handful of natives living there then and the congregation consisted of white settlers in the area. After a funeral service, my uncle told me, the congrega tion would walk across the fields to the old Catholic Cemetery near Juvenile Hall. My grandparents are buried there. And my wife and I found some graves of Civil War veterans.”

The rancheria of Las Cieneguitas was not immune to the white man’s diseases that reduced the once-populous Canalino nation to a pitiful remnant by the end of the nineteeth century. In the early 1870s Thomas Hope was appointed agent by the government to “guard from white contamination and 15

liquor” the Indians still left at Las Cieneguitas. Here as early as 1840 was a last stronghold of a fast-deteriorating race numbering not more than two hundred souls.

Thomas Hope had supervision over perhaps sixty Indians at Las Ciene guitas and was sympathetic to their interests. Already in at least one instance these Indians had successfully defended the title to their land in the case of 16-year-old Francisco. Now a dirt road through the Hope Ranch and across the cienega in front of the village was to be declared a public highway without consideration of the property rights of Hope or his wards. The road went through eventually but not until after Juan Justo, a giant Canalino, had stretched a rope across it and threatened passers-by with a club so that the road became known as Modoc Road for the Modoc Indian War in the same year.

Finally in 1886, after the death of Thomas Hope and the purchase of his holdings by the Pacific Improvement Company, the eleven remaining Indians in the rancheria were subjected to a brutal reign of terror designed to oust them from their centuries-old home by the cienega. One adobe hut after another was mysteriously burned to the ground until only three were left. Then came an eviction notice served by officers of the law. David Banks Rogers tells in detail this sad ending to a village that had once greeted the first white men of Portola’s expedition with friendly hospitality.

The Justo of Modoc fame and his wife Cecilia worked on a ranch, and from 1889 on their son Juan was a street sweeper for the city because, he is quoted as saying, “I wanted to wear a felt hat and a uniform so people would know I belonged to the city.”

Miss Pearl Chase recalls a member of the Parks family describing Juan and Cecilia going back and forth to town, he riding a pony and she walking.

They usually stopped to rest on the eucalyptus-shaded hill on the edge of the Parks ranch, now part of the Community Golf Course. Rogers fills out the picture of these last survivors. “... In the still hours of the night, Justo would be seen riding his pony homeward, much the worse for his potations, with Cecilia plodding faithfully behind, carrying their small purchases. Upon arriving at the ranch, a pang of conscience would make Justo revert to his early Christian training. He would light a candle and sing the Latin mass from first to last without faltering.”

His son Juan, who was born at Las Cieneguitas, recorded the language of the Canalinos for the Smithsonian Institution before his death in May, 1941, at the age of 86.

The Chapel of Cieneguitas gradually fell into ruins. Miss Chase remem bers seeing the crumbling walls of the chapel as she rode horseback along Modoc Road. She tells me the mortar for the building came from a lime kiln on the land grant of Las Positas y La Calera (lime kiln), later owned

by Thomas Hope and today residential Hope Ranch.

The ruins were visible into the 1930s. In 1947 Russell Ruiz located the foundation stones of the chapel in the back yards of two homes on Modoc Road. “The owners were surprised and pleased to find out the origin of the stones and pieces of broken tile,” he muses.

16

The Santa Barbara Advisory Landmark Committee hopes to have the site of the Cieneguita Chapel listed as an historical site and, according to Miss Chase, has sent forms for application for registration to state authorities.

“Unfortunately our interest in preserving historical buildings is fairly recent,” comments Miss Chase, whose Plans and Planting Committee spon sored the historical survey.

Is it not a shame this fine example of a Mission chapel, built 16 before the present Mission building was completed, could not have preserved? As little as 25 years ago this would have been relatively Today the site of the Chapel along with the cienega and the wooded are lost beneath the bulldozer of progress.

years been easy. knoll

Asphaltum Mine at Goleta (Information collected from William H. Roberts by Horace Sexton) Near the spot where the University of California at Santa Barbara campus is located in Goleta today, there was once another enterprise which also brought changes to the quiet valley. That was the Alcatraz Asphaltum Mine, which operated between the years 1890 and 1898. Many colorful characters from the Mother Lode country were attracted to the area when mining work again could be found here. Sons of local farmers suddenly learned that they could make double the wages paid for farm labor in the new mine, and rascals, when they were run out of San Francisco, rode the railroad south to the end of the line at Santa Margarita, above San Luis Obispo, and from that town drifted south to the mine in Goleta in search of a temporary job. Mr. William H. Roberts, who was raised in Goleta from boyhood and who now resides at 525 East Arrellaga Street, Santa Barbara, made the long journey from Oregon to Southern California in 1895. He was an exper ienced gold miner.

Mr. Roberts started work at the Alcatraz Mine upon arrival in Goleta.

On his first day, while still dressed in the garb of his long ride, Mr. Roberts climbed down the ladder of the original shaft wearing his high heeled boots.

This was a hair-raising experience even for a gold miner. The pioneer shaft, which was “as crooked as a dog’s hind leg,” was sunk some 200 feet into the asphaltum itself. It was considered too dangerous for the men to ride down it in the bucket; hence the perilous descent by ladder.

The location of the asphalt mine today may be identified by the “tailings” of shale on a spot some 150 yards southwest of the S. W. corner of the new Women’s Dormitory on the present campus. Originally, this was located on a 400-acre tract of land belonging to Mr. August Den, from whom the mining company leased the site. The value of asphaltum was well kno\vn in Goleta because, before the establishment of the mine, Mr. John More had shipped quantities of it by steamers from his wharf at More’s Landing. This asphaltum simply had been hacked into chunks of suitable size as it lay on the surface of the earth. The heavy outcropping of the mineral on the cliff above the salt pond gave promise of a massive underground vein, and this the Alcatraz Asphaltum Company set about to mine.

17

The first manager of the company was a Mr. Welty, He was followed

by Mr. Gillingham. The foreman, Mr. Charles L. McPherson, afterwards became superintendent. (It is interesting to note that with his savings from his work Mr. McPherson bought land in Ventura, where the McPherson family remains to this day.) Mr. Alexander Bell was the bookkeeper. A man of many talents and one well remembered for his sense of humor was Mr. “Morty” Rodehaver. Later, Morty was one of the original automobile mechanics in Santa Barbara.

There were about 50 employees of the company, a stupendous labor force for the community of Goleta, which at this time numbered only 30 farm families. These men were of all sorts and all nationalities. Besides the reliable local residents and the experienced gold miners, there was a constant stream of transients who drifted up and down the coast and stopped off at Goleta for a few days or weeks of work at the mine. Perhaps to work off some of the steam of this sometimes quarrelsome lot, the employers of the mine formed a football team, which they called the “La Patera Giants.”

Only one player, Mr. Frank (Peck) Willis, ever had played football before.

Although the team that he coached was big and strong, on the only occasion when they played Santa Barbara, they lost 38 to 0.

The men worked shifts of ten hours each, two shifts making up the day’s work. The change-overs were at 7:00 A.M. and at 4:30 P.M. They came up for an hour for lunch at noon looking like blackened gnomes.

They had to wash with coal oil to get the worst of it off, and then with buckets of water. The night crew, which went down at 5:30 P.M., came up at midnight to eat their sack lunches in the shaft house, where it was safe to smoke and where they could breathe air free from the fumes and odors of the mine.

Wages paid were S2.50 per day for miners, and $2.00 for “muckers” (roustabouts). Prevailing wages in Goleta were $1.00 per day plus board.

Board and room at the mine cost the employees $4.00 per week. The men furnished their own blankets and slept in the bunk house. At first, the kitchen was run by a Chinese off the Revenue Cutter “Bear” running to and from Alaska. Someone beat up the Chinaman and, after that, Mr. and Mrs. Ufkin, who had had hotel experience, managed the cook house. It is recalled that the meals were very good, ham and eggs and sausage being great favorites.

Later, the Ufkins moved away and two Chinese again took over the kitchen.

The asphaltum mine buildings on the site included two hoist houses, the cook house and dining room, two bunk houses, the office and manager’s quarters, and the stables.

Timbers for the mine came to Goleta by schooner from the mills in Oregon and were rafted ashore through the surf. It was a great day when a schooner came in to the mine, and work of unloading had to be done rapidly so that the ship might meet its schedule. The pay was $10.00 for every 1,000 pieces of timber brought ashore. The work in the surf was wet and cold, but it was speeded up and, as the day wore on, was made increas ingly hilarious by the important primer, ample whiskey.

When the company first began operations at Goleta, there was very little to guide the management in the way of experience; so the first shaft 18

was sunk in the asphaltum itself. This is the shaft pictured in the photo graph belonging to Mr. Jim Smith. It was the shaft in which Mr. Roberts made his first descent. This shaft proved to be unsatisfactory due to the viscous quality of the asphaltum. When exposed to the air, the asphaltum be came encrusted and hard; but, as the shaft was projected into it, it would push forward into the shaft. It required constant vigilance to keep the opening clear. There could be no days for “Sundays” — the asphaltum would “grow” into the shaft overnight! It buckled the timbers and even engulfed them.

Finally it was decided to sink a shaft in the solid shale alongside the vein of asphaltum, and to tunnel “drifts” out toward the asphaltum every 50 feet. During the sinking of the second shaft (it was known as “Number 2”) the men could work only for shifts of four hours, with four hours off, and then back again for another four hours. This situation was due to the brackish water that kept seeping into the shaft. This seeping, brackish water made for very difficult working conditions in another way also — the least scratch to the skin became so irritated by the salty water that men continually had to go off work until these infections had healed.

The horizontal tunnels, called “drifts,” extended some 100 feet to the ore body. These drifts were made every 50 vertical feet to the final depth of the mine, some 550 feet. The upright timbers were 10 by 10 with 2 by 10 laggings in the drifts. (The 2 by 8 timbers used at first were found to be too frail — they tended to break in the swelling asphaltum.) The miners worked their way from the shaft to the ore through the shale by picking and blasting. They would set the shots of dynamite and then run back and up into the shaft for the moment of the blast. Mr. Roberts recalls a desperate time when he and Mr. Billy Bradley and Mr. Louis Moore had set 15 sticks of dynamite. When they retreated to the shaft, they found that someone had let the fire die down under the boiler and the steam hoist would not work.

They hastily climbed into the bucket and managed to pull it by hand far enough to be clear of the avalanche of shale that filled the drift after the blast.

It was the work of the “muckers” to take out the dirt that came down from these landslides. The asphaltum was hacked into chunks of about 80 pounds each. In the confined drifts, the blows sounded like rifle shots, Mr. Roberts recalls. The muckers loaded the chunks into cars on rails that were pushed along the drifts to the main shaft, where they were raised to the surface by the usually-working steam hoist. This hoist was powered by a little, upright boiler that burned oil, poor grade asphaltum, old, broken timbers from the mine, and eucalyptus wood taken in the neighborhood.

To overcome the seepage that kept coming into the mine, it was necessary to keep up the job of bailing continually. There was a fan that pumped fresh air into the mine. This fan was in the boiler house. Mr. Morty Rodehaver, the previously noted blacksmith, at one time in the proceedings had a pot of mussels (these shellfish grew in great numbers on the rocks of the Goleta Beach) boiling on his forge. He must have chuckled to himself when he deliberately put the pot near the fan and sent the aroma of cooking shellfish throughout the mine. When the men came up that afternoon for dinner, they were boiling mad because the smell had made them so hungry that they hardly could finish their shift.

19

At one time, an official of the Alcatraz Company from England was making an inspection tour. Thinking to give these outlanders a taste of culture, he drew some pictures on the walls of the hoist house. The next day he was astonished to find the other walls covered with drawings of exceptional merit. When he learned that the artist was none other than the black smith, Morty Rodehaver, he declared that his own years of training in the academies of Europe had not given him the facility that was possessed by this untrained man of talent.

The work in the mine sometimes was hard and even dangerous. There always was a gas coming from the asphaltum when it was exposed to the air. When the asphaltum was warm, it was porous, like a sponge. Then it would harden and have the texture of obsidian. When there was a fog from the sea, it tended to blanket the escaping gas, which then backed up in the mine. An early method of dispersing this gas was to build a fire in a bucket and so make a draft. This was not against the rules at first.

An explosion in the mine, which killed two men, had the effect of in augurating safety rules. The two men killed were Mr. Charlie “Doughbelly” Ellis and Bill “Banker” Burch. This explosion was caused by candles, used underground, that exploded a pocket of gas. From this time on, “Daveys,” safety lamps, were used. A man was employed full time to fill and clean these lamps for the miners. This type of lamp was carried in the hand, not worn on the head. Each miner, for safety, used two, one to remain lighted if and when the other one went out. (The lamp that went out in the drifts had to be sent above ground to be relighted.)

On another occasion, there was a cave-in that badly injured three men, Mr. Frank Ellis, Mr. Pete Phillips, and Mr. Harry Sexton. This was caused by the striking of a pocket of water in a stope, that is, water from the level above. Mr. Sexton found his only escape lay through a hole along with the mud and water. When he tried to get up, he found himself held down by the great amount of mud in his clothing. He had to be hauled out by the other miners. He had fallen on a pick and this had injured his leg so badly that he was laid up for several months. There was no workmen’s compen sation or insurance in those days!

At first, horse power (that is, horses plodding around in a circle and turning a Cornish “whim”) was used to operate the mine. Later, as depths became greater, steam and cable were introduced. Water for the boiler was hauled by Mr. George Sexton in barrels filled by hand from a well on the Storke Ranch, some three miles to the northwest. This kept one flat wagon and two horses constantly at work to keep the boiler and kitchen, etc., supplied. The water was stored in a tank on the hill. The steam from the boiler went into a galvanized pipe, where it was condensed and used again.

At the peak of production, this mine turned out about 60 tons of as phaltum daily. This was hauled to the railroad depot at La Patera in wagons at the rate of a ton per horse, three trips a day, for five four-horse teams.

The mine contracted with local families who owned teams for this haulage at the rate of 75 cents a ton. One man, working four horses, could earn S9.00 per day. When the barn burned one rainy night, 16 horses were lost to the flames.

20

The La Patera Station was located at the present intersection of Stow Lane and Hollister Avenue. The railroad itself, at that time ran out from Santa Barbara along the south side of the valley, on the hills of Hope Ranch and across the More Ranch. The Goleta Depot was a half mile south of the old Sexton House and east of San Jose Creek. From La Patera, the railroad ran on through what is now the northern part of the Airport as far as Ellwood, where it ended. The Southern Pacific Railroad Company, to keep its franchise, had to maintain a service of at least two train trips per week on this line.

At the depot, the chunks of asphaltum were loaded into gondola cars and carried soulh even if destined for San Francisco. Once at Saugus, they might go via Mojave over the Tehachapi Pass to the San Joaquin Valley; or they might go to Los Angeles. It is reliably reported that the streets of far away New Orleans were paved with asphaltum from the Goleta mine during those years.

The Alcatraz Asphaltum Corporation later was taken over by the Barber Asphalt and Petroleum Company, which was a subsidiary of the Trinidad Lake Asphalt and Petroleum Company. The Alcatraz Company meanwhile produced another type of asphalt, which was liquified and carried by pipe some 35 miles to Gaviota, where the Alcatraz Wharf and Refinery was located. Finally, in 1898, when it was found that the Trinidad asphalt was cheaper to produce, the mine at Goleta was abandoned.

Annual Meeting The annual meeting of the Santa Barbara Historical Society was held on Thursday, January 26, 1961 at 4 P.M. in the Museum of the Society at the Old Mission.

The meeting was called to order by President McDermott.

Mr. Don Woods, chairman of the Finance Committee, gave the financial report, explaining the various receipts and disbursements for the year and stating that an audit had been made by Mr. Carroll Ball, auditor and ac countant for the Society.

Upon a motion duly made, seconded and carried the financial report was approved as given.

Mr. W. Edwin Gledhill, Museum Director, made a report on the ac tivities of the Society during the year 1960. He stressed the importance of the Society’s role in sponsoring El Pueblo Viejo Ordinance, wHch has al ready had statewide influence on historic preservation.

He commended the “News-Press” and “This Week in Santa Barbara” for their cooperation in assisting the work of the Society in the preservation of Santa Barbara’s heritage, and expressed appreciation of Selden Spauld ing’s remarkably fine work as editor of Noticias, stating that the publication is outstanding in its value to the Society.

He voiced the opinion that the year 1960 was one of significant historic preservation.

In closing, he expressed the hope that the year 1961 would be success ful in the building of a needed permanent home for the Society. He thanked 21

the many who have assisted the Society by gifts, loans and in various ways.

Upon a motion duly made, seconded and carried the actions of the Board of Directors during the year 1960 were approved.

Mrs. Charles H. Cannon, chairman of the Nominating Committee, pre sented the panel of proposed Board members and officers for the coming year. Nominations from the floor were called for, and, upon a motion duly made, seconded and carried, it was voted that the panel be approved as presented, that nominations be closed and the secretary instructed to cast the ballot.

Mr. McDermott expressed his appreciation of the cooperation given him during the past year by the Board and members. He mentioned that the County Board of Supervisors has extended for two years the option on the Stanwood lot for the building of a future home for the Historical So ciety. He congratulated Dr. Koefod on his electiton as President of the Society and offered his continued support and assistance to the organiza tion and the incoming president.

Dr. Koefod was introduced and spoke briefly of the beginning of the Historical Society in 1932, when the Native Sons and Daughters organiza tions realized that much of Santa Barbara’s historical material was being destroyed or going out of the city. Paul Sweetser was one of those Native Sons who was active when the Society was formed. Mrs. John Russell Hast ings assumed the responsibility of caring for the historical material. In 1942 the organization was incoi-porated and Mr. Sweetser was the first president.

In 1954 Mr. and Mrs. Gledhill agreed to be director and curator, and since then they have given of their time and substance without remuneration. It was in the year 1954 that the Historical Society received permission by the Franciscan Padres to occupy quarters in the Old Mission. He pointed out that one of the biggest accomplishments of the Society was the “El Pueblo Viejo” Ordinance.

Dr. Koefod stressed that the three most important steps for the Society to take in the future are: (1) The commencement of a museum building on the property at De la Guerra and Santa Barbara Streets, which is in the center of El Pueblo

Viejo.

(2) To have a library with source material near the Mission and the Museum of Natural History in order that the Society could work closely with them on historic projects: “This is just an ideal dream,” he said, “but the light is beginning.”

(3) Some day the Society hopes to acquire the important historical adobes, such as De la Guerra, Covarrubias and El Cuartel.

The first thing for the Society to concentrate on is the securing of ade quate quarters for the museum, said Dr. Koefod.

It was his opinion that there should be several vacancies on the Board of Directors, as the Society needs fresh blood from time to time.

The meeting was adjourned, and the members present were given a preview of the new exhibition of the American Period, which opened to the public on January 27th. Refreshments were served in the library of the museum, with Mrs. W. S. Law and Mrs. John D. Gill serving at the tea table.

22

IRVING WILLS. M. D. e

STREET

SANTA BARBARA WOeoiAHQ 9-0049

September lli, 1?60 I'lr. Edward Selden Spauldiag 720 Mission Canyon Road Santa Barbara, California Dear Selden: A few days ago you recalled to me a discussion we had some years ago re garding the location of the Fremont Trail from the Santa Ynez Valley up the northern slooe of the mountain, I remember telling you that it had beai pointed out to me by Samuel G. Kelly or his brother Joseph L. Kelly, shortly after I purchased my little ranch in 1937.

Ihe Kelly brothers had migrated to Santa Barbara County from their home in Kellytown, Pennsylvania about lfl76. Together with a third brother, they home steaded along the south side of the Santa Ynez River from Bear Creek on the west to the boundaries of the present Rancho Oso, on the east, Iheir lands adjoined two large ranches: Rancho San Marcos and Rancho Los Prietos y Hajalayegua, They told me that they, the erqiloyees of their Apiary and the cowhands from the two large ranches, all used this Fremont Trail in going back and forth to Santa Barbara on horseback.

I was interested in the Trail at that time, for two reasons, first, because it passed through my ranch and thereby endwed it with an historic flavor and also because my two young daughters and I found great pleasure in exploring old mountain trails on horseback, Samuel Kelly, who, althou^ past seventy-five years of age at the time, negotiated the mountain side with an agility comparable to one of the many goats which he owned, kindly agreed to locate the T^ail for me, V<e found it greatly overgrown and in some places obstructed by small slides. It was impossible to follow on horseback} and even on foot, forward progress required generous use of my machete.

I had in Tny employ at that time, a vigorous and husky young Dutchman.

Jonnie did the heavy brush cutting and shovel work while I did the heavy bossing and between us, we cleared about a mile and a half of this historic Trail. In several olaces, we found where small gullies had been walled up with rocks to prevent the trail’s being washed away. Of course, no one can say Just when this work was done, but the fact that the Trail which we uncovered was markedly wider tJian other mountain trails which I have ridden over since boyhood, suggests the possibility that tills work was oart of the original trail building Job. Certainly, a wider than usual trail would have been necessary to make possible the movement of the cannon or field pieces which Fremont had with him. After a lapse of some fifteen years, I recently rode up the mountain to have another look. I found that if my pony and I were to get very far, we would again need the brush hook, shovel and rippling muscles of Jonnie, so with seme reluctance I turned back.

VJith kindest personal regards, I am yours.

Cordi^^^^

^

Irving Wills, M.D,

The Annua! Luncheon The second annual luncheon of the Santa Barbara Historical Society was given in the Garden Room of the Hotel Carrillo on Thursday, December 1st, commemorating the birthday of Saint Barbara, our city’s patron saint.

Dr. Irving Wills gave the adddress. His subject, “The Jerk Line Team,” on which he is an authority, was illustrated with slides.

His talk covered the transition of the 2-, 4- and 6-horse teams of the East and Middle-West, with a more or less level terrain, to the jerk line teams of 12-14-16 or more animals necessary for the West’s mountainous country.

It was filled with details of the life, atmosphere and history of this fascinating means of transportation of the 19th Century before the day of the horseless carriage and modem truck.

24

SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS 196 1

OFFICERS President

Dr. Hilmar 0. Koefod

First Vice President

Don W. Woods

Second Vice President

Mrs, Robert Ingle Hoyt

Secretary

Paul G. Sweetser

Treasurer

Mrs. Henry Griffiths

Past President

Thomas J. McDermott

DIRECTORS Mrs. Charles H. Cannon

Mrs. E. F. Menzies

Mrs. Wilson Forbes

Edward S. Spaulding

John Galvin

Hugh J. Weldon

W. Edwin GledhiU

Elmer H. Whittaker

Rev. Basil Kelly, O.F.M.

Dr. Irving Wills

W. Edwin GledhiU

Museum Director

Mrs. W. Edwin GledhiU,..

Curator

Edward Selden Spaulding

Editor-in-Chief

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U. S. Postage PAID Santo Barbara, Calif.

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