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1

Edicion de los Sombreros

VOL. IX, NO. 1

SPRING, 1963

Left to right — Top Row: Commillo Fenzi, H. Cfifford More. Center: Not Stewort, Francis T. Underhill. Bottom: Edward Boi n, T. Wilson Dibbicc, Major Max Fleischmonn, Charles Perkins.

NOTICIA5 m QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY

Sheriff James Ross

By Yale Griffith It is the privilege of most of us to know at least one person of such outstanding character that throughout our lives we continue to feel his in fluence. Such a man was Jim Ross. His one characteristic which left its mark on all of his friends was his personal integrity. As one of his longtime deputies put it, “He was the most completely honest man I ever knew. He served this county as sheriff for 28 years after 15 years as Santa Barbara’s chief of police. He was universally loved and respected. He has left a tradi tion of honest law enforcement in this community which has made it a far better place in which to live.”

Sheriff Ross was a Scotsman, born in O’Boyne, Aberdeen Shire on Sep tember 13, 1869. His wonderful Scotch brogue was never lost, and added a great deal of persuasion to his speech. To hear his old friend, Carl Newman, imitate his burr and point his middle finger as did our old friend, brought back many occasions when it has been my privilege to listen to him and to observe the great forcefulness and simplicity of his speech.

He was one of six children of James Ross, the caretaker of O’Boyne Castle. A trophy which he greatly treasured was won as a boy of fourteen for driving a team of draft horses to plow the straightest furrow of all con testants in the Shire of Aberdeen. There was not enough work for him on the family farm. At sixteen he had saved the money to buy a passage alone by steerage to America. He first went to his uncle in Canada. After a short trip back to Scotland six months later he worked in Denver and then came to Santa Barbara.

He was for several years the coachman for Dr. Richard J. Hall, Santa Barbara’s leading or only surgeon. Jim Ross told on many occasions of helping the doctor with operations in an emergency on someone’s kitchen table. He fell in love with the nursemaid Ada Nickerson who cared for the Hall children. After the untimely death of Dr. Hall, Jim worked on ranches and even had a job as gravedigger in the Santa Barbara Cemetery. The Hall family had returned to Boston and with them had gone the nursemaid Ada. 1

SHERIFF JIM ROSS.

In 1899 Jim Ross followed and married Ada in the home of her aunt in Chelsea, Massachusetts. He again visited his uncle in Canada on the return to California but never again did he return to Scotland.

He and Ada had four children, Mary, now Mrs. John J. Kingston of Woodside, California; James G. Ross, who has long been liquor control officer in Santa Barbara with the State Board of Equalization; Norman, or Ham as his friends always call him, a Santa Barbara real estate broker; and Jack, who succeeded his father as sheriff after working in the department since early high school days. Jim Ross was a man who loved his family and he was followed to Santa Barbara by his brother William and two sisters.

One, Grace Wilson, is the mother of accountant Allan Wilson and James Wilson and Grace Pippin of Santa Barbara. Another sister, Lilly Hunter, married contractor Sam Hunter and has several descendants here. Jim’s sister Mary became the wife of William Webster, a farmer in O’Boyne, Scot land, but her son James came to Santa Barbara, and his son James W. Web2

ster, after attending Santa Barbara College and army duty in World War II. joined the sheriff’s department. He is now our sheriff and is following the example set by his illustrious great uncle.

It was while he was working as a ranch hand for Stephen Rutherford that the great turn came in the life of Jim Ross. He was a husky 190 pounder who drove a six-horse team to break ground on Dos Pueblos Ranch. It was there, in 1902, that George Edwards, Mayor of Santa Barbara, found him baling hay in the hot sun near Dos Pueblos Creek. The Mayor liked the square, erect appearance of the young Scotsman and hired him on the spot as city chief of police. The Morning Press of April 3, 1902 reports that the new chief of police was little known locally until he served recently as a special officer who secured the evidence for successful prosecution of liquor license violators.

When Sheriff Nat Stewart died on December 30, 1917, it was apparent to everyone that Jim Ross should take his place, and the supervisors promptly appointed him. His record as police chief established in the entire commun ity that here was a man of extraordinary character. A strong editorial pointed out that he was a good example to all office seekers because of his fundamental honesty. He was reelected sheriff seven times with never more than token opposition and with the increasing affection and confidence of the county. When he retired January 1, 1946 the public statements of appreci ation exceeded anything I have known.

When Jim Ross became a law enforcement official with his appoint ment as Santa Barbara’s chief of police in 1902, he immediately set a stand ard. He was friendly and had a great sense of humor, but there was no question about where he stood. He would go as far to be fair to a poor friendless prisoner as to be firm with the most influential businessman. The scorn with which he sent a new businessman on his way for offering him a box of cigars is well remembered by Carl Newman a longtime policeman and later a deputy sheriff under Ross.

I well remember an occasion when an eighteen year old boy was arrested after breaking into a beach cottage. The people who owned the house were reluctant to prosecute the boy, yet felt that he should not go free. I hey asked me to help and I so remember the sheriff’s attitude. “Tell them to make up their minds,” he said; “I’ll not be holding that lad in my jail without charges.

If no charges are filed by eleven this morning, I’ll turn him loose.” When the charges were filed and the boy finally put on probation, I remember the sheriff later helped find him a job. That boy stopped with his wife to see me fifteen years later and said, “Where is that kind but firm old sheriff who helped me get started in the right direction?” Never did a prisoner in his hands have any worry about fair treatment.

The stories of his personal courage and devotion to duty are many.

Perhaps the one most frequently told is of his taking two dangerous safe blowers. It was well known that they had blown several safes in Carpinteria and Santa Barbara. Then chief of police, he went with Captain Sam Kelley in a carriage to follow these men headed for Goleta. When they were spotted, Jim Ross walked up to them on the railroad tracks near Las Positas. As one of the men prepared to throw a bottle of nitroglycerin, shouting “We’ll all die together,” the chief fired his pistol and wounded the man in the fore head. Fortunately the bottle fell on him gently, for on being tested later it blew a five-foot hole in the ground.

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lie would walk up lo any man without fear and the very moral force of his integrity and confidence made it rarely necessary to d more than make the arrest. Once a negro bootblack who had been fired by Bert Baker for using his cigar store as a bootlegging establishment really went berserk. He killed Baker and wounded another at the cigar stand. Then he went to his rooming house ami killed his landlady. He barricaded himself in the house and threatened to kill anyone who came near. Jim Ross walked up to the door and told him to open uj)—that he w'as the chief of police. The man came out aiul there W'as no more shooting. He apparently knew that the chief would be fair and also that he would not hesitate to take him under any circumstances.

Jim Ross was not oidy greatly admired by the people of this community but he had the ability lo charm people in all walks of life. An amusing in cident is told by Herbert Hoover in his memoirs about the famous visit of King Albert of the Belgians to Santa Barbara in October of 1919.

Hoover was asked lo arrange a ten-day holiday for the king and his party during their state visit to Santa Barbara. He arranged through friends for them lo stay in two of the large estates in Montecito. On the first morning the king went for a horseback ride and found Sheriff Ross on hand at the gate. Thereafter they rode together daily and became devoted to one another. The sheriff on the first day addressed him as “0 King” but was later corrected by someone and the next day said, “Your Majesty.” The king objected lo the change and assured Jim that his former salutation was correel form, and so he remained “0 King” for the balance of the holiday. lo the host When the king left he gave a medal, “Order of the Crow whose hospitality he had enjoyed but he gave one of a higher class to his friend the sheriff. The host protested through mutual friends, so Hoover got the king’s secretary to admit an error and the host got an equal medal, but the king’s delight with the hospitality and courtesy of the sheriff was plain for all to see.

Jim Ross always wore his broad western hat, frequently tipped back, even in his office. One of his equally bald-headed friends told of finishing at the same lime in the barber shop. Jim, with his Scotch instincts, sug gested to the barber that they should have two haircuts for the price of one.

I’ve never seen a picture of him without his hat on. One of the best shows the sheriff, with his hat on. and his deputy Tom Poole playing gin rummy during one of the quiet evenings on duty. He seldom had an evening at home and his job gave him no easy hours.

The sheriff enjoyed a pipe and had a meershaum which he loved very much. Once his five year old nephew Jimmy Webster, who is now our sher iff, came into the sheriff s ofhcc with his father. While the men were talking he reached up into the desk and "ot the pipe. When he was found sitting on the stone steps of the old jail suckiii" the sheriff’s beloved and delicate meerschaum there was serious trouble. Today his recollection of the incident is as clear as though he were taken to task by the stern but kindly old sheriff only a day ago.

He could either praise or chastise one with seriousness and sincerity which is never forgotten. I remember the exact words he used to me when as a young lawyer I first asked liim to serve papers for me. I could pay liitn when the job was finished, he said, but added that he remembered one who had failed to pay. After the way he said it I would have paid him promptly 4

if my client never reimbursed me and if it took my last cent. It was an lionor to be trusted by him.

The advent of prohibition gave many headaches to all law enforcement officers. The sheriff’s office made many raids on liquor establishments and had many colorful brushes with the rum runners who tried every coast and highway. Once when the old Richfield Oil Company was on the verge of receivership Jim followed a hunch and caught one whole tank truck full of illicit booze. When the law went into effect Jim Ross took the position that he would never drink a drop of liquor while that law was on the books. He never did. He told me this himself and I verified it from several of his friends and relatives.

The rum runners knew that here was one county where no one on the sheriff’s staff could be bribed or threatened. His son Jack Ross, later to follow as sheriff himself, tells of one rum runner’s attorney who tried to bribe his father. Jim actually threw him out into the street by his neck and the seat of his pants. When the sheriff got mad enough to say “Fiddlesticks” or “Con found it”, says Jack, then watch out. Seldom did he show his temper, but when he did it was always such righteous indignation that one never

forgot.

My law partner Laselle Thornburgh tells of a raid he had the privilege of sharing with the sheriff about 1924. They caught five truck loads of liquor which had just been landed on the beach at Hope Ranch. When the men were being booked in the sheriff’s office one of their leaders came in and wanted to talk with the sheriff. The latter insisted on Mr. Thornburgh remaining. The man without a word then laid on the table one at a lime five one thousand dollar bills. The sheriff looked at him a minute and then said, “I could arrest you for offering a bribe to an officer, but this time you can go and take your money and I never want to see you here again. Now get out.” When one thinks of the large number of officers w'ho w'ere reported as taking bribes in those days one can only be grateful that we had a man such as Jim Ross in Santa Barbara.

It was necessary for the sheriff’s staff to confiscate much bootleg liquor, some of which was quite drinkable. It was always destroyed in the entry to the basement of the jail, and Jim Ross stood there personally to see that none escaped the required destruction. No deputy or friend of his ever managerl to save even a little for personal use while it was his responsibility to see it destroyed. Many of us observed and smelled this activity.

When the earthquake of 1925 destroyed our court house the jail was badly damaged. Jim Ross immediately got all of his prisoners out on the lawn. Some he paroled and others he kept there under guard for several days till it seemed safe to return them to the shattered and shaky jail. He, always considered the safety and welfare of those in his charge. I remember one night that summer when I went with him on a raid against rum runners on the Carpinteria Beach. As a college student interested in his work, I had the privilege of many raids with him that summer. I remember the fear that the prisoners showed when we put them in that crumbling old jail. They offered anything to be let out that night. He was understanding and j)atient but completely firm. He would personally stay there with them but no one got out till bail was arranged in the morning. One of the prisoners said to me.

“We should have known better than to use beaches near Sheriff Ross.”

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The slieriffs oflice in 1917 was a small one with one umler-sheriff, Judge K. I). Smith, and a jailer. Joe Janssens, who lived in the jail and did twentyfour-hour duty, and one deputy, Tom Poole. The sheriff himself made arrests, served papers, sat as bailiff in court and was the chief protection of the county.

Jim Ross grew with the county and learned to drive a car early and to use all of the other modern techniques. When he realized that law enforce ment required the use of cars, not horses, he became an excellent driver.

When learning, however, he had a horseman's natural difiiculties and the story of his nearly pulling off the steering wheel and yelling “whoa” on a downgrade is well known. He saw that his men went to F.B.l. school and other training places. He always knew the importance of training qualified men to succeed him. He did. as police chief and again as sheriff.

The sheriff’s department in 1917 had one old Dodge touring car. This was an improvement over the ])olice department where they had only one bicycle and one horse. When he sent a deputy to investigate a case in Guadaloupe the man went by train. A communication to Santa Maria was by mail with no teletype or other modern facilities. Today there are 94 men and women on the sheriff’s stall with 28 cars all equipped with two-way radio.

Now we have all of the latest law enforcement equipment and training.

His innovations as sheriff were typical of his chara(;ter. Sheriffs used to feed prisoners on a contract basis and make money on the side. He set up the present system of feeding prisoners at county expense with no possibility of a rakeoff for himself. He established the practice of turning in to the county all fees for serving papers or transporting prisoners instead of fol lowing the time honored practice of retaining fees as additional compensation.

His kindness to prisoners was well known and much imposed upon. Many a lime he gave a dollar or even five out of his own pocket as a man left jail.

Once he was repaid, says his old de|)ul}’ and now under-sheriff Ray Romero, but that w'as not expected. His informality in personal matters seems amus ing today. One common drunk on leaving jail used to borrow from him reg ularly and the sheriff wrote it in pencil on the white pillar at the door of the sheriff’s office. The man on sobering up would get a job, and he paid Jim back time and again whatever the total of many small loans might be. His deputies tell of several such lists on the pillars in item as low as ten or twentyfive cents, but many columns of such figures.

In questioning the friends of Jim Ross I find that many of our leading citizens started their contact with him in some trouble. The swiping of fruit by small boys was a common although not approved practice. Time and again I have learned from prominent attorneys, judges and businessmen of their being caught by him and seiil to their parents for this offense. Judge Atwell We.stwick tells of being chased i)y Chief Ross on the police horse Bill, a famous dapple gray. Westwick, a boy of ten or twelve, had been at the fruit trees in the old Fernald garden and ended in the slough where the chief couldn’t follow' him but with his clothes in such condition that there was no escaping the explanation at home.

When Jim Ross died on April 1.5. 1956, the entire county mourned the loss of a much loved and respected man. As the final newspaper editorial put it, “He was physically without fear and morally without compromise.”

To those many who had contact with him. Jim Ross was an inspiration. What a privilege to have known him!

0

The Colonel Was Confused

By Camkron Rogrrs My own experience of the Presidential campaign of 1912 differs sharply from that recorded by Mary G. Whyllaw in a recent issue of Noticias if only because its brief candle burned not in New Jersey but no farther from Noticias editorial sanctum than the platform of the Southern Pacific’s sta tion in Santa Barbara.

My father, Robert Cameron Rogers, had been a member of California’s delegation to the Republican National Convention held in Chicago in June.

1912, but since he died in April of that year none can be certain what action he would have taken when Theodore Roosevelt left the Old Guard Repub licans to form the Progressive, or Bull Moose, Party at a convention held also in Chicago in August. It is not beside the point to observe here that at the age of eleven and even now, fifty years later, I was and am fully con vinced that he would have given his support to any ticket headed by per sonal friends like Colonel Roosevelt and Hiram Johnson whose characters and politics he admired. In any case, when the Sage of Sagamore Hill came through Santa Barbara on his campaign swing through California I was determined that as my father’s namesake I would be on hand to assure him of my support and lift high his heart with confident prophecies.

It was perhaps unwise of me to disclose this plant of mine to a con temporary who pointed out with brutal candor that Teddy wouldn’t be at all impressed by the support of anyone too young to cast a vote (a detail which I had overlooked) but by the lime the great day came my face had at least started to resume its normal appearance and the dislocated thumb of my right hand had so far mended as to permit the time-honored salutation.

For to shake hands with one my father had described as being the most magnetic personality in public life anywhere in the world I was bound to do.

Magnetic the Colonel proved to be. What I proved to be was a steel filing.

My mother, who had received a charming note of condolence from the Colonel on my father’s death, was sympathetic to my plea for the use of the family car and the much lamented Frank Silva, whose association with my family, chiefly with my paternal aunts Mrs. Charles MacVeagh and Mrs. Alexander Sedgwick, dated back to my grandfather Sherman S. Rogers’ time, was lured from his flower beds to drive me. If the prism of Time does not deceive, our conveyance that year was a Hupmobile, a mechanical ar rangement noted for irregularities in performance. I drew not one happy breath until we rolled safely past the Mission and down State Street to within sprinting distance of the railroad station. That Hupmobile had been known to act like a recalcitrant army mule within a quarter mile of our gates.

There was a crowd on the station platform and in it many family friends, a fact which was to serve me. The special train had not yet arrived, which gave me time to forge well to the front of what seemed to me to be the most knowledgeable group there present; one composed of gentlemen like Doctor Carl Park, Sherman and Edgar Stowe, Joel Fiflhian, my uncle, Reggie Fernald, who had succeeded my father as publisher of the Santa Barbara Morn ing Press, and others. Eventually the train came, no train, however, to me but a chariot of fire. Whence it came, whether from north or south, I have 7

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I THEODORE ROOSEVELT (Phofo courtesy Hermann Hagedorn).

never ascertained. It mattered not. It bore the twenty-fifth President of the United States and to me, winner and still champion.

For a reason shortly to be disclosed, I have never ceased to rejoice itj the fact that this special train was a short train. It came to a stop with all the sound effects provided by the locomotives of that period and on the platform of the observation car the one, the only, T.R. stepped forth. By an obvious allusive process of thought I had expected to see him in the gear of a cowboy or, failing that, in the full dress uniform of a colonel in the United States Army. But I was not disappointed. In any garb he was who he was. He spoke briefly enough but whether upon the Initiative, Referendum and Recall or on the recent public statement of President Taft, I have now, if I had then, no recollection. I was interested not in measures but in men. Not to put too fine a point on it, I was interested in Theodore Roosevelt.

O

The time came wlieti hatulshaking was in order. After a scrimnuific I inajiaged to maneuvre Frank Silva and myself into a strategic position and in due course Frank lifted me up and I shook hands with Teddy Roosevelt.

I was in no way backward about this. I informed him in a voice like that of a questing shore bird that I was Hob Rogers’ son and the grandson of Sher man S. Rogers of Buffalo. He was receptive to this intelligence and said that he had admired my grandfather wheti, as Governor of New York, he had worked closely with Mr. Rogers, then liead of the state’s civil service com mission. He added a word or two of sympathy about my father. Also, he scrutinized my small and not too particularly prepossessing face with some keenness. “Working for me?” he asked with that grin famous wherever car toonist or photographer practiced his craft. “Well, that’s the way we’ll win.”

I went away. But not far au'ay.

It was at this moment in that day’s rapture that the length of the colonel’s special train became of paramount importance to me. Almost before he had time to clasp another hand or two I was once more, so to speak, in the Pres ence. Again Frank Silva lifted me up and again the ex-President shook my hand but this time, fortunately perhaps, he was speaking over my head to someone beyond me in his enthusiastic congregation. On the ground again 1 again sprinted around the train but this time Frank flatly refused to hoist and hold. 1 forget now who it was who obliged me although it hangs in my mind that it was Sherman Stowe. Again the handclasp but the Colonel’s eyes behind the glinting glasses did not rest on me. It was at this juncture, that, as Dr. Park afterwards told my mother, the Great Man seemed to be scanning the heavens and the world about him. lie appeared, it seems, distrait. He gave the impression of one in the process of discovering a natural phenom enon of some sort. But all this I learnt later. 1 attributed his change of man ner to the fact that the train’s conductor had joined him to exchange a word and compare watches. On this occasion 1 bettered my previous times b\ seconds making my little tour of the Special. If, as I surmised, that Special was about to move on 1 had but a little space left to me. Who it was this time who pitched me aloft I make no pretense of remembering but this time the Colonel remembered me, there was no doubt of it. “Here” he said in a kind of muted roar, “is a young bull moose I have quite definitely seen before.”

Strong arms removed me from his sight and in a minute or two his train moved out of Santa Barbara, bearing him to the fulfilment of his des tiny. Hut it did not bear him out of my memory. Many years later, while en gaged in writing a little book about President Coolidge I had occasion more than once to call on Senator Hiram Johnson in the Senate Office Building in the nation’s capital. These calls were purely for the purpose of talking with one who had been my father’s friend about California as it had been during my father’s lifetime. Sometimes 1 was fortunate enough to find him with a few minutes to spare, sometimes not, but once I told him of my one meeting with T.R. whose vice-president he would have been had the Progressive Parly been victorious in 1912. 'I'lie Senator smiled. “1 seem to recall” he ruminated, “that Theodore did say something after that trip about Santa Barbara being full of little boys with bangs and banged-up eyes who simply fell out of the sky or popped up out of the ground.”

That day the years fell from me.

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Sam Stanwood Complied by ihe Eililor from injormation obtained from Carolyn Slanitood and other sources.

Sam was a familiar figure on ihe sLreets of Sanla Barbara in llic days before the modern automobile attained a legal speed of sixty-five miles an lu)ur on our freeways. lie was a tall, slender man who wore a Stetson lial. who usually liad a cigar in his mouth, and who had a dry, easy humor that endeared him to his many friends and ae(|uaintances. It is likely that he was the most widely k nown man in the community, for. in a curious, unusual way, he bridged the gulf between the old and the new. between the days of the saddle horse and those of the steadily improving motorcar, ami between the paisano and the wealthy visitor from “back kasl”.

Sam had a great fondness for horses, and so he often was in the saddle.

In the days before the advent of the automobile, when the only paved street in Santa Barbara was State Street, as perhaps was to be expected of him. he owned and operated a livery stable on Victoria Street, a half block east of State Street. This was an excellent business location for Sam because it was within a block of the Arlington Hotel, a famous hostelry that was known all over the land and one to which every winter there came a host of tour ists. In those halcyon days, about 1900. a tourist could rent a horse from Sam at tiie rate of fifty cents a day. Men lived their lives more by the sun than they did by the clock, and so they moved about at a leisurely pace that seldom was slower than two miles an hour or faster than eight. (It was a good team of horses that would cover more than eight miles along the Goleta road in an hour.) In this atmosphere, it was pleasant to sit in one of the high-backed chairs that were placed in lines on the wide veranda of the hotel and to rock slowdy back and fortli. This was motion without forward or backward progress, it is true; but. in those liucolic days, most visitors came to Santa Barbara with this purpose in view; and so they often were content to sit in the sun and to rock. And as the tourists rocked, they con versed amiably on such subjects as the latest runaway on State Street, the likelihood of rain in the near future, and, perhaps, the annual St. Cecelia

Fair.

Even as a relatively young man, when I as a boy first knew Sam, his gift for drollery was so widely known that his friends were wont to carry home the best of his remarks and with relish to repeat them to the members of their families. One cjuiet, sunny afternoon, for example, Sam sat with a friend or two and several tourists in the line of chairs that graced the veranda immediately in front of the hospitably open door to the Hotel Bar. As these men sat and rocked gently, they discussed every subject that came within the scojie of their interests and knowledge. At one time, the lazy conversation veered to religious matters, and one of the men mentioned Hell and its ever lasting fires. Sam averred slowly that he never had taken much stock in Hell.

‘AVhat’s the matter with Hell, Sam?” asked the man who had introduced the subject.

“Well," said Sam, I’ve never been able to figure out w'here all the fuel for so much fire was goin to come from.”

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SAM STANWOOO (Photo courtesy Carolyn Stanwood).

Don’t let that bother you,” observed another, local wit. “I "uess that some t>f us will take plenty of fuel along with us when we go there.” (.Mr. Marry Brookings repeated this small episode with much pleasure to my father and mother, so it came to me. I On another occasion, this lime after automobiles had become more or less commonplace sights on State Street, Mr. Fernand Lungren. tlu- greatly appreciated colorist who lived in Mission Canyon, returned from a painting excursion to the desert and immediately took one of the i)ictures that he had done there down to the County Bank to show it to his friends. The jucture was of the eastern desert skyline a half hour or more after the sun had set.

Necessarily, the colors in this composition were anything but brilliant. It U

was hull"' on the wall of the hank, and Herman LdcK. Cliarlie l'!d\\ards. Sam Slanwood. and several others fathered around it and admired it. Sam ex[jlained the picture carefulK and with appieeialion. and then lie spoke.

■’Didirt you leave \our paint pots at home when urn did that one. Fer nand?’" lie asked.

On still another occasion, this one many years later. 1 met Sam 1)\ chan<-e at llie soda fountain in the huildin'i: immedialeh in'side the entrance to the I'ox-Arlinirton Theater. It was New Years l●^vening. and we all had just come from a show in the theater. In the course of a desultor\ convei'salion. in which I had not great interest. I made some foolish, small misstatement: and I was caught up at once by one of the ladies |)resent.

"Oh. that s all right." drawled Sam toleranth. "A man can't !>e ex pected to he always right on New Years Afternoon.

As I recount tliese small ituddents henx they do not seem to lie sidesplittingly funny, hardly do lhe\ reveal tlu“ wit of tlu“ present da\. |)rofessional humorist who employs se\<;ral men for the sole jnirpo.se of keejiing him in stock with wisecracks: hut. as the\ came from the lips of the slow spoken Sam in those less soj^histicaled dav; they seemed to me to he ver\ amusing indeed. ir o ver\ far Sam’s vital statistics I give at this |)oinl. though they do not g toward telling us much of the kind of man he was: Me was horn in .Santa Barbara in loTO. As a bo\. after a little schooling, he worked for h is cousin.

Dixie I homjjson. on the latter s icinches. I'^venluallv. he acejuired a suflicienl number of horses to open a small livery stable on ICquestrian Avenue. He was elected to the County Board of Sujiervisors in I9J6. becoming Chairman of the Board after not too many years of service. His chief intere.sis lay in the modernization of the Count) Hospital and in the building of a new County Courthouse. He served as a Supervisor foi- twent\-six years . For twent) \eais he was ‘'Kl Presidente" of "Old Sjianish Days”. He <lic<l in Santa Barbara, at the age of eighty-four, in JuK. 19.54. Ilapjiilv. he is survived In his widow.

Caroline Staiiwood.

It has been stated that his chief interests during the lime he served on the Board of Supervisors la\ in the County Hospital and in the Courthouse, and this is true for the period as a whoh;. During the first \ears of his service', however, he was deejily interested in another jihase of lht‘ County’s everyda) life. 'This was the roads and trails into tlu^ mountains in the near vicimtv of Santa Barbara. Born to the saddle, having a deep alf«*ction for and under standing of horses, he did Ids best to put olT as long as possible the coming of the evil day when the horse would be crowded from the less used, back roads, as well as from the main arteries. Iiy llie fast moving automobiles.

In this effort he was only jjarlially successful, as we know now was bound to have been the case: but it is significant and wholly in character that he made the effort whole-heartedlv and determinediv.

'There is an amusing storv' that is told hv Mrs. Slanwood ahoul her hus band that belongs in this jicriod of Sam’s public service. As part of Ids [ilan to put the County Hos|)ital on a more modern ami a more ade(|uate basis.

Sam was able to have the institution movc'd from its old location near the intersection of Fucalvjitus Hill Road with Salinas Street and relocated on its present site in the rolling hill country between Santa Barbara and (ioleta.

After this had been done succes.sfully. th<‘ old. city iiropin ty was sold to Mr. Ceorge Owen Knapjj. 'This gentleman locik possession and began the levellinu

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of llie ground and llie buihiing of a large stable that was to liouse Mr. Bill ings world famous trotting horses. To his consternation, he found that a part of the land bad been used by the county as a burial ground, and that ninety graves were there. Mr. Knapp immediately called Sam on the telephone and. with understandable irritation noticeable in his voice, told him of the situ ation.

“Oh, that’s all right”, Sam told Mr. Knapp pleasantly. “We didn’t charge you extra for that cemetery. That was just a pilon.

(As I write the word “pilon”, pronounced “pey-lone”, with the accent on the second syllabic, I am carried back nostalgically to my early boyhood when, with Tom Cooper and Bernard Cunane and Edward Starbuek, I used to go to “Place’s Place”, wdiere now is Rodenbeck’s Shoe Store, to buy a nickle’s worth of candy. After the money had been laid on the counter and the candy had been weighed and put into a bag, one of us would say: “How about a pilon? Don’t we get one?” This was an expected and. I know now, an anticipated part of every <leal of this kind. Charley Place would drop an other piece or two of candy into the bag, and then we would go away from the store contentedly savoring the delicious yet cheap candy. And thus I learned at an early age that a ,pilon was something added, a sort of bonus as an earnest of the seller’s good will.)

One last service that Sam performed for the people of the community, and a very heartwarming service it was, remains to be told. When, in other parts of the county and, indeed, in most other parts of the state, concrete came into general use in the construction of bridges over the smaller creeks, and heavy, ugly steel girders in those over the larger streams, Sam used the rounded stones from the creeks themselves for this purpose. The bridge that still spans Rattlesnake Creek at the hairpin turn just north of the present camp grounds of the Rancheros Visitadores is an example of this kind of construction, and there are many others deep in our canyons. As Sara ex pressed it to me one day when we were discussing the problems inherent in Sam’s efforts to keep the back roads and the mountain trails open to horse men, “T want these bridges to be a natural part of. the countryside,” Sam said. “1 want them to be beautiful and to blend into the scenery just as do the sycamores and elders and the big, round boulders of the creek beds.”

As I see it, this one is among the pleasant and most characteristic memories that I have of Sam Stanwood, and I bless him each time that I pass over such a bridge. ●Tilt! remains of lliese wards of the county were duly removed to the County (iemetery, of course, and suilahie headstones were placed over them.

13

ED BOREIN IN HIS STUDIO.

CHARLES M. RUSSELL.

ED BOREIN.

ANNIE OAKLEY.

Ed Borein and His Friends

By Ikvinc Wills Eclwarcl Borein. elcher, colorist, and acknowledged master at portray ing the early Western scene, was an unique character. He knew the cowboy because he had spent his early years as a vaquero on the huge cattle ranches of California and Mexico; he knew the Indian because he had lived with him in his hogan, and eaten his mutton and corn from the common pot: he knew the Charro as well as tlie poor peon of Mexico because he had covered most of that country on horseback often with a small pack train.

Ed knew the sophisticated peoples of America too. As an artist he spent some ten years in New York, many more in the San Francisco Bay region.

To his studio w'herever it ha|)pened to be, there came people from all walks of life. President Theodore Roosevelt was his friend, and Ed visited him both at the White House and at the Roosevelt home at Oyster Bay. The Duke of Windsor was attracted to Ed when many years ago, as Prince of Wales, he purchased a ranch in Canada. So was Lady Yule, a charming English woman, who for some years owned a home in Santa Barbara and made a collection of Ed’s work. And wheti arthritis threatened to stiffen up Ins facile artists hands, she persuaded Ed and Lucile to leave their home on La Mpsa, and move into a cottage which she built on her estate in a drier area back of the Riviera.

Ed Borein possessed some nebulous quality . . . one dislikes to use the overworked term, “Magnetism”, . . . which attracted people to him through out his life. Suffice it to say there was some sort of Lodestone wherever he happened to be, and that lodestone seems to have been the personality of Ed Borein.

A stream of interesting people from every walk of life, were constantly turning up at whatever spot Ed chose for his headquarters. It would be futile, if not tiring, to enumerate all of them, even if one were able to do so. Al though there W'erc many with whom I did not come into contact I feel that some, to me, amusing details about a few of them whom 1 did meet during a long friendship with Ed, might shed some light on this remarkable char acter.

Of those who (uime repeatedly to Santa Barbara to see Ed, perhaps the most renowned was the great artist of the Northwest, Charles M. Russell.

Ivl and Charley had met in New York about 1907 or 1908, at which time Charley was alrea<ly established as a Western artist and Ed was making his first play in the “Big Time”. Charley, whose astute wife Nancy, had done so much to promote him and his work, recognized immediately the quality of Ed’s talent, and in the unselfish manner characteristic of so many of the big people in all walks of life gave Ed much of the encouragement he needed, riiey liecame at once fast friends and their friendship was to last throughout Charley’s life. Both had a subtle if at times wry sense of humor, a charac teristic which had helped them both over many a rough spot in the careers lli(!y had chosen.

1 remember Ed telling me long ago about the time he was complaining to Charley about the difficulty he always had getting a seat in the Subwa).

15

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Ivl insists llial Cliarley originated this classic bit of advice: “It ainl so liar<l I'id. yon just get in the cars wiien they are built!” l^ven years later when both liad become established successes in tlieir art Charley and Kd found it necessary to get together periodically, and when Charley established himself in Southern California, he and his wife Nancy were regular visitors at the Borein home in Santa Barbara.

Charley ahmjsl invariably carried a lump of modelling clay in his pocket and whether standing or sitting his hand was in his pocket working away while he talked. Sooner or later out wcjuld pop the hand holding an almost [lerfect motlel of a hear, wolf, fox or horse which he had modeled, apparent ly without looking at it. I saw him do this at lun{:h one day and recently asked my old friend Joe de Yong, himself a noted Western artist, and for some years a protege of Charley’s, if there was some trick to this. Joe replied, hes itantly: “Well Charley init'hl have taken a quick peek while you weren't looking, but those hands were so sensitive and so sure that he really didn I need to look.”

When Cd and Charley got together at Ed’s house which happened (juile frequently during Charley’s last years, it seemed that there was never enough time for both of them to get all of the long “wiiidys” off their chests. As Lucile Borein has often recalled, they found it difficult to remain seated re gardless of which one was talking. Another requirement was the oldtime cowhand’s favorite smoke . . . a “Bull” Durham cigarette rolled so skillfully by hand in the familiar “La Croix” Wheatstraw paper. (What a sweet smoke it wasl l And because many questioned the contents of those little muslin hags, it was often said that one would never die of Tobacco poisoning if he stuck to “Bull” Durham!

It is probable that when this product was first developed it was never planned that it be used anywhere except out of doors or in the bunkhouse. but when Ed and Charley started a session stalking up and down in the living room of Ed and Lucile’s Hopi House “La Barranca” and built one smoke after another they left a trail of Durham on the Navajo rugs, the priceless Saltillo serapes, dribbled it over chairs, tables, and anything else, to which it could cling. Patient I^ucile, always a tidy housekeeper, never complained . . . she was being treated to a show loo important to miss and certainly one not to interrupt!

This brings to mind an incident in which Durham may have changed Ed’s life. It was told to me by his old friend Jimmy Swinnerton, the famous desert painter who is still living and painting (at age eighty-eight) in Holly wood. Jimmy and Ed were in New York together ... Ed having joined Jimmy in 1907 ... and both were trying to make a go of it as budding artists. As Jimmy tells it there was a wealthy young widow who had bought several of Ed’s things and had taken quite a shine to him. Ed’s brother Roubel, then a “chalf-lalk” artist in bigtime vaudeville, was “at liberty” and staying at l:Id’s studio. Both Rouhe and Jimmy thought the widow just about the best thing that could happen to Ed, so when she invited Ed to lea at her house on River side Drive the two boys fixed him up with a clean white shirt and a briglit red necktie, and then, deciding to do things in style, hired a hansom cab and the three drove uptown to the widow’s house. Ed walked up the stairs to the door as the other two waved goodbye and, deciding to live it up. started back to 42nd Street in the cab. Ed rang the door bell but when the 17

butler tried to take his Stetson, he would have none of it. He stalked in, greeted the widow and when he was invited to sit down parked the Stetson on the rug beside his chair. Another attempt by the butler to take his som brero having failed, the despairing Jeeves went to the pantry for the tea things.

Ed settled back in the easy chair and never at a loss for a word started entertaining the widow with one of his inimitable stores, the while hauling out his sack of Durham and building himself a smoke. When the butler re turned with tea, there was of course the usual amount of golden flakes scat tered over the oriental rug around Ed’s chair. The silent Jeeves left hur riedly to return with a tiny silver tray and brush with which he proceeded to retrieve the spilled “makins”. Ed took one hard look at the butler, picked up his Stetson, clapped it on his head and strode out turning as he went out the door to tell the widow a hasty goodbye. He walked over to the car line and when the two conspirators arrived, elegantly, at the slu<lio in the cab.

Ed was waiting for them calmly pulfing another brown paper cigarette.

Jimmy tells another story about. Ed during their studio days in New York. It was the custom then, as now-, for artists to invite j)rospective pur chasers to their studios for private showings of their work. And a cup of tea was the usual libation. Ed’s cowboy background may not have furnished him with many of the details of protocol associated with this little ceremony but when a couple of charming socialites arrived at the studio Ed hauled out his battered teapot and a few cracked cups and in his forthright Western manner passed to each of them a cup of tea. As one of his guests lifted the cover from the sugar bowd a healthy cockroach jumped out and started across the table. She let out a slight scream and picking up her handbag w'as about to swat the insect when the quick-witted Ed, with an absolute deadpan expression on his face, said “Hey, don’t kill her, that’s Margaret, our pet”.

And he swiftly picked up the roach, put it back in the sugarbowl and clapped on the lid! The tw'o must have been thoroughbreds, because Jimmy says they both burst into the sort of uncontrollable laughter which always saves the day.

Will Rogers and Ed met in New York about 1908 or 1909 when Will was performing with the Jack Mulhall Wild West show, and from that day until Will’s untimely death some twenty-five years later theirs was a friend ship closer than blood brothers. In fact as I viewed it from the sidelines, it seems to me that the foursome: Rogers, Russell, Borein and Stone was a union of men’s souls of rare quality. Each saw in the other something greater than anything he could aspire to; not only was none ever envious of the other’s achievements, each seemed to take special pride in the increasing successes of the others.

Rogers loved to come to Santa Barbara as many who saw him at Fiesta lime each year, will remember. Ed’s house and studio were his hangouts, and he was forever bedevilling Ed to get him down to his little ranch near Santa Monica. Will like Ed didn’t like to write letters, but he would send long tele grams ... perhaps a whole page at a time. His customarj conclusion would read: “Be sure to come down, you don’t have to make a date, just come!

Best to all, etc. Will.”

When they were together they were always ribbing each other, and listen and watch carefully, though one might, it was often impossible to tell when they were serious.

18

WILL ROGERS, FRED STONE, ED BOREIN.

On one occasion Will was in Sanla Bai'l)ara visilinj:; Eel. ami insisted that Ed come down and spend a couple of days with him. Ed dumurred, not wantinj^ to drive down and liack alone. Will would not he put off and finally said: 0 K drive dowm with me and 1 11 bring you hack Sunday afternoon.

Ed agreed to go so the) set out. As Ed told me later they had a swell time, hut after lunch. Sunday^ Will didn't even mention their return. In fact he acted as though he had either forgotten all about his promise or that he had never had any intention of carrying it out. Will had a stuffed calf in his living room on which he used to practice his roping and that afternoon he uncorked one fancy throw after another from his endless re))ertoire of “Sunday” tricks.

It began to get late and Ed who haled to travel at night finally asked Will when they were going to get started. Will pul down his rope, walked over to Ed and said: “Let me look at that hand.” After carefully looking it over and feeling of each finger he said: in mock surprise: “Why Ed, there’s nothing wrong with that thumb!”

When Ed first went to New York in l^JOT he j)ut on a one man show of Ills ))aintings and one of his customers was the famous actor Fred Stone, loved i>y all for his great performances in such shows as “Wizard of Oz”.

"Tile Red Mill”. Chin Chin”, “Tip Top”, “Jacko Lantern”, “The Stepping Stones” and later as a film star in Hollywood. As a result of this sale Ed and Fred became fast friends, and when Fred established himself and family on the large estate which he built at Amityville on Long Island, I'ki was a frequent visitor. Annie Oakley perhaps the greatest woman shot of all time was a close friend of the Slones and usually stayed with Fred and Ins wife Allene between her engagements with Bulfalu Bill’s Wild West Show.

When I visited Fred Slone at his home at I’oluca Lake in North Holi)wood he told me of Ed’s many weekends at Amityville, of the polo games they played and the inevitable shooting matches l)etweeri himself. Fd, Frank Butler (Annie Oakley’s husband I and others. Fred told of Annie, the quiet soft little Quaker who always wore a simple black dress with an old fashioned while apron. One Sunday three men were shooting clay pigeons using a hand trap, and doing, they thought, quite well, when Annie, who had probahiv been watching from a window came outside. She walked up to Fred and said with her soft drawl: “Let me take your gun Fre-e-d.” Then to her husband: “I'hrow' up a liandful of them things Fra-a-nk”. Butler |)icked up five of the clay pigeons and threw lliem up into the air . . . “Pow . . pow . . pou'.. pow . . . . Pow” (just before the last one hit the ground), then “Here’s yer gun Fre-ed” and i)ack she went into the house! Tlial ende<I the shooting match for lhat day.

Fred began Ids career in show l)usiness while still a youth, as an acrobat with his brother as partner. Fred had been horn in Colorado at a time wheti it was raw frontier country. The l)ig Stetson and the higli heeled hoot of the cattleman and cowhand were the “lop” and “bottom” of llie only garb young Fled knew. Although his family always drifting left Colorado and settled in Kansas he was still a j)art of the frontier and grew up willi and outgrew it in one western town after another. Despite the fact lhat he started out in show i)usiness as an acrobat, with his brother Eddie, in a one ring circus. Fred ntiver lost his love for the West, it’s customs and dress. He returned rei)eatedhto the country he knew and loved and my favorite picture of Fred in a .Stetson is no showman’s affectation. On his mam later visits to all parts of the West Fred was as nujcli at home as though he luul s|)enl all his life llieie.

20

He was a top liorseman, a skilled roper and l)ronc rider and could have held his own as a top hand on any cow ranoli in the West. It was the smell of sawdust and the aroma of "rease paint in his boyhood which aroused the showman genius that was inborn in Fred Stone and served to carry liim to the top of his profession.

But it was his loyally to the friends of his youth, a loyalty which was to endure throughout his life which sealed his lifelong friendship for men like Ed Borein, Will Rogers and a host of others. Indeed when Fred suffered a near fatal accident when he crashed his plane shortly before one of his l)ig Broadway productions was to open, Will Rogers stepped into Fred’s part in “Three Cheers” and carried the show with great success until Fred was again ready to return to the stage.

The picture of Fred, Will and Ed taken on one occasion when the three got together at Ed’s studio carries a legend at the bottom which could have been written by any of them. However it was Ed Borein who inscribed the words: “Me and two good! men”.

Another crony of Ed’s and a frequent visitor at Ed’s studio and home was the famous writer and humorist “The Sage of Paducah,” Irvin S. Cobb.

Like so many of those whom Ed in some fashion attracted to him Cobh was a “character”. Those of us who rode with the Rancheros in the earlier period will never forget him. Incidentally, Ed was a founder and moving sj)irit of this noted organization.

1 recall riding up alongside a buckboard pulled by a span uf horses, which the late Frank Reasons was driving. Cobb was with him, dressed in a suit of soft grey leather, a iow’-crowned wide brimmed Stetson on his head, his huge bulk almost crowding Frank off the seat. Frank pulled up and for the hell of it I asked Cobb why he wasn’t riding a horse. Frank grinned and sent a stream of tobacco juice accurately into a gopher hole on the side of the road. Cobb directed the gaze of his frog-like eyes toward me and without a hint of a smile said in his Kentucky drawl: “Hosses don’t under stand me Doc . . . 1 guess it’s because no matter what the boss does, Ah

cantahr Jimmy Swinnerlon once told me of a trip he made with Cobb and Ed to see the Hopi snake dances. During the entire trip, Irv and Ed were having a sort of contest with the “windys” they both told so well, and Ed was getting the worst of it. On the way home on the train, Cobb started in at breakfast and try as he might Ed couldn’t get a word in edgewise. At noon when they went into the dining car Cobb was still spinning a long one which carried him through lunch. Cobb had ordered corned beef and cabbage which he ate with relish. This was his undoing . . . for as Jimmy tells it, about the time they got back to the chair car, the cabbage did it’s work . . . Cobb was forced to burp! And that says Jimmy was when Ed got in!

Perhaps Ed’s closest friend was the late Charles S. Lummis, noted jour nalist, author, librarian, historian, collector of artifacts to mention a few of his activities. Ed and Lucile were married at Charley Lummis’ home in the Arroyo Seco near Pasadena, and he was a frequent visitor at the Borein studio, as well as at “La Barranca”.

Lummis was a colorful character as many oldtimers in the Southland will attest. Ed once told me of the stone and adobe house which Lummis de signed and built. A favorite whimsy of his was to invite someone to lunch 21

witli liim almost every day wliile tlie house was ahuilcling, ami wlien llie ^uesl arrived, calmly ])ul him lo work carryiti" lieavy stones to where Charley was laying u]> the wall!

A few Santa Barharans of those who were here during and after the disastrous earthquake in 1925 will remember the tremendous service Charley Lummis rendered to this community in those troublous times. Charley loved Santa Barbara wholeheartedly; loved it’s S|)anish traditions, and all that went to make up it’s heritage. In his quiet, unobstrusive and selfless way, aided bv his unlimited store of knowledge of our historic background, he gave unstintingly of himself, that Santa Barbara might recapture the flavour of its past while providing for itself a brilliant future.

I had the great pleasure of meeting this interesting chap, in the early twenties and recall his picturesque appearance, dressed in the corduroy suit he always affected and wearing a broadbrimmed lowcrowned Stetson. Lum mis had somehow founti time during his busy life to get together two col lections of old Mexican and Spanish Folk songs, a labour of love surely, since they could command at best, a limited market.

On the occasion of the first Fiesta a group of us who played guitars and one who played an accordian j)repared a full repertoire of these al most forgotten songs and roved the streets as strolling singers. We saw Lummis . . . he w'as now Doctor Lummis. having received an honorary degree . . . in de la Guerra Plaza. He was mist\-e\ed as we sang the loveh “MananiUis" in greeting, and seemed touched that we English speaking Santa Barharans had bothered to memorize all those Spanish lyrics. I re call the picture he made as lie swept off his sombrero and bowed in true Latin manner revealing a shock of longish snow white hair.

These and many others found their way to Ed Boreiri’s home and studio, and space does not permit the mention of more than a few. Several however must not be left out . . . our beloved Leo Carrillo, an almost life long friend of Ed’s; J. Frank Dobie of Texas, noted author of many books, university professor, and authority on the history of the Southwest. Dobie. who w'ears a Stetson with such a distinguished though casual air. 'I'he same Dobie whose work was considered so important that he wa.s invited to England as exchange Professor at Cambridge University. He has a fine collection of Ed’s work which he ))icked up from time to time on his visits here.

They all came . . . the great, the near great, and those who might be said lo be without distinction . . . actors, artists, cowboys, capitalists, cat tle barons, and simple Mexican paisanos, the latter jierhaps to exchange a few words with Ed in Spanish, “because they deen’t speak the Ingles purty good.’’

Ed had one characteristic, which one so often .sees in the sensitive individual who has spent many days alone and away from much human contact. He had a most acute power of observation, and from this he had developed a keen judgment of people and their character. On one occasion during the depression when Ed hadn’t sold anything for days. 1 was in hi.s little shop in El Paseo de la Guerra, as a couple of older women sauntered in and began looking over the pictures hung on the walls and in the portfolio of etchings W'hich lay on the table. Ed and I were in his inner office from which we both could get a view of everyone who came 22

LEO CARRILLO (Photo courtesy Dorothy Fenzi).

in. i called lid’s allention to the pair sayiit'*;; “Look Ld, looks like you have a couple of customers.” Ed didn’t even glance up from the piece of rawhide work on which he was weaving an intricate bit of of ornamental design . . . he said sort of under his breath: "Thev’re just 'Be Backs!'” Being unfamiliar with the term 1 fortunately kept my big mouth shut and sure enough, in a couj)le of minutes the more extroverted of the two. a typical Helen Hokinson character, stepped up to the door of Ed’s oflice and an nounced : ''We’!! Be Back ’.

To me a much more poignant example not only of Ed’s keen power of observation but more im})ortant, the kindness and understanding which were in his soul occurred during the same trying period. A little old lady in neat but well worn clothes . . . obviously from the ranch countrv . . . wandered in and spent considerable time studying the etchings on the table.

Finally she picked up one print and walking over to Ed asked: “How much?”. Ed replied: “Thirty-Five”. She got out a battered coin purse from her bag, fished out ihirty-five cents and handed it to Ed. With an absolute deadpan expression he wrapped up the print, thanked the little old lad) and handed it to her. As she left the studio I thought 1 caught a twinkle in the eye of that rugged face!

Ed’s was a patience and understanding of all peoples . . . it added up to a literal brotherhood of man. As one of his friends said recently: “Ed >9 Borein was a Santa Barbara Institution!

El Sombrero

By J.\cK W. Pilij;y^ 1 imagine that there are few people in the civilized world who have not seen or at least heard of the magician who produces a rabbit out of a hat—and I know that there are thousands of people who do not know that John B. Stetson produced a hat out of a rabbit.

John B. Stetson was born in New Jersey in 1830 and died in 1906.

His father was a hatter, doing business in his home, as was the custom at that time, and using his merchandise for barter. Upon the death of his father, the business passed down to older sons with whom John B. did not agree. He was making arrangements for a business of his own when he discovered that he had consumption. He decided that the only way to lengthen his life was to spend all of his time out in the open. So he quit making hats and struck out for the Far West, going first to Illinois and then on to Saint Joseph, Missouri. It was during the Civil War and he tried to enlist but was rejected because of his health. A part)’ of men were outfitting to walk to Pikes Peak and on to the gold fields. They invited him to join them, and although he knew that his health was still precarious and that such a trip would be dangerous for him he decided to go along. They started off in June and Nature was at her loveliest and best—and so these ®Mr. Pilley will be remenil)erf(l a.s "Jack ilu- Hatter" in Santa Bari)ara. He wishes to make grateful acknowledgement to Harry Walker, Jr., who for many years lias been the West Coast representative for the John IS. Stetson Co., for his hel|> in securing tlie material for the story of Stetson’s life.

24

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The Forrnillion, with head shapes of six Santa

Barbarans.

Inset: "The Santa

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young men tramped west and as they journeyed, health and happiness came to John B. Stetson.

When storms came, they sewed together the skins of animals in t>rder to make some kind of shelters against the elements. Rabbits, muskrats, beav ers were plentiful and easy to obtain, but they had no time or method of tanning the skins. Needless to say, when summer came along, the skins were impossible to use for clothing or for shelter.

Here it was that Stetson explained to his friends some thing of which they had never heard. They needed tents and cloth was expensive and hard to get. Some one in the party remarked that cloth could only be made by weaving it. Stetson showed them that there was another way, and explained to them the process of felting. This knowledge is as old as glass-making and cloth made by felting was used six hundred years before Christ was horn.

Stetson proved this could be done by taking some of the fur from rab bit skin, sprinkling it on the ground so that it formed a mat, and then gently spraying water over the mat. Soon the fur matted itself and could be picked up and rolled. Into a pot of boiling water. Stetson dipped his 2.S

matted fur and it began to shrink. Then by manipulating it with his hands, as soon as it was cool enough to be handled, and then rapidly dipping it again into the holing water, he soon had a little blanket of soft, even cloth.

Here w'as the actual proof that cloth could be made by the felting process.

It was only in later years that the microscope showed us that particles of fur are covered with barbs or prongs which open when put in a solution of mercury and then close when put in boiling water. They will creep closer together when manipulated by hand and the fibers interlock, scissoring upon one another and creeping always closer. We all know what havoc hot water can bring to a prized sweater or a pair of knitted socks.

Hats, in the early days, were more or less a luxury. The Indians got along without them and so did our pioneers. Then, because of the winter’s cold. Davy Crockett started the vogue of wearing the coon skin cap. It was serviceable and practical and became most popular, but it also had its dis advantages. It attracted fleas and moths, and dogs loved to carry them away. To amuse his friends, Stetson made himself a hat out of fur. It was big and attracted considerable attention, and it made the wearer the object of laughter and ridicule. The laughter and the ribald jokes stopped when a horseman, seated on a silver-mounted saddle, from Mexico, gave the owner a five dollar gold piece for his hat. This was the first genuine Stetson made and sold by John B. A year had passed and Stetson had regained his health and his strength.

He decided to return to the East Coast and work to fulfill a dream that he had always carried with him—to build and head a business of his own. So he went to Philadelphia with the scanty earnings that he had made out West.

When he reached the City of Brotherly Love, he had just one hundred dol lars in his pocket. With this capital, he bought the tools which he needed to start in the making of hats. His first problem was to buy the fur and start making the felt. He studied the hat styles and made a hat like the one which seemed to be most in demand, but it was not popular. Then he tried a style all his own, but again the dealers were only interested in models which came across the sea.

Finally, he made himself a very fine, soft hat, and swaggered in to a store where his dapper appearance caught the interest of a customer. A felt hat weighs any where from two to four ounces and the hat which Stet son wore on this occasion weighed just two ounces. When the customer bought the hat, the dealer gave John B. an order for one dozen hats, and this was Stetson’s first order for a full dozen. From this time on he had all the work that he could do making hats for two dollars apiece.

When he found that he could receive credit for the asking, he decided to stake his all on a venture which was absolutely new to the halting industry.

The incident with the big hat and horseman on the silver saddle had given him an idea. Instead of depending on the local trade in Philadelphia, he decided to take all of the money that he could raise and make a fine, big hat especially designed for the cattle kings of the West. He called his hat the “Boss of the Plains”. This would either make or break him. He made his big natural-colored, hat with a four inch brim and a four inch crown and mailed it to several dealers in the West. Then there was an anxious waiting time until that day two weeks later when the orders began coming in. At this time, the Western liat was made in only one grade of fell and it sold 26

for five dollars. Later, a finer material was used in a ten dollar hat and then came an extra fi ne fur made of Nutria—or Beaver—and that liat sold for as niucli as thirty dollars.

From this lime on the story of the John B. Stetson enterprises sounds like a romance. The true Westerner grew to feel that a Stetson hat was a ‘‘must” for liim—a symbol of his success and a badge of his loyalty to the West. The cowboy could no more be parted from his Stetson hat than from his pony or his saddle, and no other hat (;ould take its place. The early California Mexican might live in a very lovely hacienda and own a ten dollar horse, but he often prized a hundred dollar saddle and a twenty dol lar John B. Stetson. It was not uncommon for a cowboy to take a brand new Stetson, throw it in the horse trough or the river to get it sopping wet. after which he would jam it on his head and start molding the brim to suit his fancy, usually with a heavy roll on the sides. Thus, he made for him self a hat which was shaped to his head and it was even hand-blocked.

Because it was hard to break in a heavy stiff Stetson so that it fitted the head and felt comfortable, the hatters adopted a French invention for shap ing the hat, called a ‘‘Formillion”. An impression of the shape of the heatl is taken with a conformaluer which sits on the head just like a hat, giving a pattern of the exact shape of the head and also the size of hat which should be worn. This pattern, in turn is put into the Formillion and this forms the mold which is inserted into the inside band of the hat. When the hat is drysteamed until it is warm and more or less j)liable, it conforms to the new shape. When cool, it cun be placed in a flange and the brim ironed back to its original shape so that there is no distortion or pull. Wide heads, long heads or round heads, all respond to this treatment.

The little pictures or patterns taken by the Conforrnatuer are almost as varied as thumb prints. To expect one shape of hat, especially a stiff. was Western hat to fit all shapes of heads was an impossibility. Especially this true in the early days when hats were all made in a round shape. Then came the oval shape which helped very materially, but even then the extra long head would distort the hat atid make it uncomfortable to wear. Who knows, it may be that those same bumps on the head which the Conformaluer reveals are our “Bumps of Wisdom” or of “Curiosity”?

The first big Western hat which was called “The Boss” became so popu lar all over the West that Stetson began to create many new crowns, each with a name of its own. These hats were no longer to be worn in ^y one man now chose a Western locality or by men in any one profession. The city hat for his hours of riding, hiking or relaxing, and the Big Hat popularity spread from New York to San Francisco and from Canada to South America. Sir Winston Churchill donned a wide brimmed Stetson when he was in the garden paintin rella La Guardia.

and a ten-gallon hat became the symbol of Mayor Fio-

The day of the individual batter, with his small specially shop is past and time and space do not permit a complete description of hat-making aiul the tools required for it or for cleaning and caring for a good hat. A real shop required hundreds of blocks, one for each shape of crown and each shape in a series of sizes. Two popular shapes for crowns are still the Graeco and the Bell but every shape including the Fiesta hat, the Tom Mix or the Dakota, all need their own blocks and flanges.

27

The l)iji Stetson, designed and made especially for use on the cattle range, served a definite purpose. It kept the sun and the rain from the wear er’s head. Il was often used as a flail to urge the cow pony to greater speed and many times as a whip to hurry along a lagging steer. Yet, the cow-i^oke loved his hat and it was the symbol of the life which he led. So the hat has always been since early days. Who could truly picture Sir Francis Drake without his plumed hat or William Penn without tlie big-brimmed, roundcrowned hat which he wore? For many years, the man in our Park Service has been identified by a certain broad-brimmed Stetson which was originallv called the ‘'Bronco”.

Two hats were designed by Stetson especially for Santa liarbara. One, the Jim Ross, was named for a much-ioved sheriff of Santa Barbara Count).

The other is called the Santa Barbara and is a dress hat. light in color and conservative in style, ft is very populai with men who love a goo<l hat.

Santa Barbara’s early history is filled with the names of men who chose and wore a certain Stetson liat. Leo Carrillo, when he was not wearing the lowicrowned Mexican hat. usually chose to wear a Carlsbad, a hat with inch crown and a 4-inch brim. Supervisor Sam Stanwood loved his Big 4 or the LI Tovar. Reginald Fernald was rarely seen without his Tom Mix. Major Fithian always wore the Austral with its 4Vi>-inch crown and its 4-iiich brim. Or. Irving Wills, who for many years has been a part of Santa Bar bara, wears and loves a Laloo.

The Stetson may now be shipped from the factory already creased for wearing. The day of the little shop and tlie individual hatter may be gone, and the craze for going without a hat may spread, but men will alwa\s love a good hat—and a real hat will aways mean a Stetson.

Activity Report - Women's Projects Board On the afternoon of February 26, 1963, active and associate members of the Women’s Projects Board of the Santa Barbara Historical Society, ghthered in the music room of the Judge Charles Fernald home at 414 W. Montecito Street to hear reports of the activities of the board during the past year, and to elect new officers for 1963-4. Present als were special guests including Museum Director W. Edwin Gledhiil, Edward S. Spaulding, a director of the Society and Editor-in-Cliief of the quarterly Nolicias: also other officers and directors of the Society, and the friends whose gener osity in opening their historic adobes last August had made possible a most successful fund raising event, the third annual Casa Tour. Presiding at the meeting was the retiring chairman, Mrs. Gene M. Harris, who was completing her second successful year in this office.

Before turning over the gavel and its attendant responsibilities to the newly elected chairman. Mrs. Raymond H. Paine, Mrs. Harris welcomed the guests and members, and voiced her a|)preciation to her officers and committee chairman wliose interest in the work of restoration and preser vation of the two century old houses was so evident. John H. Hartfeld, landscape architect and horticulturist, who designed and supervised the Memory Garden wliich commemorates the names of prominent citizens who were contemporaries of Judge Charles Fernald in Santa Barbara, was given a special vote of thanks by Mrs. Harris and the members.

2l\

Mrs. Arnott .). Niill. who solved as tlie hoard’s first |)rosi(lenl clurino: the formative \ear 1060-61. was also given special recognition, as were those inemliers and volunteer friends who gave unstintingly of their time on Sunda) afternoons to staff tlie Trussell-Wincliester Adobe and the Pernald House. Roth homes are open throughout the year with the exception of two weeks during Christmas holidays.

Although admission to the two homes is free, donations from visitors have lieen generous. Tliis fund is used to help in maintaining current ex penses of tlie houses. An average Sunday will bring about 30 to 40 visitors, man) fi'om out of the state. Recently a Civic AITairs section of the American Association of University Women toured the two homes, in lieu of theii' regular meeting. Sidiool teachers find that their children enjov and bene fit from a visit, and special tours can he arranged for week davs for classes.

A familiar sight, now tliat the garden is more attractive, is that of Citv College or Adult education art cla.sses whose members are scattered about the grounds making sketches of the buildings.

Requests for the use of the Fernald House for meetings by other organi zations has had to be limited to those whose interests are related to <uvie service or history, and whose memhershij) is not too large, because of space; limitations. However, among the recent groups which have m<-t in the Fernald House, are the Santa Barbara County Republican Women, the Junior League.

Chapter IJ. P.L.O. Sisterhood, and the Santa Barbara Mental Health As sociation. One stipulation for approval by the board, is that some member of the board must lx; present at the meeting. .\ nominal fee is charged to cover housekeeping costs.

Mrs. Wilson Forbes, a dire(;tor of the Historical Soc.iety and a mem ber of the Projects Board, gave a report on the progress of the building fund for the new museum and library to be erected on “FI Recinlo Stanwood’’. at the corner of Santa Barbara and de la Cuerra streets, in FI i^ueblo Viejo area . . . for which ground will soon be broken. Contributions towards this very needed headcpiarters for the Society may still be made to the Build ing Fund, S.B. Historical Society. Old Mission. A walcrcolor drawing the new Museum, designed by architect Robert Ingle Hoyt. A.I.A., was on display in the parlor. delicate lace and embroidered Several recent gifts were shown, petticoat, circa 1900, was a gift from the Junior League; on the mantel over the fireplace in the parlor was an interesting jewel box made of wood, and in the cabinet in the dining room was a lovely beaded bag. both given

by Mrs. Franklin Nordhoff. These had belonged formerly to Miss Charleen Coulter, of Montecito. a daughter of the founder of the Coulter depart ment store in Los Angeles. She remembered, when but a small girl in Maine, seeing her Grandmother Coulter carrying the little |)ur.se.

Among the several guests who arrived during tiu; tea hour whicli followed the business meeting, were Miss Rosario Curletti and her mother, Mrs. Jose Luis Curletti, and Cameron Rogers, distinguished writer and author of his grandfather Judge Charles Fernald’s biography. “A County Judge in Arcady” (1954).

Both .Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Paine were j)resenled with beautiful locally grown orchid corsages. Following the meeting tea was served, presiderl over by Mrs. flilmar Koefod and Mrs. Wilson Forbes. Refreshments were

r

29

arranged and served by Mrs. I’aine. hospitality chairman for 1962, and lier committee. Mrs. Hamilton Greetiough took bows for her Victorian flower bouquets which ornamented the various rooms as well as the tea table.

Newly-elected officers who will serve with Mrs. Paine are Mines. Godwin Pelissero, first vice chairman: Leo T. McMahon, second vice chaiinian: Vincent II. Grocott, corresponding secretary; Edward Toiioreck, recording secretary, and Miss Mary Chrisman, treasurer.

Other members of the active board are Mmes. Edward Bouton. K. C. Bowman, Howard Cole, Leland Crawford. Jr.. James Dazey, Albert de TArbe, George M. Finley, Wilson Forbes, Alex Funke. 11. Clarke Gaines.

Pier Gherini, Hamilton Greenough, Charles P. Harper. Gene .M. Harris.

John J. Hollister. Robert Ingle Hoyt, Paul A. Jones. Edmund Katenkamp.

Westbrook Law, Gilbert Loustalot. John H. Locklin, Milo T. Maier. Arnotl J. Nall, Charles Stevens. Sr., Charles Stevens, Jr., Robert Williams and Miss Isabel Parry. Newly elected members are Mms. How'ard C. Smith, Wilton Doane, Frederic A. Brossy, L. E. Wood, V, R. Seymour. Guy Chase and Joan Sartorius.

Associates are supporting members, who prefer not to w'ork on com mittees, but may wish to assist with a special event, or help with the hostess ing on Sundays at the open houses. They may do more, if they request it. and this is, of course, greatly appreciated. Mrs. Charles Stevens, Jr., is chair man of the Associate members, and is planning a program for them for this coming year. Associate members are Mmes. Joseph C. Bradley, Ben C. Dismuke, Sidney G. Gest, Flint H. Jones, Hilmar 0. Koefod, Francis V. Lloyd, Alwilda M. Ovvings. George Masek, Alien Rogers, Perry Austin.

George Hammond, Genet Byfield, Madelaine Maldonado, Walter H. Hoag, John Rickard, John T. House, Ruth McK. Mayer, William W. Vicinus.

Hugh Weldon, Stanley Tomlinson, Mancel T. Clark, Jr., John R. Demarest.

J. Van Email Titus. Lloyd F.' Wheeler, Charles Davis, Kent W^ilson, Ben Ashley, Lawrence More, Timothy McMahon and Ernest Menzies; also Misses Alice Jackson, Anna Lincoln and Angela Fox. A bronze plaque was jilaced on the grand piano in Miss Florence Fernald’s “Music Room”, by Dr. and Mrs. Irving Wills, who so generously gave the beautiful instrument to the Women’s Projects Board last year.

The engraved message reads; In Memory of

MISS FLORENCE FERNALD Pianist

Musicologist Whose art and charm Brought to this, her home.

The Musical Great of the World Gift of Catherine Wills

A recent Sunday visitor to the Trussell-Winchester

Adobe and

the

Fernald House, was Miss Marla Lorenza Trussell, daughter of Captain Horatio Gates Trussell who erected the Adobe in 1854, for his bride, Ra mona Burke. Miss Trussell is the last remaining child of ten born to this pioneer couple.

WiLBKRTA M. FiNLE'« 30

Director's Report One of tile most interesting aeijuisilions in )ears was the recent gift from an unknown donor, inscribed as follows:

Map of ihe City of Santa Barbara Co?nprisinp the space between Anapanne. and Gutierrez Vineyard and Garden streets as surveyed by V. Wackenreuder February /b’o-V l\o. 2

This was certified by F. IS. Gutierrez. City Clerk, on Dec. 20. loO*). with the city seal aflixed. 1’his interesting document map of FI Puelilo Viejo, showing every adobe and the properly lines, with the owners' names, was in a deteriorated condition that seemed beyond the possibility of restoration.

It was offered to our Society, and after inspection, it was accepted, 'flic map was drawn on silk and had become separated from its linen su|)port. and part of it was in small pieces. We spent a half day with llelmm- F-ricson before I could persua<le him to undertake the restoration of this valuable gift. Fricson. Santa Barbara’s remarkable restorer of paintings, fi rst pre pared sized Masonite Board, on which was pasted an artist’s white board.

Then piece by piece small 4-inch scjuares of the map were ironed of their wrinkles and carefully jiasted and again ironed on the prepaicd map sur face. and innumerable fragments were minutely pieced together. 'Fwo and a half days’ work com|)ieled the miracle of a remarkable piece of restoration work and thus preserved this priceless record of Adobe Days.

Important happenings frequently come in pairs. We received the gift from Father Maynard Geiger, O.F.M., and the Mission archives, of his manu script, “History of the Santa Barbara Mission”, into which have gone years of research and which will reveal source material to be published for the first lime. Our Society sincerely appreciates the valuable gift of this noted historian.

For several years Mrs. (Geraldine Sahyun has l)een translating early state archival records of the Presidio of Santa Barbara. This work has brought to light for the first lime historic data relating to the building of the Presidio, the California Indian, the ijroblems of the Commandantes. their letters to and from the Governors of California, and the life and history of the military establishments. It is planned that this translating of Presiflio and early |)uehlo records will be a continuing activity of the Society for many years.

"The Hist(»ric Savannah Foundation” of Savannah, Georgia, recently a.skcd your Director to write about “Kl l^ueblo Viejo” and historic preserva tion in Santa Barbara. A series of such articles are to be published in the Savannah Morning News to acquaint its cilizems with the various preservation |)i'()grams in the United States. We were asked to write as our subject on "Santa liarbara Builds Its Future from Its Past.” This gave the opportunity .SI

lo combine history with its architectural periods: Spanish California adobes, the early American Victorian houses, the Bernhard Hoffman Renaissance of Spanish Colonial architecture of the 1920’s and its preservation of adobe landmarks, a major influence until the 1940’s, wlien the appearance of Stale Street began lo be altered here and there with imitations of Los Angeles type of modern store fronts; and in 1960 again a return to Spanish Colonial in fluence with the creation of HI Pueblo Viejo Ordinance by the Council of Santa Barbara—in all an interesting history.

Mrs. Glcdhill and I had the pleasure of spending an evening with Dr. George Hammond, Director t)f Bancroft Library, who has recently returned from a year’s sabbatical leave in Spain, where he researched manuscript material pertaining to Spanish New Mexico. He is currently writing a book on the 17lh Century history of that Stale, on which he is an authority. Dr. Hammond had attended the funeral of Mrs. H. Toulmin, a descendant of Thomas Oliver Larkin, noted trader of Monterey in the 1830’s and 1840’s, whose historic two-story atlobe was presented to the State of California by Mrs. Toulmin.

The book. “Historic Spots in California.” first published in three vol umes in 1932, 1933, 1937. and then revised in 1948, will again be brouglit up to date in a new edition. The Santa Barbara Historical Society has been asked to suggest any changes lo be made regarding the historic Santa Bar bara County area. Since the last edition, landmarks have been demolished, the site of Burton Mound has become difficult for the tourist to discover, and the pueblo town of Santa Barbara has been recreated by LI Pueblo Viejo Ordinance and has become an important tourist attraction.

Our Society has recently microfilmed an important collection of seventynine letters and documents written lo Don Jose de la Guerra by his father.

Juan Jose de la Guerra y Cevallos, his cousin, and relatives from Mexico.

These family letters are important lo Santa Barbara. In this collection also are state papers from Governors Jose Maria de Echeandia, Pio Pico, Jose Ligueroa, L. A. Arguello, all of which are of interest.

W. Edwin Gi.kdiiill GIFTS Mr. and Mrs. I. A. Bonilla

Koberl L. Lewis

Mrs. Edward Borein

■Moody's Antitiue,Mrs. William One

Mrs. Hugli Boulell Mrs. Donald A. Brown

Mrs. M. Russell Perkins

.Mr. Frank Crakes

Mr. Max Riehler

Mrs. Dibblee-Poetl

Mrs. E. J. Rose

Dr. M. Joel Ferree

.Mr. E. .Selden Spaulding -Mr. Garrelt van Horne

Mrs. Wilson Forbes

Miss -Margaret Ely Webb

Miss Jean D. Hodges Mr. R()i)ert Kincaid

Mrs. Jean Comstock White

32

SANTA BARBARA HIS'rORICAL SOCIE'rV OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS 1963 OFFICERS President First Vice President...

Second Vice President.

Dr. Hilmar 0. Koefod Don W. Woods Hugh J. Weldon Paul C. Sweetser

Secretary Treasurer Past President

Mrs. Henry Griffiths .Thomas J. McDermott

DIRECTORS Mrs. Charles H. Cannon Mrs. Godwin Pelissero Mrs. Wilson Forbes Edward S. Spaulding John Galvin .Mrs. Robert Ingle Hoyt John D. Gill Garrett Van Horne W. Edwin Gledhill Elmer H. Whittaker Rev. Virgil Cordano Dr. Irving N. Wills W. Edwin Gledhill Museum Director Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill Curator Editor-in-Chief Edward Selden Spaulding

NEW MEMBERS ACTIVE Mr. and Mrs. Herman L. Baer Mr. and Mrs. B. K. Beckwith .Mrs. Hugh G. Boutell Mrs. Walter F. Burrell ●Mr. Robert Crane Mrs. A. Gerald Dalton ■Mrs Leroy Dart Mrs. Hugo A. Escobar Mr. and Mrs. Thomas B. Flynn Mrs. Helen K. Freeman Mrs. W. Herschell Allen .Mr. and .Mrs. J. James Hollister, III ■Mr. Aden Hughes Mrs. Edgar Lazier Mr. David T. Leary Mr. and Mrs. Francis Muncheslcr Admiral and Mrs. Stuart Murray

Mr. and Mrs. Edward McCaffrey Mrs. Dorothy Dalliba McCoole Mr. Oliver S. Orrick Mrs. Margaret Powell Mr. and .Mrs. K. P. Romero .Miss Carlin Rouse Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood Tower SUSTALNING M]-. and Mrs. James Black .Mr. Robert Crane Mr. John Fleming .Mrs. Horace I). Lyon CONTRIBUTING .Mrs. E. L. Bii'kerdike

IN MEMORIAM Mr. Charles A. Ott, Sr. Mr. Rodney Heggie Mr. Kenneth Thompson Mrs. Cameron Rogers Mrs. Byron Abraham

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

MAtLING

address:

OLD

MISSION,

SANTA

BARBAUA,

CALIFORNIA

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

Non-Profit Org.

U. S. Postage PAID Santa Barbara, Calif.

Permit No. 534