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In This Issue AVIATION AT HOPE RANCH

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MY FATHER, J. W. COOPER

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THE SAINT CECELIA CLUB

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VOL VII, NO. 2

SUMMER, 1961

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N€TICIA5 QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY MAILING ADDRESS: OLD MISSION, SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA

Aviation at Hope Ranch

By Marshall Bond History was made in Santa Barbara on January 1st, 1911, when the first airplane to fly in the area took off from Hope Ranch. The plane was a Farnham-Curtiss biplane called a “Banshee” and was powered by a pusher type Hall-Scott engine made in Oakland. This motor had eight cylin ders and develo|>ed 80 horsepower though rated as only 50. Its metal parts were of aluminum and brass. The pilot was an intrepid young Frenchman, Dadier Masson. The Morning Press featured the city’s first flight with the headline: “Manbird Sails over City to Ocean and Potter** The year 1910 had been a spectacular one in aviation history. A mania for flying had swept over both America and Europe. The planes used were flimsy affairs having the appearance of large kites, with their canvass-covered wings held together by a maze of guy-wires. Nevertheless, altitude, distance, and speed records were being broken repeatedly by such daring pioneers as Glen Curtis, Charles K. Hamilton, and Roy Knabenshere. The last named flyer inspected Hope Ranch in January of that year and said: “Every record that has been made can be broken at Hope Ranch. The conditions there are jjerfect for aerial navigation.” He proposed a concourse 3,000 by 3,000 feet and a grandstand for 5,000 spectators. The only question was one of financing.

Several abortive attempts were made early in 1910 to raise the necessary funds to bring a plane and a flier to Santa Barbara. It was not until Decem ber that arrangements finally were completed under the leadership of Milo W. Potter and Whipple Hall, a wealthy San Francisco sportsman. They signed a contract with Dadier Masson in which the latter agreed to bring his plane to Hope Ranch and to fly it there on January 1st, 1911.

Masson made two flights on New Year’s Day, circling around the Ranch and over parts of the Goleta Valley. On January 2nd, he made several more trips, concluding with a truly spectacular run from the Hope Ranch polo field, over part of the city, to the Potter Hotel. The time of this last flight was fourteen minutes. In describing this final event, the Morning Press said: “The machine left the ground at 4:55 and headed for the mountains, then made a wide circle to the north, reaching an altitude of more than 3,000 feet. Masson then headed the machine straight for the hotel, keeping 1

near the Mesa to avoid the thickly settled portion of the city. About one half mile from the Potter, he made a sweeping drop of about 2,000 feet and began to circle the hotel. He made four wide circles and then headed the craft out over the ocean until one-fourth mile distant; then turned and came back on a dead level with the height of the palm trees, missing them by a very narrow margin, and alighting on a space scarcely twice as large as the machine.

“There was a notable reception for him in midair as he circled about the Potter Hotel, 100 feet above sea level, the machine coming within fifteen feet of the tower, which was filled with guests of the hotel who exchanged enthusiastic greetings with the aviator. On the roof garden of the hotel was a party of Japanese, who became wildly excited, and shouted exultant ‘banzais’ to the plucky Masson, who responded with a modest smile and a care free wave of the hand.”

John K. Northrop, the noted airplane manufacturer who lived here at that time, told me recently that Masson made the tight landing in front of the Potter by braking the machine with his feet. Masson, who was famous for a stunt called “the glide of death”, later went to Mexico with General Pershing and then returned to France, becoming an ace in World War 1.

Messrs. Whipple and Potter must have been somewhat disappointed by the financial outcome of this event for, in spite of much advance publicity, fewer than 2,000 persons paid a dollar admission to Hope Ranch. It was felt that it would be some time before another world famous aviator could be financed in Santa Barbara, and this proved to be the case.

The most talked about and best aerial exhibit occurred three years later, on March 1st, 1914. This time, everybody who had a dollar to spare stampeded to Hope Ranch to see another dare-devil stunt flier, Lincoln Beachey, famous for looping the loop, experiment with a brand new biplane built in Los Angeles with the help of Glen Martin. The plane itself cost S10,000, and was powered by a French engine of revolving type called a “Gnome” and costing $5,000.

Frank W. Crakes, who was closely associated with all the early flights here, wrote me that Glen Martin told him that this plane was making her maiden trip, and that Beachey had never flown a plane with a revolving engine. He said that Beachey knew that the gyroscopic force of this kind of motor would be considerable, but was willing to take a chance on being able to control it in the air. Harold L. Callis, who promoted the Beachey flight and arranged for a special train to Hope Ranch at twenty-five cents a person, told me that this plane contained an untried experimental feature called “warping wings.” Martin and Beachey believed that better aileron action might be obtained by permanent crimps in the rear of the wings. It was clear that flying this plane invovled unknown risks.

With a huge crowd assembled, Beachey climbed into the cockpit at the appointed hour only to discover that the reflection from a shiny tin hood over the motor was blinding. He ordered it soaped. When this was done, the mechanics got the engine going; but Beachey cut off the power, saying: “The propellers are blowing the soap into my eyes.” When the soap was smoothed down, he taxied up the polo field and turned around for the take off. After a run of one hundred yards, the plane was in the air but wobbling

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slightly. Beachey then began to climb west, flying over the country club (now the home of Mrs. Sam Stanwood, who was watching at the time with her husband and Mr. and Mrs. Harold Chase). Seven minutes later, Beachey returned and circled the field at an altitude of around 2,000 feet. As he started over the club house a second time, he made a short dive and looped the loop. In this maneuver he lost control of the plane and commenced a series of gyrations that most of the spectators mistook for stunt flying.

Finally, he went into a side slip and, swinging around, landed in an oak tree between the polo field and Laguna Blanca. The wings were wrecked, but fortunately, he sustained no greater injury than a bloody nose.

Beachey told reporters: “I wasn’t frightened. It was just like a run away horse, and I kept hold of the reins, figuring it would run itself out and then I would be able to guide it. But, when I got about 800 feet from the ground, I realized something would have to be done. I managed to catch the machine as it swung around and hold it fairly well. But I could not raise the left wings, and then I realized I was up against it. I would probably have been killed had I tried to light on the level ground, so I made for the grove of trees.”

The crowd also made for the grove of trees, breaking down fences that stood in its way. I was present at this event and, although only six years old. ran with the mob to the scene of the crash. I have a vivid recollection of the gallant aviator sitting in the cockpit up in the tree with his cap on backwards, blood running from his nose, and swearing profusely. After climbing down, be ordered the plane burned, and, hailing a passing car, rode to the clubhouse to clean himself up. The broken wings were burned on the spot, but the mechanics dismantled the rest of the plane and sent it back to Los Angeles.

The Morning Press reporter, after interviewing Glen Martin and other professionals present, summed up their views as follows: “The Hope Ranch flight will go down as the most remarkable ever made up to this time. Beachey’s bird sense is quite beyond the understanding of ordinary mortals, and those who saw the one flight Sunday may consider themselves fortunate as having seen the most remarkable thing that ever took place in the air. Beachey looped the loop, flew upside down, tangoed, corkscrewed, floundered into all sorts of aerial hieroglyphics, and while most of it was not calculated, he came out of it in one of the greatest thrills ever given an aviation crowd.”

It must be said in conclusion that the price of progress in the field of aviation was a heavy toll in human life. Only a year later, Lincoln Beachey, one of the truly great pioneers of flying, was drowned in the wreckage of his plane when it crashed into San Francisco Bay.

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RANCHD SAN reRNANDQ REY STAR ROUTE SANTA BARBARA CALIFORNIA

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Note to the Editor, from Mr. John Golvin, who ollowt Noticiot to print for the first time the following letter from Esther Serro, from the Galvin eolleetion of manuscripts.

Fray Junipero Serra Letter FOREWORD Don Pedro Fages, Captain in the Royal Army of Spain, Commandant of the military forces of the “New Establishment” of California under Gov ernor Caspar de Portola, and altogether one of the ablest officers ever sent here by the Crown, is in this document made the target of a long list of charges brought against him by a certain Corporal Miguel Periquez of the Catalan Volunteers. That Father Serra should take them seriously enough to copy them out in his own hand and send them to Viceroy Bucareli re quires a brief review of the curcumstances.

The reader will recall that Father Serra was in San Diego in 1772 with a company of twelve missionaries, with whom he planned the estab lishment of half a dozen new missions. Captain Fages, now Portola’s suc cessor, flatly refused to consent to it, on the ground that he could not supply the new missions with the necessary military protection, thereby bringing down on his head the wrath of the great man. Finding himself powerless to persuade Fages, Father Serra went to Mexico in 1773 and laid the dis pute before the Viceroy in person. Of necessity the Viceroy had to side with Fages, because it was his obligation to insure the new colony and the mis sions against attack by the Indians, as well as against encroachments by the Russians and British, who were edging in on California. Nevertheless, he tactfully recalled Fages in 1774, but replaced him by Don Felipe de Neve, who turned out to be even less tractable than Don Pedro.

This document was apparently part of the dossier that Father Serra prepared for the Viceroy in his regrettable campaign (regretted by him later on) to get rid of the troublesome Commandant. Father Serra’s sin cerity in so doing is not to be doubted, but at this distance the corporal’s bill of complaints has a somewhat comic look—is, in fact, a sample of the typical grousing that soldiers have always gone in for while serving under the harsh command of a tough officer. It is pretty convincing of Fages' ability, for he was (and had to be) a stern disciplinarian, not at all in clined to be soft on loafers and shirkers, which he manifestly thought his men to be. After all, “soldiering on the job” is not a new concept. It is en tirely unlikely that the experienced Viceroy gave the charges any impor tance. On the contrary, Fages was soon promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and in 1782 was appointed Governor of California, a post in which he served with distinction for nine years.

Lesley Byrd Simpson University of California April. 1961 Fray Junipero Serra to Viceroy Antonio Maria Bucareli. n. <1. !Viva Jesus, Maria, y Jose!

[Herewith is] a paper that I received in a letter which came on the I'rincipe from Monterey (and which I have in my possession), purporting to be the substance of what was written by the Corporal of the [Catalan] Volunteers of that Presidio, Miguel Perfquez, to his Captain, Don Augustin CalHs, describing the treatment they received at the hands of Don Pedro Fages.

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His charity toward the sick. When the bark San Carlos arrived at the Port of San Diego with the troops, the majority of whom were sick, I, as Corporal, went to the said bark for the rations of both sick and well. On the order of the Surgeon I requested the Captain of the bark, Don Vicente Vila, to give me what was needed, in chocolate, rum, and vinegar, for the treatment of the said invalids, all of which Don Vicente gave me liberally.

But when I was half way back, Don Pedro Pages came out to meet me and took away what I was bringing to the invalids, saying that he was the Commandant and that he would give them whatever he pleased. And so he which was did, giving them a very small ration and not what they needed the occasion of much grief to the Surgeon, Don Pedro Prat — and the rest he kept for himself, filling a large chest with the invalids’ chocolate. And when [the ship] sailed for Monterey, fourteen sick soldiers were left behind at San Diego, with no provisions other than a little maize and a little choco late that Governor Portola had left; but Don Pedro Pages [left] nothing, although he had taken from the bark a chest belonging to the expedition; nor during the whole voyage did he give the crew anything, except in ex change for washing and mending his clothes.

Once when I the Corporal had fallen ill at Monterey, when they were building the Presidio, and on order of the Surgeon had gone to bed to re cover, he [Don Pedro Pages] not only did not allow the said Surgeon to exercise his office, but ordered me to get up at once and go to work, and to watch out for him, or I should pay dearly for it. I got up to obey him, picked up my axe and went out to cut wood, but my pain was so great that I could not walk fast, and Don Pedro Pages, seeing this, took a stick and drove me as if I were a donkey. And when I told him that I could not walk fast on account of being very sick, he not only did not take pity on me, but with great arrogance abused me and sent me to work. And this happened many times.

Upon another occasion, when I had hurt my leg while chopping down a pine tree, so badly that I had to be carried to camp on a mule and the Surgeon had begun to treat me, Don Pedro Pages did not allow me to be put to bed, but said that it would be enough of a cure for me to sit up. And so he made me work from dawn till dusk, making pick handles and axes, and as soon as I was able to walk he sent me to work immediately. On another occasion I, Sergeant Juan Puio, Valentin Planells, and Geronimo Planes were taken ill, and the Captain [Pages] came to see us, and the comfort that he gave us was to abuse us, saying that we were malingering in order to get out of work, and for us to get up at once and go to work — which we had to do, because no one could understand him any longer for his shouting. And to cap all ray misery he made me work all that winter, during which I was sick all the while.

In order to treat some sailors who were sick of the scurvy, the Surgeon begged, with tears in his eyes, for some chickens that he [Don Pedro Pages] had (because to ask for those of the King would have been a waste of breath), and he could not get them. Don Pedro Pages answered him that the treatment of the men was his responsibility; and the only medicine he gave them was short rations; and it was a common saying among the men that most of them died of hunger rather than of disease. This is well attested by the tears of the Surgeon, when he saw that he could not treat them for 6

lack of food, there being at the time plenty of chickens belonging to the K.ing, but Don Pedro said they were all for him. And so they were, for he made away with them one by one; and never once did a hen get killed for the sick, but only two cocks, one for Sergeant de Cuera and the other for

Pablo.

The work of the men. A few days before we left San Diego for Monterey the Lord Governor, Don Caspar de Portola, begged us to help remove the Presidio, because it was not in the proper spot. We all offered freelv to do so, and we worked until noon, when we went to the camp to have a bite to eat. We had hardly arrived when Don Pedro Pages came up and asked me very harshly and arrogantly where the men were. I answered that some were eating and that others were resting. And he said to me: Resting? Resting? There’ll be no resting! Get to work!” All this in a very arrogant tone. When he had left I said under my breath: “Upon my word, this is a fine thing if we can’t take a moment off to eat and rest, and no back talk!” And for this he clapped me in irons.

So we went from San Diego to Monterey. On June 6, 1770, the work for the building of the Presidio and Mission began, and he did nothing but order us to cut timber, build houses, haul logs, erect everything, make adobes, excavate, remove the earth, clear the plaza, and dig latrines, [treating us] worse than slaves and giving us such heavy tasks that we were at it from dawn to dusk without stopping, even to eat; in order to finish v spend most of the days in the fields without eating. Even though we were supposed to have Sundays off, we did not have a [free] Sunday or feast day for the first seven or eight months, and even then the only time he allowed us was for Mass. The rest of the time, to work! And this went on until the Father President [Serra], clothing himself with zeal for the honor of God, reminded him of his obligation as a Chrisitan—which is when working in the fields [on Sundays and feast days] was suspended; but he replaced it with reviewing the troops, washing and mending clothes, and bringing in i a whole week’s supply of firewood for his kitchen. In short, we worked as hard on Sundays as on other days.

Although I do not remember what he threatened us with when the Sun day work was stopjied, I do remember very well that on one occasion when It was raining he ordered Valentin Planells to cut timber in the forest and to finish the job; but the rain got worse and the said Planells returned. He ordered him again to the forest and ordered the cook (a soldier named Manuel Bistron) not to give him anything to eat; and so he spent the day in the woods without eating.

On another occasion when it was raining he sent me to the garden to dig, the said garden being about three-quarters of a league from the camp, and I was mending a shoe in order not to go barefoot. Don Pedro came into the barracks and told me to go at once to the garden to work. I told him that I was just finishing and would go immediately, and he told me to go barefoot. And that is what I had to do, in the rain and cold, and he kept me working all that day with nothing to eat. And this business of spending a whole day without eating occurred a great many times. And if we happened to stop to roil a cigarette he covered us with insults, calling us traitors to the King, telling us that we were stealing his work from him! and that we were a lot of offal, and that the only thing we wanted to do was 7

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to smoke and eat. 1 assure your Worship that our hunger was such that we ate everything we were sure would do us no harm: vipers, mice, snakes, seals, coyotes, crows—every living thing except beetles and the grass of the fields—eating worse than horses, until it happened that most of the men got poisoned, and I was one of them.

The Captain ordered us to go and make salt. The men told me they would like a little for their mess, because what they had was full of dirt (and it is to be noted that the men had their legs and feet scratched from the work of getting it out), and more than 150 fanegas of it were piled up. I told them to take a little, but to do so in such wise that Don Pedro should not see them, or we should have to suffer for it. But it was impossible to hide anything from him. While we were at work he used to inspect the whole barracks, lifting up the beds, and most days there was not a rag or a corner that he did not inspect with eyes and hands. Then it was that I should have liked to be in my grave, in order not to hear the things that he called us. such as thieves and traitors to the King.

Indeed, I no longer have any admiration for this gentleman, seeing that with no provocation whatever he called me a scoundrel in front of the whole company, and this because he would not give us a handful of figs.

But the truth is that it hurt him in his pocketbook, because the figs were his and he sold them to the troops. He bought the figs at P/o reales the pound, and raisins at 2 reales, and he sold everything at 6 reales the pound.

On several occasions he told me that he had the power to make corporals and sergeants, and that he could break me whenever he pleased, calling me a traitor to the King, although I gave him no reason to do so, nor had I ever shirked my duty, as all those who have been in the said Presidio will testify. Rather, I did more than my duty, working as much as anyone, or more, all day and even at night, doing my duty as Corporal, as Don Pedro himself can testify.

His calling men traitors to the King, for the slightest reason, was in him so common that there is hardly a man in his company who has not had to hear it many times, except a certain mulatto who was a great favorite

of his.

In the year ’70 all the provisions in the storehouse were spoiling, and yet he kept us on half rations. On the 29th of May the storehouse was in spected, and 39 cwt. of flour were found in it, as well as a great quantity of dry rations. That same day the ship arrived, and notwithstanding the abundance of provisions, and the ship’s being in port, he kept us three more days on half rations.

Item. He gave the men orders to beware of writing anything to Mexico or anywhere else.

Item. On the Day of the Dead, while the men were at church hearing the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, at the second Mass he ordered us to leave aiui. although he did not shout, he did motion with his head for us to leave and get to work, and he did not allow us to hear the third Mass for the suffrage of the souls of our parents and ancestors.

Item. A letter entrusted by the soldier Francisco Cordero to the Cali fornia courier, one Labra, was seized by Don Pedro, who read it and kept it, as is testified to by the courier himself, as well as by another soldier— 10

also because the said Cordero did not receive a reply—and Don Pedro told him that the writer was clever, but not so clever as he.

Item. He did not allow the nien to celebrate Holy Thursday and Good Friday, but ordered them to work. The soldier Martin Reyes begged permission to absent himself from work on Good ~ - Friday, because he wanted to confess; but he scolded him roundly, telling him that he wanted to confess only to get out of work, and why couldn’t he put it off until the next day?

The said paper reaches this point without an ending or a conclusion, and I have coined it because it is in his hand, although with many erasures and badly written.

If Captain Callis, after seeing the letter (for which I have his receipt), decides that It IS substantially true, he may give it more credence. Your Excellency will, in any case, determine what is most fitting for the comfort of these poor men, which is the desire and supplication, for charity’s sake. Most Excellent Lord, of Your most affectionate servant and chaplain, who venerates you and kisses your hand.

Fray Juni'pero Serra

Chocolate

By Edward S. Spaulding The antiquarian, as he strolls pleasantly through the diaries, letters, and relations of the explorers and missionaries of Alta California, is surprised to discover that the morning drink of the padres in their missions here was chocolate and not coffee or tea, as most of us casually have assumed to have been the case. As proof of this, Alfred Robinson, who sailed out of Boston for the California Coast in July, 1828, (It was this man who was the bride groom in the “Santa Barbara Wedding” in Dana’s “Two Years Before the Mast.” I records a visit that he paid to the Mission San Juan Bautista after he arrived here. Though he was cordially received and hospitably entertained, he spent a wretched night at this mission establishment. In his words, “Thus the whole tedious night passed (he was in a bed infested with fleas) in scratching and complaining till morning broke, when, worn out with fatigue and loss of sleep, we finally closed our eyes and slept till roused for chocolate. ^ we passed the old friar, on our way to the breakfast room, his friendly inquiries were incessant: ‘Buenos dias! como pasaron vmds. la noche?’ To which I would have frankly replied, but politeness forbade, and a shrug of the shoulders brought forth the feeble and laconic ‘Buen! (Gracias!’

“By the time we got through our chocolate our horses were at the door, and we hastened to take leave of Padre Arroyo.”

A decade later, George Ruxton, when he made his hazardous ride from Vera Cruz through the City of Mexico, Durango, Chihuahua, El Paso. Santa Fe, and Pueblo to Fort Leavenworth found the Americans along the ■way drinking great quantities of coffee; but the Mexicans, in their isolated hainlets, were drinking the national beverage of chocolate. He tells us that “1 stayed, at El Gallo, in the house of a farmer who had lost three sons by the Indians within a few years. Their corn was now ready for cutting, but they were afraid to venture outside the village, and procured enough for their daily consumption by collecting together all the villagers and proceeding to the fields in a body to bring in a supply. I remained here for two days, as one 11

if my mules was seriously lame, during which time my chief occupation was sitting with the family, shelling corn, and ‘platacendo’ (chatting). In the evening a guitar was brought, and a fandango was got up for my especial amusement.... In a rancho the time is occupied in the following way. At daybreak the females of the family rise and prepare the chocolate or atole, which is eaten first thing in the morning. Breakfast is usually taken about nine o’clock, consisting of meat prepared with chili Colorado, frijoles, and tortillas: dinner and supper, at midday and sunset, are likewise substantial meals.”

These two quotations, the first from “Life in California” and the second from Mexico and the Rocky Mountains”, are typical of very many other references to “chocolate” that are found in the books of travel and adventure in California and Mexico.

Fray Francisco Palou, in his life of Fray Junipero Serra, speaks of the importance of chocolate in the diet of the first missionaries to Alla California.

He stales that on one occasion, during a severe water shortage, while the ship was bearing them to the New World, w'hen his companions asked Junipero Serra if he were not thirsty, the good priest answered; “It is noth ing to worry about. .. . 1 have found a means to avoid thirst and it is this: to eat little and to talk less in order not lo waste the saliva.” Palou remarks further that, “because of the scarcity of water which we experienced during the fifteen days preceding our arrival at Puerto Rica, we were rationed to such an extent that the amount they gave us each twenty-four hours was hardly more than a pint, (the normal consumption of fluids for the indi vidual European varies from one half to one full gallon each 24 hours, de pending upon the humidity of the moment) so that it was impossible even to make chocolate. But Fray Junipero suffered these inconveniences with such patience that he was never heard to utter a complaint, nor did anyone notice in him any sign of dissatisfaction.”

In another place in his relacion, Paulou records: “He (Fray Junipero) also had the pleasure of meeting along the road the Captain of Sonora, Don Juan Batista de Anza, who was coming down from Monterey in discharge of the orders of His Excellency the Viceroy to open up a road from Sonora to Monterey, as is slated in a previous chapter. He told His Reverence how he had fulfilled the command of His Excellency and had opened the road for communication with the province of Sonora. This caused our Venerable Father President great joy. Yet when the captain narrated to him the suf ferings he had experienced at Monterey—for we did not have even a single bar of chocolate to offer him for breakfast, and our diet was reduced to milk and herbs alone, without any other item of food—he began to shed tears.'

And here, in this letter written by caporal Miguel Periquez and copied in Fray Junipero Serra’s hand in 1773, we find “chocolate mentioned no less than three times on the first page.

For how many centuries before the Europeans came to the Gulf of Mexico the natives of that littoral had used the beans of the chocolate plants, or cacao”. that were native to their shores is not known. When Cortez and his small band of adventurers arrived off what is now the considerable city of Vera Cruz, in 1518, he found Montezuma and his Aztec followers drink ing vast quantities of the beverage. W. H. Prescott states that the Indian ruler had 50 jars, or pitchers, prepared daily for his personal use, and 2,000 12

jars for the use of his immediate family and retinue. It is all hut incredible to us that a single individual could have consumed so huge an amount of chocolate as 50 jars, yet such is the assertion of this historian of Mexico.

The twelve species of the cacao plant, genus theohroma, order stcrculiaceae, grow natively along the whole shore line from Mexico to the mouth of the Amazon River from tidewater to an elevation of 2,000 feet. Some of the plants grow as high as 25 feet. It is peculiar in that the blossoms appear in clusters on the main branches and on the stems, or trunks, and so the fruit, as it ripens, seems to be attached to the tree by some artificial means.

The purplish-yellow pods are eight or nine or ten inches long and have a diameter of three or four inches. The seeds, or beans, within these pods are in five rows, five to twelve beans to the row. The Aztec name for the plant is “choclath”, and it was held in such high regard by these Indians that small bags of the beans passed among them as a kind of currency. Linneas was so delighted with the taste of the bean that, when he named the genus, he called it “theohrama”—“God’s food”.

The conquering Spaniards at once became addicted to its use, and they carried the cocoa beans back to Spain with them when they returned to their mother country. From Spain, the beans were carried to France and England and other parts of Europe. In the London Public Advertiser of June 16th, 1657, there appeared this notice: “In Bishopgate St., in Queen’s Head Alley, at a Frenchman’s house, is an excellent West Indian drug, called chocolate, to be sold, where you may have it at any time, and also unmade at reasonable prices.” Chocolate was a very fashionable drink in the early 18th century, especially in Spain. George Borrows, in “The Bible in Spain.” mentioned chocolate as did Palou, Robinson, and Ruxton in i their books of the New World.

It is amusing to note that, as the use of cacao, or chocolate, became widespread, the “o” and the “a” became transposed and now the product that we purchase in our supermarkets is not cacao” but “cocoa”. It seems likely that certain amount of confusion was caused by the similarity of “cocoa” and “coconut”, another product of the Caribbean area: and from this confusion came the name “cocoa”, under which the chocolate tree, or shrub, is described in the Encyclopedia Britannica.

So widespread is the use of cocoa today that it is cultivated all over the world where the climate and the soil are suitable, that is, at low alti tudes l>ctween the 25th parallels of north and south latitudes. In 1901, the world .consumption of it was 105,723 tons, an immense total. Seven years later, in 1908, the consumption had grown to 141,374 tons; and from that figure it has increased steadily. Obviously, Montezuma and his Aztecs were not peculiar in their liking for “choclath”.

When the small group of devoted priests who were destined to found the chain of missions in Alta California sailed from Spain for the New World, they carried with them their strong liking for chocolate; and so it came about, by one of those curious and interesting circles that occasionally appear in histor)^ that chocolate became the customary morning drink in our missions.

13

My Father, J. W. Cooper

By Francis Cooper Kroll Many years ago a workman was layinO’ with precision, a cement walk in the garden of a large house on the corner of Sola and Chapala Streets. A stately, Victorian house with many porches, high bay windows, and, proudly Widow’s Walk. As the man bent crowning its slanting roof there was to his task, a child ran from the shade of an old rubber tree across the wide green lawn, and quietly hut emphatically pressed her small foot in its but toned shoe into the still soft cement. The workman called out to her, angrily, just as a tall broad-shouldered man approached them. Gently, without raising his voice, the tail man said, “1 understand how you feel—but don’t scold the child. Footprints are like memories—to keep always.” It was my father, Joseph Wright Cooper speaking, and I was the little girl.

A big man in every way—in stature, in character and in vision, he had made the long journey from the Eastern States to the West, three times by 1858—first in 1850—again from Missouri in 1851 with Colonel Newton Peters and Nelson McMahon, driving the first band of sheep (12,000) that ever crossed the plains from East to West. The time element obliged my father to leave these good friends at Devil’s Gate on the Sweetwater and to continue to California on horseback. In 1858 he returned once more to Missouri. Almost immediately, again with a large band of sheep, he started West as a partner of Hubbard Hollister.

This trip and the years which followed brought about father’s associa tion and close friendship with Thomas and Albert Dibblee, the Hollister brothers and the buying of the great Spanish Grants in the vicinity of Lompoc by these five pioneers. He married my mother, Frances Mary, daughter of Albert G. Hollister, who had come to California later in 1871.

Although I had my mother for so short a time in my life, years more could not have enriched the legacy she left me—the love of beauty and the appreciation of the written and spoken word. I must not dwell here on my affection, my gratitude and so much else—for this is not her story.

Eventually there were six of us, and our parents indulged us, to be sure, but only because my father wantetl us to have everything he had been born to. and lost, so early in his life, owing to his father’s financial failure.

Surely before him always was the memory of being left alone, after his father’s death, not only to support himself, but three sisters and a niece, as well. His brother, a medical student, could offer little or no assistance. But father had a vision, during those difficult years, of a kinder, far richer way of life, and it was that vision that brought him to California.

His great strength of body and purpose made possible his success, his honesty. loyalty and modesty earned him his unbroken life-long friendships, and his kindness and gentleness deepened the happiness of his family. He left his ranch—the Santa Rosa—and retired from the life he loved, brought about bv the death of their first-born son, because he and my mother wanted a family, and the isolation of his property made prompt medical care im possible. It was then that they moved to Santa Barbara. However, Rancho Santa Rosa remained in his possession for the rest of his life. Some years after his death in 1905, the ranch was sold, with the exception of his favorite 14

1

The Cooper home, Santo Barbara, on the west side of Chapato Street, just above Sola.

15

part, La Vina, which is still owned, lived on and cultivated by his grandson, W. H. Cooper, Jr. It is good to feel that something of the long ago vision of that discouraged boy, in far off Missouri, has endured and been loved through years of fulfillment for fi\'e generations.

My father’s hardships made him always mindful of the suffering of others. I remember, when very young, standing, staring in curious wonder at the strange shabby men who found their way to our back door. Tramps, we called them—but they were never turned away—they slouched on the steps just outside the kitchen door and the cook brought them well-piled plates of food. Even then I felt that it was nice to see a person walk away, holding himself a little straighter.

The home our parents created for us was a child’s paradise. The large garden, tall wonderful trees to play under—other trees to climb and rob of their fruit—I fear long before it was ripe—tennis and croquet courts, and, most wondrous of all, a tremendous domed arbor over which shining ivy grew, struggling for space against the gnarled old graj>e vine whose heavy blue bunches hung through the lattice from above. Father encouraged us to plant little vegetable gardens, and how avidly we watched for the first green shoots to thrust their way up through the fine brown earth; then, more avidly still, we waited for the carrots and radishes to form. Of course, we devoured them as soon as there was anything to crunch, and relished the gritty sand that clung to them. Our jx;ts were horses, cats and dogs—white slippery mice and soft pink-nosed rabbits—even raccoons with their bright inquiring eyes and their sensitive, delicately groping finger-like claw's. Once I begged for a skunk—I thought them so pretty—but mother put her fool down firmly on that—so father bought me a Iamb as a substitute and a considerable fame that was most flattering to me was the result. Old and young from the neighborhood would gather back of the woodhouse where I kept my new pet tethered, to watch it swell into a large balloon in the short space of time it took to drink its pail of milk. I considered charging admission, but father talked me out of it. When I returned from my first year at boarding school, my Iamb had disap|)eared- -I never could bear to ask where.

And yet in our daily lives, so filled with excitement and plav, we had lime to dream and were not chided for it. IIow wonderful it was to lie on the friendly lawn, and lazily watch the softly moving butterflies that hovered about the gay lantana bush, and imagine that from the long white bells, hanging above me from the tall datura trees, I could hear a faint sweet tinkle of sound. And always, seeming then so far away that surely the) must edge the world, was the fascinating, ever-changing line of the blue distant mountains.

Father could be stern, and no doubt needed to l>e, to help my mother raise and try to control six children. I recall, when I couldn’t have been more than four, my longing to ride horseback manifested itself. Why shouldn’t I? My older sisters and brothers did. In fact, ever since my first view of a circus parade on State Street, my imagination peopled the world with beautiful ladies in gaily plumed hats and rich velvet dresses, mounted on fiery foaming steeds that pranced to the strident music of the following calliope. So I began to wheedle, then to beg piteously to gain my end. After several days—it may have been weeks, one morning my 16

father could stand my eternal nagging no longer. Abruptly he pushed me into his buggy, and, without a word, drove to Mr. Pitcher’s livery stable on Garden Street. An old chestnut mare (we called it sorrel in those days) named Flora, was led out and I was lifted onto the red plush seat of the little side-saddle. As I fumbled awkardly for the reins that lay before me on her mane, father gave Flora a brisk slap on her aged, but still glossy rump, and said with accumulated irritation, “All right—now ride!” Then climbing into his buggy, without a backward glance, he drove away, and I, a bit fearfully, but well chaperoned by wise old Flora, turned up the street.

And from then on, I rode.

Only once did I see my father really angry. Fong, the old vegetable peddler, had left his horse and wagon at the edge of the side-walk, to carry the well-filled basket to the kitchen and to linger, as was his custom, for a chat with our Chinese cook. But in that brief time, my brother and sister had worked quickly, then completely disappeared. Shortly after, hearing loud strange cries and curses, my father hurried out from the house and down to the open side gate, to find Fong jumping up and down in raving fury, and pointing to the rear end of his old horse that was facing him from between the shafts of his wagon, its head moving uncomfortably against the dashboard where its tail should have been. When the two culprits, casu ally and innocently strolled up, as if in curiosity, they were welcomed with little cordiality, and were put instantly to work to disentangle and straighten their highly original job of harnessing in reverse. My father merely laughed when the irate old horse kicked one of them. I cannot remember what hap pened after he led them silently up the walk and through the side door, but I do remember clearly the satisfied malicious expression on Fong’s face, as he drove away—his horse’s head now where it was meant to be—to the accompaniment of loud protesting wails from inside our house.

We came naturally by our love of horses, for they were my father’s weakness. He loved to rent the Arlington bus, pile us in with our friends, and drive with us to the racetrack. Oh, it was exciting to watch, with father, from the grandstand, those beautiful animals dash past us, their swiftly moving legs seeming to make music that we could almost hear. Once, with out my mother knowing it, father bought a promising blooded colt, named Solano. For months, he kept it hidden in a pasture many i)locks away and visited it daily. I, promising not to tell on him, was taken to see his pride and joy, and loved it as he did. But father’s hope to race Solano some day was ended—I cannot remember why—perhaps mother, aware of his weak ness, discovered his perfidy, and her disapproval ended his dream.

Father was adamant regarding the paying of bills. Each month, on the second day, never a day later, he drove down State Street and personally settled every account. One instance of this inflexible punctuality was shown by his reaction to a yearly event, which began with my oldest sister and continued till it included me. Across the street from us, and reaching to State Street, was an entire block occupied only by a few sturdy old oak trees, and rented to a farmer from the near-by countryside, who planted, every season, a crop of oats. After being harvested, the straw was finally stacked into a high enormous pile-—and while this was going on, across in the Cooper garden, the children, hiding behind the bridal wreath and breath of heaven bushes, silently, craftily watched and waited. When, at last, the 17

farmer had closed the gate and left for his farm, with the soft coming of dusk, the fun began—the Event of Events! From all around us, our young friends flocked, eager to do their best to help us wreck the gorgeous golden result of that yearly harvest. I can still smell the clean sweet straw—feel again the wild estatic thrill of the downward slide and the challenging strug gle upward against the slippery, prickly sides to reach the top and start anew. On the following day, year after year, my father would receive a business-like bill from the farmer for §25.00 damages, and he paid it as promptly and uncomplainingly as those received from the butcher or grocer.

Once, the morning of the great attack, the farmer’s bill came ahead of time.

When we reminded father that we hadn’t as yet wrecked the haypile, he replied dryly, “But you’re going to, aren’t you?’’

When the long drought came, endless it seemed, blighting the country, blemishing the parched ranges of the great ranches with rotting carcasses and bleaching skeletons of cattle, it invaded even our child’s world; our horses no longer stamped in the dust and switched their tails against the buzzing flies, under the long row of walnut trees near the stable. They had been taken away from us, driven up into the northern part of the state where fc*ed was less scarce and they would have a better chance to struggle for existence. Only my mother’s carriage mare remained, and, visiting her made us feel less folorn—it was comforting to see her lovely friendly eyes turn toward us from her stall in the lonely empty stable. Day after day, during that terrible time, I watched father, followed by his old black sheep dog, walk, at almost clocklike intervals, slowly from the front door of our house to the gate of the picket fence, and, raising his head, look up at the sky, hoping, praying I am sure, to see just one—just one small promising cloud in the terribly beautiful empty blue above him. The worry and des peration that he must have felt was never shown to us—he turned from his fruitless vigils, always with a smile. But the rains did come at last— he had brought us through the horror of it back to safety and security.

Ranchers are brave men! Something of that tragic time burned deep into I can never endure a needless waste of water—the sound of falling rain and the smell and feel of damp fertile earth arouses in me an almost religious sense of gratitude.

Today the garden is no more there are no tall trees to climb, no arbor with its ivy covered dome to marvel at—no lawn on which to lie and dream and watch the circling butterflies. The cement walk that once held the im print of a child’s little foot has long since disappeared, but the stately old house with its high windows and its Widow’s Walk still stands there, defiant, alien among the shops and markets and garages that have crowded inexorably closer, closer, obliterating our cherished past.

But I like to think that inside, perhaps on the wall of the upper winding staircase, not yet discovered, not quite erased by lime are still left the faint penciled marks, the year by year record of the age and height of six grow ing boys and girls, lovingly made so long ago by a tall broad-shouldered man who was my father.

18

The Saint Cecelia Club

By Bertha Gregory Smith The Club was started by a group of local women who were interested in music and took its name from St. Cecelia, the patron saint of music. For the first year, its activities were confined to musical entertainment; then, at the suggestion of Dr. Richard Hall, a greatly beloved surgeon of Santa Barbara, its purpose was changed to that of a charitable organization that offered aid to the sick of the community. It began the practice of maintaining a free bed in the just finished Cottage Hospital, a large, wooden structure on the north side of Bath Street beyond Pueblo. The doctors of the com munity gave (and still are giving) their services free to St. Cecelia patients.

The first three presidents of the Society were Mrs. William W. Burton, Jane McClaren, and Bertha Rice.

To finance the Club, St. Cecelia Fairs were held each year on St. Valen tine’s Day in the large reception room of the Arlington Hotel. Months ahead of this day, friends of the Club would gather at the different homes to make paper flowers of the kind to be used at the Fair that year as decora tions. One year, it might be peach blossoms that were made; and another year, it might be morning glories. Many ladies worked the whole year through embroidering, sewing, and knitting and crocheting articles to be sold at the various tables of the Fair. It was lots of work, but it was for such a worthy cause! Mr. E. P. Dunn, the manager of the Arlington Hotel, and Mrs. Dunn were most generous in giving over the hotel to us for that day. Soon, the St. Cecelia Fair became the most important social event of the year in Santa Barbara. It came to be held in such high esteem that visitors from the East came to Santa Barbara in their private cars to be here at the time of the Fair.

After dinner, the tables and booths were pushed back against the walls and a dance was held on the cleared floor. We always ended the evening with the Virginia Reel—Sam Spaulding and Harlow Frink were the best dancers. As the dance ended, they would swing the girls round and round for a good night parting. Everyone was happy!

I can not remember now the names of all the people who took part in these fairs of more than fifty years ago and of those that came later; but among those whom I do remember are, at the Book Table, Mabel Poet Edwards; at the Flower Table, Madelyne Edwards Meyer; at the White Elephant Table, Bertha More, Dorothy Edwards, Dorothy Fenzi, and others; at the Food Table, myself and many others, all old friends; at the Fancy Work Table, Bertha Spaulding, Mrs. Shuman, Grace Elliott, Ada Bennett, Mrs. Cunningham, and Mrs. Green; at the Candy Table, Ruth Spaulding Edwards and other good candy makers. There were, also, a Valentine Table, a Post Office, a Fishing Pond, and a Grab Bag. Miss Jane McClaren was the leader of the over-all directors. Those were very happy days!

After the Arlington Hotel burned to the ground, we had to find other quarters for the Fair, which was not easy to do.

As the St. Cecelia Club maintained a bed in the Cottage Hospital at this time, it might be interesting to note that, on January 28th, 1900, the 19

ladies of the Cottage Hospital Association met at the Arlington Hotel to hear the annual report read by the Secretary, Mrs. Hardacre: Mrs. Dr. A. J. Spaulding, superintendent of the Hospital, reported that 127 patients had been cared for during the past year. Of these, 78 were Americans, 15 were Spanish, 6 were Irish, 3 were Germans, 3 were Swedes, 2 were French, and 2 were Norwegians.

After the reading of this report, Mrs. Doremus, Mrs. Silas Bond, Mrs. Hardacre, Mrs. Hugh D. Vail, Mrs. George S. J. Oliver, Mrs. Charles Greg ory, Mrs. Henry F. Space, Mrs. Edward R. Spaulding, Mrs. George Whitelaw, and Miss Fannie Biglow were elected directors of the Hospital for the following year.

In 1903, the Club built and maintained a cottage in connection with the Quisisano Hospital, an institution newly built by Dr. Harold Sidebotham and Dr. Phillip Chancellor near the intersection of Arrellaga and Salsipuedes Streets. In 19^, this cottage, along with the hospital, was sold to the Order of St. Francis Sisterhood and became a part of the St. Francis Hospital.

Not long after the St. Cecelia Society had turned from music to the care of the sick, soon after the turn of the century, so manv requests for help from deserving people came to the Society that our funds fell very low.

To raise additional money, a musicale was given in the home of Miss Jane McClaren. Mrs. A. D. Bellmany sang, as did Mrs. Northcote. Miss Florence Fernald played the piano. In the rather quaint language of the announce ment, “Camilla Waterman, Madeline Bingham, and Leona Meigs will lend their accomplishments to the occasion.” Later, for the same purpose, another group was formed: Mrs. Richard Hall, Mrs. Louis G. Dreyfus, Miss Myra Nickerson, Jane McClaren, Mrs. I. G. Waterman, and the Morgan sisters from Summerland. Henry Howard played the flute. At still another time, January 11th, 1917, the students of St. Anthony College gave a play entitled “For God and Country” for the benefit of the Society. This play was given at Recreation Center.

After the earthquake of 1925, we had our fairs in Recreation Center with our beloved Bertha Rice in charge.

These happy days are gone beyond recall now, but the St. Cecelia Club still carries on its fine, unselfish work. It still is a nonsectarian organi zation with its membership open to anyone interested in helping the sick through emergency illnesses. The dues are $3.00 a year. At the present time, the officers and the board of directors are: President, Mrs. John Ed wards; 1st Vice-President; Mrs. Donald Myrick; 2nd Vice-President, Mrs. W. H. Lazear; Secretary, Mrs. Benjamin Brackenbury; Treasurer, Mrs. Eben Barker; and the Directors, Mrs. Marshall Bond, Mrs. Herschel Allen, Mrs. Helge Sture-Vasa, and Miss Dorothy Edwards.

20

Book Review SANTA BARBARA’S ROYAL RANCHO Walker A. Tompkins, Howell-North, Berkeley, Calif., 1960 This delightful account of Dos Pueblos Ranch begins with the visit of Cabrillo in 1542 and of Portola in 1769 to the two Indian villages of Mikiw and Kuyami flanking the outlet of Dos Pueblos Creek. The latter expedition kept no less than five logs which furnish a good description of the area at that time and we learn that some of the place names of today—such as Gaviota, meaning seagull—date back to that visit. With the advent of the Spanish the life of the Indian population began to change radically, as the Santa Barbara Presidio was built in 1782 and the Mission founded four years later. Mr. Tompkins quotes from many contemporary records in telling the history of this and later periods.

His book has the form of a novel with Don Nicolas Den, the owner of Dos Pueblos Ranch, as the central figure, members of his family and his friends, as well as some of the “bad men” of the West, adding interest and vitality to the tale. That Mr. Tompkins has used the devices of fiction, such as conversations and expressed thoughts, to enhance the telling of his story does not detract from the general historic value of the book, for the record has in it much of the material from which novels are made. As a matter of fact it would be a bold novelist who would involve his hero in as many different experiences as befell Nicolas Den; extremes of poverty and wealth, fire, flood, violence, politics, connubial bliss and proud parenthood—to name a few.

Nicholas Augustus Henry Den was a well-born Irishman who was obliged to cut short his study of medicine at Trinity College due to family reverses. In 1834 at the age of 22 he came to America and two years later found his way to Santa Barbara. This was at a time when the Mexican Governor Alvarado was handing out land grants, and in order to qualif) for such a grant Den became a naturalized Mexican citizen. Soon there after he found himself in possession of the 15,000 acreage known as Dos Pueblos which lies a few miles west of Santa Barbara. This land being ●or fed by twelve streams was fertile and verdant, and reminded Nichola Don Nicolas, as he now called himself—of his native Ireland.

With his readiness to learn the language and ways of a new country and with his native intelligence and integrity he prospered quickly. He married Rosa Hill, the daughter of a Vermont Yankee and a Spanish mother, nee Ortega, acquired a lot more land and raised a large family, for ten of his eleven children grew to maturity. At the time when the missions were being confiscated one by one he devised a scheme by which the Santa Barbara Mission could be saved, and one reward of this good deed was his coming into control of the San Marcos Ranch. The Gold Rush brought him another opportunity to increase his wealth greatly, not from mining gold but from sending thousands of head of cattle north to be sold at fabulous prices to the burgeoning population in the gold country.

A very interesting and amusing episode tells of a certain “Judge” Mc Gowan who was being hunted by the Vigilantes. Don Nicolas had been so 21

greatly shocked by the brutal lynch law he had witnessed on his short visit to the gold fields that he was persuaded to give shelter to the “Judge to protect him from the summary justice that awaited him if caught. Thus the “Judge” was a guest of the IJens for seven months, six weeks of which he spent hiding in a corn patch, occupying himself in writing a book which later became a best seller.

By the 1850’s Don Nicolas was a man of enormous wealth, a notable host, and he and his family lived in a grand style frequently shared by friends, acquaintances and passing travelers. The household servants numbered nearly 50.

“The head cook was a California Indian named Jacobo, who was assisted by his half-breed wife Refugia and a staff of Chinese and Filipino kitchen assistants, who . . . made Dos Pueblos famous among gourmets. . . .

Thanks to Don Nicolas educated palate and open pocketbook the whole world contributed to Jacobo’s larder. Ships from Cathay contributed curls of candied Chinese ginger; curry and chutney came from India; British traders provided coffee laced with rum; Dutch bon-bons with exotic liqueur fillings. Pate de fois gras featured the livers of French geese. There were O’Mara hams smoked over the peat fires in Nicolas Den’s native land; kip pered cod from Norway, smoked salmon from Sweden, cashews from Brazil, bars of maple sugar from Vermont, pears in creme de menthe, peaches in brandy—Dos Pueblos Rancho’s table knew them all.”

The Den family summoned Parisian couturieres and London tailors to measure them for their apparel and when they went abroad they travelled like royalty.

Don Nicolas never posed as a doctor but was always ready to answer an appeal for his medical skill. It was on his return from such an errana of mercy riding through a chilling rain that he contracted the pneumonia from which he died. He was then at the zenith of his career, his name being mentioned for United States Senator.

Fortunately for us Mr. Tompkins does not cut short his narrative with Don Nicolas’ death in 1862 but carries on the story of Dos Pueblos for nearly another century. Donna Rosa was only 35 when she was left a widow and she remarried five years later.

Beginning with 1862 a series of disasters came to Santa Barbara and to Dos Pueblos, one following another in close succession. A terrible drought, a plague of grasshoppers, a smallpox epidemic all led to a great depression and brought things to a sorry state. The grim picture of the town is painted by a government surveyor who passed through Santa Barbara at that time— “whole streets of adobe buildings, their roofs gone, their walls tumbling— all now desolate, ruined, deserted.” At Dos Pueblos the vast estate was be ing mishandled by Judge Ruse, executor of the Den will, who sold off much of the land without proper court authority. From the turmoil and tribula tion of these years Caterina Den Bell, the eldest daughter of the Dens’, emerges as the offspring with the strongest will and the one to save the estate from utter ruin. How she won a long drawn out law suit to recover some of the Dos Pueblos land is a tempestuous chapter in the story. Here enter the names of Colonel Hollister, Isidore Dreyfus, Ellwood Cooper and others whose descendants still live in Santa Barbara.

22

Another fascinating chapter tells of Mr. and Mrs. John Williams and their dream city of “Naples by the Sea,” a story that has never been told in its entirety before. It was during the 1880’s that they purchased 800-odd acres from one of the Den heirs with the grandiose plan of developing a city and a fabulous resort hotel overlooking the Pacific. How many people today realize as they speed along the highway between Eagle and Tecolote Canyons that they are traversing the site of the Town of Naples which once boasted a hotel, store, blacksmith shop, post office, telegraph station, livery stable, dance hall and cafe as well as various frame houses? How many residents of Santa Barbara know the story of the little Gothic chapel razed by the earthquake of 1925? And how many know the story of the meeting between Alice Williams and Leo Carrillo?

All these incidents and many more follow one another in rapid succes sion. It might be said that to some readers the introduction of single Span ish words here and there, i.e. “the Obispio”, “yellow oro”, “Rosa spoke no Inglese”, seems a trifle forced and adds nothing to a style which is in the main fluent and pleasant. Once started the book is hard to put down. Mr. Tompkins has organized a tremendous amount of interesting material into a most engrossing account of “Santa Barbara’s Royal Rancho.”

Charlotte P. Myrick

23

Activity Report-Women's Projects Board

By WiLBERTA M. Finley The Spring months of 1961 have been busy ones for the Women’s Projects Board of the Santa Barbara Historical Society. While many needed improvements have been made in the Fernald House since its move to the present location in August, 1959, there is still much to be done.

The most recent addition is the new linoleum in the kitchen and pantry; new pads have been placed under the rugs; shades and draperies were hung in the dining and living rooms. New furnishings, linens, paintings, antique silver pieces, and other treasured heirlooms, the gifts of generous members and friends, are gradually transforming this historic house into a warm, hospitable home. Tlie Board is very grateful to all of these donors.

It is hoped that every member of the Historical Society will feel as if the Fernald House is worthy of his interest and assistance. It is a project in which all may be of service.

In November, 1960, members of the Cold Spring Garden Club of Montecito offered their assistance in landscaping the Fernald House grounds.

Planting began early in January, under the direction of Mrs. Victor Bartolome and her co-chairman, Mrs. Jack De Grandchamp, assisted by com mittee members who come regularly to water and care for the garden. Sin cere thanks are extended to Mrs. Frank Burns, president of the Cold Spring Garden Club and her members who are giving so generously of their time, effort and talents.

On February 14, the annual meeting for the election of officers was hdd, at which time Mrs. Gene Harris was chosen to succeed Mrs. Arnott J. Nall as chairman; other officers elected were the Mmes. Alex Funke, first vice president; Arnott Nall, second vice president; James N. Dazey, treas urer; Leland Crawford, Jr., corresponding secretary; Ernest F. Menzies, recording secretary. Also on the steering committee, are the following chair men: Mmes. Albert de L’Arbre, program; Mrs. John H. Locklin, hospitality; and Mrs. George Finley, grounds. Following the business meeting, members of the board were hostesses at a tea for members and donors of the Historical Society.

At a business meeting and lea, held on May 11 at the Fernald House, the new Women’s Projects Board met for the first time as a group. The Board is limited by the Table of Organization to an active membership of 40 women. These members will raise funds, assist with the acquisition of gifts to preserve and maintain historic material such as the Fernald House and Trussell-Winchester adobe, and engage in other suitable projects for the Society.

Working in a lesser degree with this group will be an unlimited asso ciate membership which will also include men. Any member of the Santa Barbara Historical Society interested in the activities of the Women’s Board, and in preserving Santa Barbara’s historic heritage may become an asso ciate member. A joint meeting of the two groups will be held early in the summer. welcome committee headed On March 16, the Historical Society—with

by Vice President Don W. Woods, Paul Sweetser, secretary, Mrs. Ernest F. 24

Menzies, director, and Mrs. Gene Harris, chairman of the Women’s Projects Board—entertained Robert R. Garvey, Jr., executive director of the National Trust for Historic Preservation in Washington, D.C. Mr. Garvey was shown the Fernald House and the Adobe, and was present at the former in time to participate in the presentation by Mrs. William MacFarlane, of a Channel Island Ironwood tree, the gift to the Fernald House from the NDGW Reina del Mar Parlor, No. 126. {This tree is now planted between the two dwell ings, and seems to enjoy its new location.)

On the same afternoon, the Newcomers Club entertained in the Fernald House with a Santa Barbara heritage tea. Paul Sweetser, one of the found ers and first presidents of the Santa Barbara Historical Society, was the guest speaker at the meeting.

On March 21, the Cold Spring Garden Club met for their monthly meeting at the Fernald House. Prior to the business meeting, members of the women’s board served dessert and coffee to the visiting group. Mr. Edward Selden Spaulding was guest speaker.

On Easter Sunday, April 2, the first Open House was held for public viewing of the Fernald House and the Trussell-Winchester Adobe. Under the direction of Mrs. Albert de L’Arbre, program chairman of the Women’s Projects Board, hostesses will be provided for these houses on Sunday afternoons from 2 to 5 p.m. Any member of the board or society willing to assist in this project is asked to call either Mrs. de L’Arbre or Mrs. Gene Harris for further information. The Open House events have been wellattended by both residents and out-of-towners.

Following the annual Spring luncheon on April 21 a dedication cere mony was held at the Fernald House, as covered in the Director’s Report elsewhere in this issue. A bronze plaque, presented at the ceremony by the Society of California Pioneers, will be placed at a later date, on a large boulder in the Fernald House grounds. The plaque was presented by Frederick M. Sherman, director, and John Gill, vice president, in honor of those officers of the Pioneer Society who have been residents in Santa Bar bara from 1850 to 1961. The Society of California Pioneers, organized in San Francisco in August, 1850, is composed of direct male descendants of pioneers who arrived in California prior to 1850. It is the oldest historical organization in California.

April 23 the Fernald House was closed to the public, as members of Reina del Mar Parlor, NDGW, were entertaining there in celebration of the 60th year of their organization. Open House was held the following Sunday, as usual.

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Director's Report On April 21st, 1961 The Santa Barbara Historical Society and the Society of California Pioneers held a cooperative luncheon in the Garden Room of the Carrillo Hotel, celebrating the 179th anniversary of the found ing of the Santa Barbara Presidio.

In the absence of our President, Dr. Hilmar 0. Koefod, Vice-President Don Woods presided. Mr. Edward Selden Spaulding, author and historian, was the speaker. His subject “Presidio Days” was based on the founding of the presidio of Santa Barbara, with emphasis on the impact of the Spanish civilization on our Channel Indians. As always, his talk was interesting and informative with a different angle which departed at times from the historical recording of the event.

After the luncheon, at the home of the late Judge Charles Fernald members of the Society of California Pioneers dedicated a plaque upon which were the names of many of the early Santa Barbara officers of that organization. On the plaque the following names are inscribed: Pedro C. Carrillo, Nicholas Den, Robert E. Easton, William M. Eddy, Charles Fer nald, John D. Gill, Pablo de la Guerra, John M. Keyes, John T. Rickard, and Alpheus B. Thompson.

Mr. Frederick M. Sherman, a director of the Society of California Pioneers, who was in charge of the dedication with Mr. John D. Gill, has graciously written since the luncheon, “We have never seen a more friendly gathering, experienced such warm hospitality and feel that we have indeed cemented an unbreakable link between your organization and our society.”

The Harvey Foundation through the kindness of Miss Katherine Harvey has recently created a fund of SI,000.00 for the microfilming of the original records of early California land grants. This gift to the Society is a wel come and valuable addition to our archives.

The Santa Barbara Historical Society, besides collecting documents and records of our own area in the Spanish and Mexican California period, plans to extend the scope of collecting to all California for that period.

Original documents, microfilm and photostats would be used to build our research material of these periods. This would include the early census rec ords, genealogy of the Spanish and Mexican Californians, land grants, and such untranslated records as the State Provincial Papers, letters of interesting historic personalities and the Presidio and Mission records of Alta California now in Mexico, which have been microfilmed.

The Library Committee hopes in this way to encourage the translation of a vast amount of historic records which would be of value to researchers and historians.

The Society hop>es in the future to sj>onsor the publishing of the results of such research.

To one familiar with the immense amount of records and documents as yet untranslated, it is evident that the early history of California has been only partly revealed.

26

A recent publication by John Howell, Rare Books, San Francisco is “The Journal of Jose Longinos Martinez 1791-1792.” This has been newly translated and edited by Dr. Lesley Byrd Simpson for The Santa Barbara Historical Society. Mr. Warren Howell stated at the luncheon given by the Board of our Society for the Grolier Qub of New York, “This book is my finest publication.

On Thursday, April 27th, 1961 at the Coral Casino, the Grolier Club, a group of collectors of rare books, including curators from Yale University, The Library of Congress and other institutes, as well as top-shelf collectors, book dealers and technicians in the care and repair of books and manuscripts, were luncheon guests of the President and Board of Directors of The Santa Barbara Historical Society. The opportunity for the Board members to meet this interesting group was arranged by Mr. John Galvin, of the library committee.

Among the many interesting gifts to the Society since the previous Noticias” a few outstanding ones must be mentioned. We have already told of the fund from The Harvey Foundation and in addition we wish to mention the recent gift of Victorian jewelry from Mrs. Elizabeth Compton Hegemann.

These pieces have been on loan to the Society and are shown with her for mer gift, the collection creating admiration and interest. The latest pieces of jewelry are a set of matched yellow citrine quartz topaz consisting of ear rings and necklace, a bracelet of gold filigree and diamonds, an antique ring of blue enameled leaves and rose cut diamonds, a necklace of black onyx between gold chains with 2" black onyx cross and other pieces of antique jewelry. The gift of Dibblee papers by Mrs. M. Dibblee-Poett is also a valuable addition to our archives and Dibbleeana.

U

GIFTS We wish to express our grateful thanks to the following donors for their generous contributions: Mrs. W. H. Perry Mrs. Audrey Pinero Rancho del Ciervo Mr. Lawrence R. Riddle Mr. W. H. Roberts Mrs. Barney Rucker Mrs. Julia Russo Mrs. Elizabeth Schmidt Mrs. Ella M. Sexton Mrs. Frank Simpson Mr. Edward S. Spaulding Mrs. Guy T. Stetson Mrs. W.Guy Stockton Mr. Nathan Sweet Title Insurance & Trust Co. Miss Susan Trenwiih Mrs. Wolcott Tuckerman Mrs. Janet Turpin Mr. Garrett Van Horne Miss Margaret Ely Webb Mr. Hugh Weldon Mrs. Jean C. White Mr. Elmer Whittaker Mr. Howard Willoughby

Mrs. Gordon S. Armsby Mr. Henry Brown Mr. Albert H. Culverwell Mrs. M. Dibblee-Poett Mr. Frank Dunn Mr. William S. Feliz Mr. and Mrs. Eldon Ford Mrs. Harry Ford Mr. John Galvin Mrs. Donald Giese Mrs. Stuart Gregory Mrs. M. N. Griffin Mrs. Henry Griffiths Harvey Fund Mr. Warren R. Howell Mrs. Robert Ingle Hoyt Mr. Karl Katenkamp Mr. Don Kilboume Dr. H. 0. Koefod Mr. William F. Kurfess Mr. Ewen C. MacVeagh .Mt. Vernon Ladies Assn.

Mr. William F. Oriva Mrs. William L. Otte

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NEW MEMBERS ACTIVE Mrs. Edward S. Neilson Mrs. R. E. Palmer

Mr. Clement W. Ausman Miss Mary Birchard Mrs. Robert Dyk Father Maynard Geiger, O.F.M. Mrs. Earl Hildreth

Mr. F. M. Sedgwick Miss Janet Turpin Mr. and Mrs. H. C. Wills Mr. and Mrs. A. C. Zoll

General and Mrs. C. H. McKinslry

SUSTAINING Mrs. Tod Ford Mr. and Mrs. William Hunt Mr. and Mrs. Warren Tremaine

Miss Emily E. Birchard Mrs. Edward Bouton Mr. and Mrs. John D. Gill

CONTRIBUTING Mrs. Walter White

Mr. and Mrs. John Lloyd-Buller Mrs. Max Koshland

PATRON Mr. Ewen Cameron MacVeagh

Mrs. Alyne Fields

IN MEMORIAM Mrs. Biscoe Hindman Mr. Sterling Morton Mrs. Horace Sexton Miss Laura Wells

28

SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS 19 6 1

OFFICERS President

Dr. Hilmar 0. Kocfod

First Vice President

Don W. Woods

Second Vice President

. ..

Mrs. Robert Ingle Hoyt

Secretary

Paul G. Sweetser

Treasurer

. . . Mrs. Henry GrifTiths

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 Gledhill

Elmer H. Whittaker

Rev. Basil Kelly, O.F.M.

Dr. Irving Wills

Museum Director

W. Edwin Gledhill

Curator

-Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill . .

Editor-in-Chief

Edward Selden Spaulding

HISTORICAL SOCIETY MEMBERSHIP There are five classes of membership; Benefactor, $100; Patron, $25; Contributing, $15; Sustaining, $10; Active, $5. Dues are tax deductible.

MAIl-lNC

address; old

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BARBARA, CALIFORNIA

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