t t
( 1 1
Edward Selden Spaulding Editor
1958-1968
Occasional Papers No. 10
Vol. XIV, Nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4
November, 1968
ERRATA Pg. 1 Heading: Add DR. IRVING WILLS Pg. 34: JOE DE YONG
THE PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE This issue of Noticias is sent to you, and we hope that you will accept it in place of the four issues of our magazine which have been missed. The material contained herein has been prepared by our former Editor-Publisher and Chairman of our Publicity and Publications Committee. He has pains takingly collected photographs of all of the contributors to Noticias dur ing his editorship and has written the concise sketches of the lives and interests of these many personages. It is therefore most fitting that this issue of Noticias be, and it is, affectionately dedicated to Edward Selden Spaulding in recognition of his long and devoted service to The Santa Barbara Historical Society, not only in the publication of Noticias, but by his many contributions in other fields. Mr. Spaulding through many years since his coming to Santa Barbara in the year 1897 has been interested in the history, customs, and traditions of Santa Barbara and its surrounding area. He has given all of this devoted study and speaks authoritatively concerning it. In addition to his contributions in the historical field, Mr. Spaulding has contributed much to his community through his other interests. He has given through the field of education, the Y.M.C.A., and his devotion to his church. Mr. Spaulding has modestly refrained from giving details concerning these gifts of himself and his substance, but this writer has had the privilege of knowing “Selden” for almost as long as he has resided in Santa Barbara, and for this reason I can take the liberty of referring to some of his activities. As a boy Mr. Spaulding attended the private school known as the Hicks School, which was attended by the sons of many prominent old-time families in Santa Barbara, from which school he graduated. Later in his life when Mr. Hicks ceased to operate the school, which was carried on for a short time by one of its teachers, Mr. Spaulding acquired the school and later moved it to Hope Ranch, where he operated it for many years under the name of Laguna Blanca School. Early in his life Mr. Spaulding became interested in the Y.M.C.A. and has continued his interest there down to the present. This writer remembers him there and the admiration which many of the younger boys had for him for his gymnastic prowess. Because of his sincere interest, “Selden” has immeasurably influenced a large section of the youth of this community and elsewhere. A very intimate and personal part of Mr. Spaulding’s life has been.
and now is, his devotion to his church. He served it in many ways, both as a member and in several of its offices. There are many other fine and interesting things which might be told concerning Edward Selden Spaulding and his activities, and I am sure that many of our readers will be reminded of them. We regretfully accept his de cision to terminate his editorship of Noticias and wish him Godspeed and “many years.” Paul Sweetser, President
ANNOUNCEMENT The Publicity and Publications Committee is pleased to announce that the publication of Noticias will continue under the editorship of a man of wide experience in the publication of similar magazines, who likewise has wide knowledge of the history of California and Santa Barbara, Mr. Courtenay Monsen. The regular publication of Noticias will now continue.
SELDEN SPAULDING HAROLD CHASE DWIGHT MURPHY and (by proxy) EDWARD BOREIN
In the ten year period just closed, in which the Historical Society’s quarterly magazine, “Noticias,” has been printed in its present format, there may have been one hundred and twenty-five members and friends who have contributed to it either by writing articles of local, historical significance or by drawing pictures to serve as illustrations for the articles or in some other and equally important way. Obviously, it is the work of these good people that has given to Noticias the high standing in the community that it now enjoys. Unhappily, while these fine articles and pictures have been received widely with interest and pleasure, even with enthusiasm, their authors and sketchers, for the most part, have remained largely unknown to the great bulk of our readers. To remedy in small part this unfortunate situation, this book has been designed. In the following pages will appear pictures of them, and brief descriptions of them as individuals rather than as authors and artists; and there will be short, informal, and friendly comments of the attainments and personalities of each one. As many of these men and women have been valued friends of long standing, it is probable that I shall describe them as such; possibly I shall narrate now and then some small episode in which we have participated. It will be difficult indeed to treat them impersonally and with that cool detachment that is required of the biographer and historian. In this, 1 hope that I shall have the approval and sympathy of those who will read what I have written. The picture that appears on this first page illustrates very well the above point. Here are four of the friends who in large part have been responsible for the two well known “Borein books Etchings of the West” and “Borein’s West.” Dwight was the man who brought together the first group of Borein admirers who put up the money necessary for the publication of the first book. He was chosen chairman of the group by acclamation. Nat was the biographer of Ed Borein and, as such, it was he who wrote the warm —1—
and engaging descriptions of the Artist that appear in the front of each volume. Harold Chase was chosen to be the chairman of the group that was responsible for the publishing of the second volume. It was to Dwight and Harold that President Eisenhower addressed letters of thanks upon receiving as gifts these two books. All three of these men have taken a deep interest in Noticias and each has been a staunch supporter of it. Ed, of course, was the man who made the pictures.
—2—
FRANCES COOPER KROLL “When I was a lad” (as Gilbert and Sulli van so aptly sang) the Cooper House, in the 1400 block of Chapala Street, stood just across the street from our own house. In it were Mr. and Mrs. Cooper and six children, three girls and three boys; and in ours were Mr. and Mrs. Spaulding and six children, two girls and four boys, of whom I was llic youngest. Necessarily, between these two sets of six there soon existed the closest bonds of friendship. For my part, though I was somewhat younger than Tom, the youngest of the Cooper boys, he soon became mv “best friend”; and so it happened that I was on the Cooper premises during the daylight hours almost as much as 1 was on my own. Mr. Cooper I considered to be a silent, withdrawn man (I am confident now that this was not the case) with a beard, whom I saw only occasionally as he walked here and there on one errand or another; and, wherever he went, there went with him an aura of distinction, for he was known to us as a “49er. He was, also, the owner of the very large Santa Rosa Ranch, on the lower reaches of the Santa Ynez River. I never saw this ranch because it lay a too long day’s ride from Santa Barbara for me to attempt it; but my brother, Sam, made the journey frequently and, so far as I could tell, with no thought at all that it was a long ride. Through Sam and Tom and Frances the Santa Rosa became well known to me. It is against this background that Frances has written her really fine stories of the ranch and town life during the years about the turn of the century; stories that have been written beautifully and with more sensitivity of feeling and with more style than is found usually in the matter-of-fact articles that appear in an historical quarterly. More than this, it is obvious to every reader that they are composed by one who writes with the authority or the researcher of personal knowledge. There is nothing of the hearsayer about them. For me, in addition to this, they are all but unique in the present day writing because they often are concerned with sheep and shepherds. Frances rode a horse well, of course, and even a mule at times; and, oftentimes, she rode the animal to a herder’s camp on one errand or another. It was she, for example, who brought back to the ranch house motherless lambs; and there she bottle-fed them until they were strong enough to be returned to the flock. Shearing time was a big time in her life. And so she knows well that there used to be a time when sheep were a very important part in the economy of Santa Barbara County. She knows, also, that present Barbarenos have lost almost wholly the knowledge of or interest in sheep. —3—
Vaqueros and their cattle now are so much thought of everywhere that they have become almost a cult with us; and, sadly, the herder and his band of sheep have passed over the horizon and into the past. To me, this is the more strange because of the part that lambs and sheep and shepherds still play in i the rituals of our several churches. In addition to sheep, Frances knows from personal experience the joys that came from a ride, early in the mornin O’ along the Santa Ynez River in the days when all the roads were dirt roads, and when there was not a single automobile in the whole state of California. More than this, she is able to express these joys and this wonder adequately and clearly. Small wonder, then, that her articles have been received by our readers with such enthusiasm and satisfaction!
— 4—
DWIGHT MURPHY Dwight came to Santa Barbara a few years after the turn of the century — an engaging, jovial sense of friendly young man with humor, a fondness for horses, and a love of the out-of-doors. This is a great combination. Nec essarily, he made many friends at once; and the number of these friends has increased steadily
V I ■,
with the passing of the years. For a period of time, he served in the back country as a forest ranger. Then he became a rancher. As the years passed, he assumed in the community offices of civicresponsibility one after the other. On the San Marcos Ranch, of wliich he was the owner, he began to experiment in horse breeding, focusing his attention primarily on the Palomino. So successful was he here that, in due time, he was able to establish a definite strain of this handsome animal. Among other things, he learned to predict with reasonable accuracy whether or not a given foal would develop into a true palomino by examining with care the shade of color of the hair immediately surrounding the eye. He did,
indeed! I remember that, almost a half-century ago, Dwight invited John Ed wards and me to spend a night on his ranch. A “lion-hunter,” with his pack of dogs, had come into the Santa Barbara area and Dwight had arranged with him for a lion hunt in the rough hills near Dwight’s ranch house. This small episode points up clearly one, at least, of Dwight’s many interests. It was natural for me, therefore, to turn to Dwight after the death of Ed Borein and to discuss with him the possibility of bringing together a group of Ed’s friends and admirers who would be interested in publishing a book of etchings and paintings that, in some measure, would preserve for the town a reasonably full collection of Ed’s works. The first meeting of this group was held in the private dining room of the Santa Barbara Club. At this meeting, under Dwight’s leadership, 810,000 was raised for this purpose. And so it has gone with Dwight. He has been associated with so many city, county and state, even nationwide, enterprises that their names are legion. I list here only two of these: As we expect might have been the case, Dwight was named by the Governor to the State Racing Board. For many years he served as Chairman of this group. He supported the Cottage Hos pital steadily and effectively. As for his interest in Noticias, his articles have appeared in the various issues of the magazine often. Perhaps the one describing his efforts in breed—5—
ing the Palomino has had the widest appeal, yet the one in which he tells of the way the first survey of the San Marcos Ranch was made, and in which he gives the wording of the original deed of this famous ranch, is of such great historical interest that it, also, must be mentioned here. As for the picture that accompanies this sketch, Dwight wrote me: “I am attaching a photograph of myself. I look pretty serious but there is noth ing I can recall that I was mad about.” For my part, I think that it is an excellent likeness of one of Santa Barbara’s most respected citizens.
—6—
DR. IRVING WILLS Nat had
wide and well deserved reputa
tion for high competency as a surgeon, of course. How many of us bless him for the skill with which he cared for us during those unhappy emergencies when we most needed his care! There were other remarkable sides of his char acter, too; for he was a man of alert and in quiring mind. And so he was interested in almost every field of human endeavor. When, for example, I asked him if he had any particular information about the events that followed immediately on the wrecking of the navy destroyers in 1923, he answered that he had been one of those who made up the first Red Cross Team which went from Santa Barbara to Honda in the small hours of that memorable morning. On an other occasion, when asked about the placing of the different musicians in an orchestra, he told me, with an amused smile, that he played in his College Orchestra, starting with the cymbals because that was the only ])osition open to a Freshman. At the Club, one noon, the question of ivory billiard balls was discussed. I opined that elephant tusks really were the beasts over grown “dog” teeth. A dentist present did not believe that tusks were teeth in the generally accepted medical meaning of that word. It was Nat who, when we left the table, went to the encyclopedia and found out exactly what tusks were. On still another day, I asked Nat about a particular detail of photography. “Why,” said my friend, “1 put m)self through premedical school by photographing families in their homes with a camera that I had built. Bellows, too.” And so, from all of this, it easily is understood that Nat was a man of parts. When he entered the Santa Barbara Medical Clinic, Nat was a young surgeon with an infectious grin who sang songs as he strummed the guitar; and so he was counted an asset at every social gathering that he attended. Soon, he was ])laying in amateur productions in Lobero Theatre. I neither strum a guitar, sing songs, nor act on the stage, but 1 did like very much to hunt and fish and camp in our mountains; and so Nat and I became com rades on many a foray after deer. It was at the camp fire that I learned w'hat a really good story teller Nat was, not to mention the fact that he was a champion cook. Looking back on my life, the selection of Nat to write the texts for the two Borein Books was one of the smartest things I ever did. As for Noticias, Nat had written for us many very readable and always especially interesting articles. I rate his story of a rounduj) on the San Julian Ranch as one of the best things historically that we have published. And yet,
—7—
havin'? sai<l this much, I must add that his “Jerk Line Team” is an even belter job. Well, at any rate, it is just as good! To my mind, Nat was a great man. Perhaps this final story of him will be revealing. During a walk across lots with her brother, my daughter, Ruth, a little girl of three or four years, fell from the top of a fence they were climbing and into a clump of beaverlail cactus. Her left hand and wrist were filled with long spines that had gone straight in and then had broken off. She was frightened and in severe pain. Nat took her hand in his and. talking (juielly and reassuringly, he began to remove the evil spines one after the other. Wonderful to relate, Ruth hjsl her fear and stoj>j)ed sobbing. Presently, the job was done and we went home. For rnv money, Nat was a great doctor!
—8—
HAROLD H. DAVIS Harold Davis is a most deceptive man. I can say this with assurance because I know him well and I like him immensely. He is an amiable, even-tempered, instinctively helpful gentleman with a vast store of good humor, both good and very amusing. He can see a joke quicker and at a greater distance than can any of my other friends. And so, wherever he goes, he al ways is as welcome as the flowers that bloom in the Spring. In other words, he is as comfortable as an old shoe. If and when a stranger is introduced to him, this man immediately is attracted to him. He laughs at Tubby’s slowly-spoken remarks as he settles back comfortably in his chair in an ticipation of a pleasant half-hour, or hour, as the Fates or the telephone may determine. There is no hurry. Absolutely none! He is in good company, he has no appointments that he can not put off for a little while, and he is in the clockless Santa Barbara that was world-famous a half century ago. And then, if he is a man of any perception whatever, he realizes with steadily growing pleasure that his new acquaintance is very sharp, that there is a keen intelligence hidden behind this courteous, amusing exterior. It is here that the deception lies. Actually, Tubby is one of the sharpest men whom
I know. This sharpness is shown very clearly at the race track, where he goes because he likes to see the horses run. He enjoys most of all, as who does not, when and if it can be done, placing a stipend on a horse that other, less prescient betters have passed over with less than half a glance and that, as the event proves conclusively, really can run. So Tubby does his home work, as he humorously phrases it, considers all the omens, and goes to the track. In the evening, he returns with a pleasant glow within his body and a roll of bills within his wallet. It isn’t the money. Not at all! It’s the fun that comes from out-guessing (is it really guesswork?) the other fellow of more sophisticated exterior. Tubby enjoys these excursions to the race track very much. Plainly, the track is one of Tubby’s avocations. A ranch in the Santa Ynez Valley is his vocation, and he makes it a profitable one. And he enjoys, also, the fringe benefits that are a part of ranching. Quail hunting, to name one. And so it comes about, as far as Noticias is concerned, that he is the final authority for us of the lower reaches of the Valley, the source to which we go when we need information about it. —9—
A slory in which he featured may serve well as a final paragraph: Tubby was shaking dice with his friends at the Santa Barbara Club. (By Club law, dice may not be shaken for money witliiri the four walls.) A visitor entered and, after the usual introductions, sat down beside Tubby. He began to watch the game carefully. He asked Tubby why he shook the leather cup as he did, why he picked up those three dice after the cast and left these two on the table. He examined the inside of the cup with great care. At the conclusion of the game, which Tubby had lost, the party went into the dining room. “Do you know why you gamble so much?” asked the foolish man. “Yes,” said Tubby. “I like it.” “That isn’t it at all. I am a psychologist. I have been studying you. All of your young life, when you got into trouble, your mother bailed you out. Now that she isn’t here, you have turned to Lady Luck. You have a mother complex.” (That is what he said!) Tubby looked at the man with amazement. Then he came to me. you know what is the matter with me?” he asked in a sepulchral voice. “I often have wondered,” I answered him. “I have a mother complex! That’s what this guy has told me.”
— 10 --
Do
WILBERTA and GEORGE FINLEY The best description that can be had of “Billy” Finley is found in the accompanying snapshot of her as she sits on the tiled wall of the fountain of El Paseo. She tells me that it was snapped on her birthday. Whenever it was that it was taken, it is an excellent and very happy likeness of her in so many ways! I sug gest that you look at it carefully. To what it tells you I add only that she and her husband, George, were the ones who launched Nolicias in 1955, and who have had a major share in keeping that Quarterly going for these past thirteen years. (George, of the late Pacific Coast Publishing Company, is the man who, for all those years, had the final word as to the appearance of the magazine, as well as to the general arrangement of the material found between the two covers; and so, for in a very better or for worse — in this case, very much for the better real way, the several numbers have been the reflection of his personality and of his skill as a printer.) As I have it in my mind, the sequence of events preceding the famous launching were about as follows: Mr. Conners, the then president of the Historical Society, enlisted George in the enterprise; and then the two of them worked on Billy with the view of having her assume the responsibili ties of editing the proposed magazine. At this new job, Billy proved to be adept. At first, Noticias was a single, large sheet printed on both sides. Then it was enlarged to a double sheet. Most unhappily, the prolonged and serious illness of Billy’s mother made it impossible for Billy to continue her editorial work; and so, much of this load was lifted from her shoulders. But not all of it, by any means! Besides writing an occasional article, she has reported regularly on the work done in and about the Fernald House and the TrussellWinchester Adobe by the ladies of the Women’s Project Committee. Always a willing and a cheerful worker in good causes, Billy has carried many responsibilities as one of the leaders of this project. Incidentally, it is she who has done the major portion of the proof-reading, a tedious job for which I have no aptitude whatever. In addition to all of this, Billy has drawn with pen and pencil many of the fine pictures that have appeared in Noticias. Perhaps her best known drawing is that of the court of our new building, which appears on the cover of the Second Building Number. Personally, I admire this one very — 11 —
much; and I like, also, her pencil drawing of the shepherd and his small flock of sheep on the rolling hills of the San Julian Ranch. Billy tells me that she made this drawing between one and three o’clock one morning, Perhaps it was the proof-reading that had kept her up so late on this evening, Need I add that she remembers that she was very sleepy by the time that this fine picture was drawn? This is a great picture, happy in every one of its details. And so I count our Society fortunate to have had Billy contribute so cheerfully and so ably; and fortunate have we been, too, to have had George to oversee the actual printing and publishing of Noticias. Long may these two fine people wave!
— 12 —
THOMAS M. STORKE Tom is so well known to Santa Barbarans generally, so very much has been written about him and by him, that it would be presumptuous for me to attempt to add to this great mass of information concerning him. I shall say only that this first picture of him was taken as he sat at his desk in his office in the News-Press Building. The second picture was taken on his ranch in the Santa Ynez Valley. Taken together, they show very well the main fields of his interests. (Notice, for instance, the name plate on the lower, right hand corner of his desk. This was his name ])Iate at the Demo cratic National Convention.) For me, he has been a continuing, friendly source of information about small and big hap penings in Santa Barbara three-(|uarlers of a century ago, and of the doings of men of im portance in those pastoral days. And his paper, the News-Press, hardly could have been kinder and more generous as it has commented on issue after issue of Nolicias.
— 13 —
EDWARD BOREIN Although Ed died suddenly of a heart at tack more than a decade before the start of our Periodical, his work has exerted so great an influence on so many of our contril)utors year after year that it would be ungenerous to omit his name from this roster; and it would be stupid as well. All of us who knew him held him in the highest esteem and, today, three decades after his passing, his paintings and etchings and drawings are appearing in issue after issue. Much has been written about Ed, so much, indeed, that it is unnecessary to recite here the well known episodes of his life; and so I shall confine my self to his unwitting contributions to Noticias. First of all, there are our covers. It has seemed to me as I have put together this or that issue, that, if a really good start is made, the battle is half won; and so I have given special attention to our covers. It is surprising how well some chance sketch of Ed’s, which may have been made almost without conscious thought as he talked to Nat or Irv or Charley or Fred or some other intimate friend, fits into the design of the cover and at once makes the whole a thing of beauty and of unusual interest. Ed’s drawings catch the eye instantly and set going trains of thought in the mind. Take as an example of this the four mule team on the cover of “Winter, 1959.” In a sense, there is very little to this drawing — it is hardly more than a line or two or three — yet how suggestive it is and how happily it leads directly into Nat’s story of the Jerk Line Team! Or glance at the stage coach on the cover of “Spring, 1964.” Studied closely, this picture is merely a mass of wiggly lines that have little or no form. Yet, as the introduction to “The Passes,” it is superb. One actually sees the stage come rattling at high speed around a shoulder of the mountain. On the left is a sheer drop into no one knows what. On the right is the high, almost perpendicular cut in the mountainside. Will the stage make it? Clearly, the driver is sure that it will do so easily. This is not a carefully drawn picture. It is not even one that is signed by Ed. It is doubtful if Ed remembered doing it twenty-four hours after the friend to whom he was talking at the moment went out of the door. Yet I say again that it is superb as a design for the cover of this particular issue of Noticias. As for the pages between the two covers, Ed’s name appears often in the text; and his pictures appear often, too. Take for example the snapshot of Ed, Will, and Fred. Do you remember what Ed wrote under it? “Me and — 14 —
of the inward Ed! two good men. Five words! How very much they tell us The Passes.” How few lines Ed has used Or glance at the center spread in here to fix the route of the pack train over the hills! Though I said at the outset that I should try to hold myself to a description of Ed’s influence on Noticias, I feel that I must conclude this sketch with a statement of the basis for my great admiration of Ed Borein. First of all, he was a very great draughtsman. Second, he was an artist with out professional jealousy. In this he was unique in my experience. And he was loyal to his friends. I hold loyalty to be one of the greatest qualities, and Ed had it as naturally a part of him as was his right arm. Why, one day at the Salinas Rodeo when Ed and Nat — but that has nothing whatever to do with Noticias.
15
f
m\
f
1
i j CAMILLA and PERRY AUSTIN Camilla and Perry are third gen eration members of two families that have been prominent in the affairs of this community for very many years — the Alexander and the More fam ilies. No one who knows Camilla
even casually, it seems to me, can think of her without remembering more or less automatically the considerable pleasure she, as a musician, has giiven to us through the years. When it comes to tickling the ivories, she puts more zip and ginger and bounce, more spirit, into an ordinary composition than did even the composer himself. She does, indeed! It is wonderful to hear her play, shall we say, “Wutulerbar”; and this remark leads us naturally into another talent that she has to a considerable degree — energy. No wonder the heavy piano jumps and sways under her inspired touch! When she plays, toes tap on the hardwood floor all around the room: and even the boards of the open ceiling go up and down to the rhythm of the music. And the same is true of all other things that she puts her hand to, for she follows literally the Scriptural injunction “Whatsoever they hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Camilla is a hostess in herself, a very charming hostess, certainly, but still an efficient and powerful one. She is a true Alexander. Perry had remarkable talents in other fields. Oh, there was music in him, too; make no doubt of that. As a boy, he sang in the Trinity Church Choir; and, as a man, he hummed and sang whenever occasion offered: but it was not in this field that his greatest strength lay. As the accompanying picture represents him, he was an Episcopal clergyman, even a D.D. I have not known another boy or man who wished more earnestly to be helpful to his brother, boy or man. And so it came as no surprise to me when we learned that, after graduation from Harvard and from divinity school, he accepted the assignment to a small parish in the mill district of Philadelphia, the kind of assignment that some smug folk state is most in need of a devoted and sincere rector. Personally, I think — but that is another matter. Eventu ally, Perry went to St. Luke’s, in Long Beach, which, under his care and leadership, became the largest Episcopal Church in Southern California. Perry was gifted with a sense of humor that never tired. Sometimes, his jokes were very good; and, sometimes, they were slightly less so, prob ably because they were so unexjDected in a man of the cloth. When he told a company at a dining table that Mary. Queen of Scots, when she met Joan of Arc, said that, personal!), she preferred a cold chop to a hot steak, the — 16 —
effect was instantaneous and prolonged even though some of the diners saw hasty search through their not-too-great-store of histhe point only after torical knowledge. When he told a gathering of rather elderly church ladies that an epistle was the wife of an apostle, things for a moment or two bccame just a little mixed. Perry’s favorite author was John Muir because, I think, of his love of flowers in particular and of Nature in general. Because it is so in keeping with the inward Perry, I close with this simple prayer: “Lord, when my spirit shall return to Thee, at the foot of some friendly tree, let my body be buried, that this dust may rise and rejoice among the branches.” Amen.
— 17 —
REGINALD FALETTI Reg is the sort of person who catches the eye as he passes by with a quick and decisive step, the step of a man who has an appointment and who intends to be on time for it. He is careful of his appearance, w'hich is a wholly admirable trait in the eyes of a person like myself, who never in all his life has had the corners of a carefully folded handkerchief peep out of the breast pocket of his coat and who sometimes (not too often) has let the crease in his trouser legs dull to something less than a razor sharp edge. Reg has mentioned to me in a casual conversation the fact that, in a video or radio program (I forget which one it was) in which he par ticipated regularly, he frequently read verse and other bits of good writing. At the moment of setting down all of this on paper, he is the presiding genius of the Santa Barbara Club — and an excellent president he is making. He aLso is high in the counsels of the Art Museum and the Lobero Theatre. High up! Were I to describe him in a single sentence (which is impossible, of course) I should say that he has a tidy mind. At any rate, he has an educated ear for the sound of w’ords and an intellectual approach to good literature that is greater than that enjoyed by many another man, even lliough that man may have his office on State Street. (Reg’s office, by the way, is on East Canon Perdido Street.) When the matter of the “Lobero Theatre Story w'as brought to the attention of the Noticias Staff, it was natural for us to go at once to Reg Faletti, and to learn from him what was what and w’ho was who in the world of the theatre. To my great satisfaction, he became interested at once, he went to much trouble and expense to have me meet Miss Moise, and he even agreed to write an article for us on one phase of the Theatre’s operations. Though he is a very busy man (so busy that I sometimes wonder how any man really can be as busy as he seems always to be) he readily agreed to do this bit of writing promptly. And it was done as he said it would be done — promptly! No one who has not been an editor of an historical quar terly magazine can know the joy that comes with a manuscript when it arrives into the editor’s hand on time. And so I say again that Reg has a tidy mind. On this high note I close this inadequate sketch.
Salute!
— 18 —
JOHN GORHAM wideEven though John sometimes wears brimmed hat in and about Santa Barbara, I am told that he is a reserve naval officer (and a very good one) who conscientiously goes to camp, or on cruise, each summer; and so he fulfills the duties of his office. He is tall and reasonably slender-waisted, with a physique that fills out to the best advantage the smart, blue uniform of the naval officer. But it is not in this blue uniform that I see him when I think of him. I see him in comfortable slacks, as he appeared in and about his large, thick-walled adobe on East Figueroa Street. There he lived with his family as a serious artist (well, not too serious an artist) and put out seeds for the birds, tended the shrubs and flowers as they needed it, and moved about in house and garden in a thoughtful, unhurried way. As an acquaintance, he is agreeable, slow-spoken, easy-going, seemingly always good-humored. And he draws beautifully. War and battles seem to be far from him. I can not think of him as an ambitious, aggressive, positive martinet. I easily can think of him as an out-of-doorsman with an appreciative eye who would, and does, go over ihe mountains to the Santa Ynez Valley and there, on an oak-studded flat, sets down on paper what he sees about him with a sympathy, and understandin O’ and a high fidelity that is very satisfying to all of us who also love the out-of-doors. One day, when I was looking about for someone to draw a picture for a particular issue of Noticias, I asked Ruth Liecty who among the local fraternity she considered to be a competent draughtsman. The first name that came to her mind was “John Gorham.” This was an extraordinarily felicitous inspiration for, since that fortunate day, John has drawn many pictures for us and always with a most gratifying result. Probably, next to his great skill in drawing, is John’s knowledge both by personal experience and by inheritence, of the Southern California scene. When he draws a hat, for example, for our “Sombrero Issue,” it is such a hat as any of us might have seen a half century ago on the head of a cat tleman on any of our ranches. Frances Kroll, when she saw the reproduction of this “sombrero,” exclaimed: “That wonderful Hat! I can feel its soft ness and comfortableness!” When he draws a lady driving in a buggy over the hard sand of the beach near Castle Rock, my thoughts rush back nostalgically through more than a half-century to the days when the mem bers of my immediate family drove in just such a buggy along this very — 19 —
stretch of beach. When he drew the white oak on the flat in the Santa Ynez Valley, he knew that the limbs of this tree often are broken off by the strong winds that sometimes blow up this steadily narrowing trough; and that deer often come to such a tree in quest of the acorns that have fallen from the twig tips. He has sat under such a tree on a hot, summer day, and he has been very grateful for the shade it made for him. And so John’s pictures have added greatly to the pleasure the magazine has given to our members.
— 20 —
CHARLOTTE MYRICK Charlotte is a smart cookie (no pun is in tended. As a matter of fact, a good pun is be¬ yond the reach of my wit or cleverness. I mean only that she is a very intelligent person.) and she is articulate both orally and graphically. She is a famous bridge player, also, though, by one school of thought (a conservative school, certainly) she is daring and, in times of stress, she may overbid her hand by a hair or two. The score at the end of the game, however, almost invariably indicates that she has considered all the nuances and so again has emerged triumphant. Such pre-eminence in the diffi cult game comes only to those who possess more than average knowledge of the laws of probabilities and chance. And the same can be said of her other successes and accomplishments: she is a past vice-president of the Little Town Club as well as a past president of the St. Cecelia Club, to name only two of the important offices she holds or has held. Charlotte collects old silver with the eye of an expert. (Her husband does the same thing with newly minted silver,) She reads “the marks” as readily as she reads a sheet of music or a page of print. She knows “values.” and so her silver collection really is something to behold. She also collects carved bears, though why bears appeal to her I do not know. She collects and remembers information about people whom she sees on Main Street and about interesting events that happen here and there; and so she has an informed mind as well as a sharp one. The sum of all this, as far as Noticias is concerned, is beyond praise. When certain pencil sketches done by Fer nand Lungren came to hand, an article based on this talented colorist seemed to be indicated. And so we turned to Charlotte to do the job. It was not that she was especially knowledgable about this particular Santa Barbaran, but rather that it was known that she wrote well, that she had met and had conversed with Mr. Lungren before he laid down his palette and brushes, that her husband, Don, had a deep interest in the final disposi tion of the Lungren paintings, and, probably most important of all, we knew that Charlotte would go to the trouble of finding out accurately any details of the subject that, at first glance, might be hazy in her mind. The result amply justified the choice, as we all know. To my request for items of a more or less biographical nature that she might care to have set down in this light and brief sketch, Charlotte answered in writing that she wished to have recorded only that she was happy and — 21 —
proud to be the wife of Donald Myrick. In as much as we have no photograph of Don, and in as much as we have mentioned two other husbands, it clearly is in order to attempt a verbal portrait of him. Well, Don, though no cookie, also is a well educated (Princeton, ’15) cultivated individual. At one period of his life he resembled facially his fellow New Englander, Calvin Coolidge, even more than Coolidge did himself. I am sure, however, that Don is a more companionable, friendly man than was our 26th president. Don’s avocation is photography, especially the picturing of wild flowers. We all hold Don in very high regard. Long may his camera shutter continue to
click!
— 22 —
FR. MAYNARD GEIGER, O.F.M. Father Geiger is the historian of the Old Mission and, as such, he has won, and he con tinues to win, statewide acclaim for himself. His latest book, which is concerned with the Santa Barbara Mission, is a handsome volume. And so his reputation is a deserved one, beyond any peradventure; yet I usually think of him in a somewhat different and more personal role. I know that he is a man who enjoys his ministry. (On one occasion, he told me that, from earliest boyhood, he looked forward to the day when he would become a priest. And now, after many years as a Franciscan, he honestly could say that he never once has regretted his choice.) It is obvious that this is true for, in appearance, he has the face and form that usually is associated in our minds with the “jolly Friar.” As Father Geiger enjoys his ministry, he enjoys also the people with whom his ministry brings him into contact; and so it always is a pleasure for us to meet him and to con verse with him. To me, as Editor of Noticias, he has been unvarying in his kindness and helpfulness. When we were preparing the material for the “Mountain Passes Issue,” for example, he readily agreed to write an article on the first roads that were built in Santa Barbara County, that is, the short stretches of roadway that were made by the Indians under the direction of the Padres; and he fulfilled this jjromise promptly and with unchallenged authority. A little later, he edited a part of a diary made by a student in “the College” in the Mission building more than a century ago. This diary, with Father Geiger’s picture as a frontispiece, was published as a special issue of Nolicias, “Occasional Papers Number Four,” in the Fall of 1964. That it is a valuable addition to our local record, one that ranks in interest with the manifest of the shipment of goods from the Churches of the Philippine Islands to Father Serra in California, hardly needs to be remarked. Presently, he is holding for us the story of the several Catholic Churches of this locality, which he has written at my request. In addition to his reputation as an historian. Father Geiger is widely known as an effective speaker and lecturer. In this capacity, he has accepted invitations from our Society on several occasions, and he always has done this readily and with the happiest results. In the ceremonies attendant upon the opening of our new building, for example, both he and Father Virgil had prominent places. And so, by these many kindnesses to us, he has placed our Society greatly in his debt. The accompanying picture of him is a very good one and shows clearly the many facets of his character on which I have commented here. — 23 —
PIER GHERINI Pier Gherini is a pleasant, amiable attorney. If this seems to be a contradiction of terms, it none the less is true. He and his family own and operate as a ranch the eastern portion of famous Santa Cruz Island, and it is in this con nection that we of Noticias have had the most dealings with him. One Sunday morning, almost a full decade ago, he invited me to El Mirasol Hotel which is being demolished as I write this to talk with his mother, the granddaughter of Justinian Caire, about her girlhood on the Island. This interview (if that is the proper term for it) lasted for more than an hour. It was one of the most pleasant that has fallen to my lot as Editor. Though Mrs. Gherini was an elderly lady, her mind was clear and alert, and her memory (“recall” is the up-to-date word, I know, but I don’t like it) was sharp and precise. She made a very real contribution to our “Channal Is lands Issue” in a most gracious way. And so Pier has come to be our authority on the Channel Islands, that vaguely seen wonderland that so many recently-come-to-town Barbarenos have stared at wonderingly from the Breakwater and the beach. In the old days, communication across the Channel was of the sketchiest, most difficult sort. (When we camped for a week at Fry’s Harbor in 1908, we had no word whatever from Santa Barbara and our families had no word from us.) Now, Pier tells me, he has a “walkie-talky” beside his bed and he converses with his foreman on Santa Cruz Island every morning, or at any other time that the spirit moves him to do so. Think of that! As the Cowboy said in “Okla homa,” about Kansas City, “What next!” I went across the rough Channel in Henry Short’s launch “Charm.” And I was seasick! (Or was it Noah’s Ark? It seems now to have been so very long ago.) Yesterday Pier went across in his plane, and it took him ten minutes to make the passage. The “Charm” had taken three long hours to make the passage!
— 24 —
HORACE SEXTON Here is a man who loves the sea. For years, he was my immediate neighbor at the Shore at Sandyland Cove, and there we saw him every day dressed in his captain’s wide-visored hat, pipe, blue jeans, and those soft-soled shoes that the sailor wears as he pads about over the light deck of some sailing craft. Horace had a punt or a dory or skiff or some other light rowboat (I am a little rusty now on my maritime nomenclature) and in it he rowed about, back and forth through the surf, and out to the kelp beds. To me, a landlubber, he has been unfailingly genial and kind and helpful. He has been a teacher of many years experience in our city schools, and he comes of a famous fapiily hereabouts, the Sextons. Joseph Sexton, Horace’s father, had not only a green thumb but at least two wholly green hands, for his gardens in Goleta were famous nationally. Among other imports, Pampass Grass was a specialty of his. His youngest son, Horace, also has a love of j)lants and flowers; but it is the hat, pipe, and shoes that are the symbols of him in my
mind. Being especially interested in the people and the events of the past here in Santa Barbara, Horace has written a book — “Thirteen at Table — that is the story of his boyhood in the large Sexton family. By this well done job he has especially endeared himself to us of the Historical Society. For Noticias, he wrote about the wreck of the “Cuba on San Miguel Island, which he visited many years ago. It is one of those articles that we of the Staff are particularly proud of. I strongly recommend it to your considera tion.
— 25 —
GLEN WATERS Glen should be introduced as an industrial ist, I suppose, perhaps even as a “tycoon” even though I am not exactly certain what the latter term signifies. I met him at the Santa Barbara Club, as a competent gin player; there I came to know him as a man not given to light and frivolous prattle but one with an amusing sense of humor and a great capacity for friendship. These two agreeable traits are not found universally in older men, I have found, and by them I was drawn to him at once. He soon became one of those with whom I most enjoyed playing a quiet game. His habit of hanging on to a duce, for the sole purpose of undercutting his opponent at the end of the hand, certainly was not the least amusing of his many attractive traits. Glen and I had in common (besides our pleasure in a cut-throat game of gin rummy) a liking for the out-of-doors: as a young man, he had hunted ducks and prairie chickens avidly; and he maintained this interest in hunting and fishing to the day of his death. At one point in his career, he was a member of the group in Minnesota, that corresponded to our Fish and Game Commission. He had considerable interest in geology and mineralogy and he enjoyed carrying in his pockets choice bits of polished stone and an occasional semiprecious gem. He was a wide reader of books and magazines. and so he had a much better than average vocabulary upon which to draw. When it suited his whim, he would mispronounce some common word with telling effect on his fellow gin and poker players. One of the most often heard of these whims was his reference to those days when his and Gwyer Yates’ grandpappies fit the Indians back to back. And so it was with confidence that we invited Glen to write a review for Noticia,-! of the recently published “Longinos Diary.” This review was excellent, of course; and, happily, it gave Glen great pleasure to see it in print. Characteristically, he spoke disparagingly of the whole thing when I complimented him highly on it.
— 26
MARY WHYTLAW Mary is an extraordinary person if for no other reason (and there are plenty of other rea sons) than that she came to New York from Scotland when she was three years of age and, after that and before she had entered her twelfth year, she had crossed and recrossed the Atlantic Ocean nineteen times. Yes sir, that is right, nine¬ teen! Since those fairly restless days, she has made many other and more extended trips. More than this, she has read widely and has been careful to “keep up” with events. And so she is an enter taining conversationalist and a well informed one. Necessarily, she has had one day. many unusual experiences and a few notable ones. At a “party when we were conversing pleasantly about this and that, she told me rather casually of the day (she was a small girl, then and must have been resting up for her next crossing of the Atlantic) when William Howard Taft, while campaigning for the presidency, invited her to ride with him as he went from one speech-making appointment to another in the community in which she happened at that moment to be living. Being a well-brought up little girl, she informed the President of the United States that she did not ride with strange men. This unexpected refusal was exactly right! Mr. Taft threw back his head and laughed as only Mr. Taft could laugh. This story seemed to me to be so very good that I asked Mary if she would set it down on paper for publication in Noticias. This she was happy to consent to do. To me, who remembered vividly this particular campaign and who had, and still has, a great admiration for Mr. Taft and that great laugh of his, this is one of the most entertaining of those very brief glimpses of famous personalities of the past that we have been able to print in Noticias.
— 27 —
H
JOAN and DICK BARD Many years ago, wlien the world was young and gay, actually it was the very week in August, 1914, when the Germans started their infamous march through Belgium, a group of us made our camp near the mouth of Davy Brown Canyon, on the north slope of the San Rafael mountains. of the Mr. Alden Boyd, Joan and Jessie’s father, was the presidinn eenius » - outing; and a dozen of us, old friends all, were the young people.” One afternoon, when we were exploring a vagrant whim of one of the young ladies, it was decided to give to each camper a name indicative of his or her character or occupation. To make these titles the more sonorous, a certain amount of alliteration was introduced into them. Barreda Sherman became the “Brushwood Boy” because it was he who brought in the wood for the camp fire. Dick became the “Dick the Darling” because one of the girls present would announce her engagement to him very soon after our return to civilization. Camilla became “Camilla the Cutie” because, I am sure, she was cute. (Girls’ minds seem to work in this fashion.) And Joan, by acclama tion, became “Joan the Joy.” She had been a joy before ever this silly game was played, and she has continued to be a joy to the present day. Her grandmother expressed it in a little different way: Mrs. Alexander, who remembered well the days of candles and of oil lamps, said that Joan was a spark of electricity. The Boyd family lived on a ranch near the little community of Ballard,
Mrs. Boyd was a famous piano player and, undoubtedly, it was from her that Joan inherited her “elan” on the piano. Joan always depreciated her abil ities here, yet how many pupils have marched from Sunday School to her interpretation of “The Mosquito’s Parade”! When Joan accepted the invitation to write for Noticias her recollections of the two-story house in the midst of the olive trees, the note of joy was to be remarked in sentence after sentence that she composed. As we, her old friends, read what she had written, we saw not the page of type before us but Joan herself as she did all those things that she wrote about. It is of interest that this simple, joyous story has been broken up into several parts and now is being used with little children in at least one of the public schools of Santa Barbara. Today, she is much the same as she was so long ago. On the occasion of their fiftieth anniversary, Dick hailed her as “A phantom of delight when first she burst upon my sight; a lovely apparition to be a moment’s ornament ...” and so through the length of Mr. Wordsworth’s lovely poem. — 28 —
JOHN A. PARMA As you look at the picture, can you see the twinkle in the eye and the upward lift of the lip? Jack is a cheerful, kindly, generous, and sometimes serious man who has a definite lean ing toward fun. Often he calls me “Big Boy” because, I think, with even greater frequency he has been addressed in this way. It is noticeable that he chooses the materials for his coats with care and always with good taste. He has held in the past, and he still holds many offices of real civic importance and responsibility. He has been for years the able president of the Santa Barbara Foundation, where his astute ness in business affairs has had wide scope. And Jack is astute! I am con fident that, were I to ask him to give me the shirt off of his back, and were he convinced of my need for it, he would comply with the request at once and cheerfully. Were I foolish enough to ask him to sell the said shirt to me, he would start bargaining and, in the end, I would pay at least twenty-five per cent more than the famous shirt was worth. One day, in the card room of the Club, Gwyer studied his cards thought fully and at some length. As though to himself he murmured: “I just don’t know what to discard to you, Jack.” “Try the three of clubs,” murmured Jack helpfully. Gwyer continued to study his hand. Then he came to a decision and said: “All right, I will.” He threw down on the table the three of clubs. “Gin!” cried Jack instantly and in triumph. After the general hilarity had subsided somewhat, Gwyer remarked; “How did I know that he was telling the truth?” This raises the obvious question: was it fun, or was it astuteness that motivated Jack on this occasion? Whichever is the correct answer, I have learned that Jack plays a good game of gin, and that he talks a good game of gin, too; and he always is cheerful and amusing as he plays it. When asked to write for NoticW'Sy Jack has acquiesced in every instance; and he has done each job well and at once. The picture that accompanies this sketch, for example, was delivered to me on the day that Jack received my written request for it. fOne man waited for two years before he answered such a request.) Incidentally, it is an excellent likeness of Jack. He was Treasurer of the first Borein Book, and it was his careful management and 29 —
accounting that, in large part, made it possible for the Committee to re imburse each subscriber and to give to Mrs. Borein more than three thousand dollars, which was the profit realized from the venture. And so it is obvious that Jack is an asset, a most useful member, of every enterprise of which he is a part.
— 30 —
SCOTT BOYD Almost exactly fifty years ago, Scott and his brother, Clyde, established the Boyd Lum ber Mill in the first block of Anacapa Street.
I
As this was the beginning of the first year of the World War and also, but much less im portantly, of course for us in Santa Barbara it was the year of the considerable flood, it is an easy year to remember. For us, also, it was near the beginning of that period in our history when the community was growing very fast, and when there was something of a building boom taking shape. Shrewdly, Scott foresaw rather accurately the lengths to which this incipient boom would go and, on the basis of this native shrewdness, it was not long before he was well established and was rated as one of our most successful businessmen. Normally, “business” and “Noticias” have little in common; but in tbis instance, the one led directly to the other: Scott was so successful in his relations with the architect, George Washington Smith, that he soon found that his mill was doing all of the work for this now famous architect; and so he became thoroughly familiar with the buildings that Mr. Smith designed and with the character and temperament of the man as well. From this it happened that, when the Lobero Theatre Issue of Noticias came into the planning stage, it was to Scott that we turned for information about the rebuilding of the old theater. Much to our gratifica tion, Scott interested himself in our project at once; and he actively set about the collection of material that, in due time, became one of the basic articles of this Issue. I know of no other source from which we could have obtained information on this subject that could have approached in ac curacy or in the amount of detail given the information in Scott’s fine article. My personal relations with Scott through the years have been of the pleasantest and friendliest nature even though, in almost every game of gin that I have played with him, I have found him to be, in his quiet way, almost unbelievably lucky — at any rate, I have attributed my lack of suc cess to a continuous run of luck on his part rather than to a lack of skill and concentration on mine. And I have been told that, on other occasions, he has been even more lucky in other games of chance or skill. A friend of both of us once went so far as to report that, when Scott walked into a cer tain room in an Emporium of Chance in Reno, every one-armed bandit in that room (and they lined the walls) immediately rang its bell and poured out its jackpot without waiting for Scott to approach it too closely. On the links at the Valley Club the situation is a little different, though Scott does very well here, too. He likes the game very much, he is regular in his attendance on the course, and he plays an excellent game. I should say, after close thought on the matter, that golf is his chief avocation. — 31 —
STELLA HYDE EDWARDS Stella is a very real person in her own right, and a very capable one. She also is the daughter of Lee Hyde, a fact that gives to her additional prestige, for Lee Hyde it was who drew the plans for our “City Tunnel” through the Santa Ynez Mountains and for the Gibraltor Dam that rises across the Santa Ynez River just above the spot where once was my favorite trout pool. Mr. Hyde, a relatively young engineer, ran his lines, drew his plans, and. with a confidence that seemed to me to be extraordinary, started the work going at both ends of the proposed Tunnel. When, at last, after about two and one-half miles of digging on each side, the two ends came together, they met exactly. Think of that! Stella is this great man’s daughter and so, quite naturally, it was she who was asked to write for Noticias the intimate story of this very important work. She did it expertly, of course. One almost might say that she did it with the same intelligence and expert ness that was so notable a feature of her father’s work, and that here too, the two ends met exactly. After her marriage to Archie Edwards, she demonstrated in her rose garden at Las Varas Ranch her skill with trowel and rake and pruning shears; and, in the kitchen there, she demonstrated her ability as a cook. Her “preserves” became a standard of excellence among her many friends. Before her marriage, she had unusually careful training as a nurse; and so she is rated, also, as one especially competent in this field. And so I say again that, while she is the daughter of an unusually able and precise engi neer, she is great in every one of the fields in which she has interested herself.
— 32 —
WALKER TOMPKINS Was it Mrs. Confucius who said that a pic ture is worth ten thousand words? I am not sure that it was she but, anyway, it is true, especially if all the implications are included in the dictum. Take the accompanying picture of Tommy as an example. It tells us clearly enough that Tommy is connected with broad casting and with television programs. The unchallengable implication is that he knows a lot about a lot of things. So I shall skip that phase of the matter and say here only that I enjoyed reading his “Royal Rancho” very much and I recommend it to your consideration. His first book, “California Editor,” which he wrote in a ghostly sort of way, is a valuable addition to our local historical record, very valuable indeed. As for Noticias, Tommy was among the first to write for us. His subject was, in substance, “The Various Names Given To Our Channel Islands,” and an interesting and important paper it was, and still is. Tommy is a relatively young man, and so it is safe to predict that he has many more years of profitable writing ahead of him. We hope so!
— 33 —
JOE DE YOUNG Joe is an authentic “Cowboy,” whatever that much abused term may mean to each one of us. His boyhood was spent in Oklahoma, where the best known men known to him {among whom was Will Rogers) as a matter of pride had the common quality of complete disregard for their personal safety as they went about the ordinary activities of their lawful occupations. Later, as a protege, he lived with Charley Russell in Montana for a dozen years. Necessarily, he learned much from this famous artist and staunch friend, especially did he come to see “things in the round” (to use his words) and so today he paints in three dimenions and is critical of anyone who “painl.s flat.” As a part of this life in Montana and because he was complctely deaf, he learned the sign language from the Indians. So proficient did he become in this field that he uses it still, though unconsciously, when he converses witli his friends. He is recognized as the most knowledgable man living today in this extraordinary means of communication. We believe that he has become much more proficient in it than have the present day Indians themselves. One day, for example, when he and I were talking to gether, he answered a question of mine by saying vocally “that was a long time ago.” As he said this, he ran his right hand down the length of his left arm (meaning “a long time”) and glanced over his left shoulder (mean ing “in the past”). When he was recovering from a severe attack of cerebral meningitis and was beset by a serious lack of balance, he would swing into his saddle and set off across the plain at a dead run. On these occasions, he dejicnded upon his thighs to tell him when he was leaning far to one side or the other of his saddle. Joe has many quirks of character that distinguish him and in some measure set him apart from the common herd. What he draws and writes always is his own. something that has come from a source deep within him self: and so he works with high integrity. The strongest criticisms that I have hoard him express are of those fellow artists who seem to copy widely and without conscience from the work of other and more original men. More obviously than any other man of my acquaintance, he is the product of the indi\'idualistic men whom, as a boy, he admired and whose characters he sought to emulate. Joe is Joe, and there the matter ends.
— 34 —
DIBBLEE POETT Dibbs Poett has the most courtly manners of all the gentlemen of my acquaintance, and so, in the age when manners are neglected, it is a double pleasure to meet him anywhere and at any time. Having recorded this important characteristic, it must be added that this innate, old-world courtesy of his raises the question of whence it has come to him. Dibbs is a rancher who directs the operations on one of the parts into which the once huge San Julian Ranch has proliferated, the ranch that was acquired by his in grandfather a century ago. He is a cattleman, engaged i all of the rough woi ●k that this occupation requires of the successful owner. One might say with reason that good manners are not considered usually to be one of the products of the branding corral. Obviously, then, Dibbs comes of gentle people. Dibbs writes well, too. His story of Gaviota Pass, which appeared in the “Mountain Passes Issue” of Noticia^, is so well done that, quite appropri ately, it is the first of the five stories of our several passes to be read. I hope that it has given to him as much pleasure and satisfaction in its writing as it has given to us as we have read it. The only fault that I have to find with him lies in the smallness of the picture of himself that he has sent to me to accompany this inadequate sketch of him. It is interesting to listen to Dibbs’ conversation at the Club, where he talks naturally and without ostentation in the lingo of the corral of the incidents of his occupation. The boys sometimes hear familiar words put to gether into sentences in so strange a way that the communication for them might almost as well be in Arabic. At these times, the expressions on their faces is very amusing to see. Certainly, times have changed in Santa Barbara, which once considered itself to be the center of the Cattle Kingdom, a place where every man wore a Stetson hat. Now, the hats still are with us on State Street, but the “vaquero” is gone from our understanding.
— 35 —
JOE PAXTON One has only to look at the photograph to know that Joe is a good fellow, cheerful, friend ly, quiet-spoken, and astute. He is the most knowledgablc man in our community, as far as what is going on in Santa Barbara is concerned. This is a characteristic expected of a man emi nent in Joe’s profession (banking) of course; yet it has seemed to me that Joe goes far beyond the call of duty in this respect. He seems to know things by intuition. And he is helpful always. These fine qualities make him a sitting duck for the Editor of Noticias, the more so because, esconsed as he is at his desk in plain sight of all who enter the Crocker-Citizens Bank (the County Bank to you, if you are an old timer) he can not get away when I approach the sacred precincts to ask a favor of him. And I have done this many times! He has a flare for “history” and so, to come down to cases, when I wanted an introduction to our “Bankers Issue,' as well as guidance in general, it was to Joe that we went. Where did you folks keep all of your money in the days before Mortimer Cook landed with his iron safe on the Wharf, Joe? Socks had big holes in them in those days.” “Why, that is an easy question to answer, said Joe, interested at once; and so the success of the issue was assured. One memorable day, Joe set out in his car for Los Angeles. Then a situation developed suddenly and unexpectedly in the Bank that made the President’s presence there urgently desirable. In those days, there was only one way of meeting such an emergency, and Joe’s associates used it. We, his good friends, were startled to hear the announcement over our radios, directed to all highway cops, to stop Mr. Joseph Paxton wherever located on the highway between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara. Joe received such ribbing for this “escape from justice” that, at last, even his genial smile wore thin and became a little hard to manage. As I wrote at the start, so I write at the finish
— 36 —
— Joe is a good fellow!
HAROLD CHASE Harold is one of my oldest friends. We have ridden and camped and fished and hunted together over a period of more than half a cen tury; and so I know him very well. One of my clearest impressions of him is that of his innate courtesy and consideration for his companions, whoever at any given moment they may be. While attending the University of California, he ran the quarter mile. I mention this fact only because he and I now have reached that age when sprinting is not one of the best things that we do, and when the younger generation thinks of us only as habitues of the cushioned seats in the club room or an automobile. Since that far away time, Harold has taken the lead in many enterprises of great civic importance. At the moment, he is president both of the Cottage Hospital and of the Museum of Natural History. Harold has been a sort of human Pack rat, a saver of everything of interest that has come into his hands; and so his collections, especially his collection of things Californian, are very considerable ones. It is just a little startling to be in his library with him and to be shown rather casually “The Heathen Chinee” (I am well aware that this is not the usual or correct title of this extraordinary composition; but I feel that it should be so, and so I use it) in Bret Hart’s own handwriting. When we were putting together pertinent information about the Old Arlington Hotel, it was Harold who came up with the menu for that famous hostelry’s Thanksgiving Dinner in 1875. He not only had it in his possession but he knew exactly where he could put his hand on it. Think of that! I, too, have collected many things — stamps, cigar tags, pictures from magazines — but, these days, I find any individual item only after the longest search for it, if I find it at all. A glance through Harold’s really fine book, “Hope Ranch,” will show to what good purpose he has carried on his collecting proclivities. In this book are pictures of men standing on spike toothed harrows as they drive their teams over the newly ploughed fields, water being delivered to newly planted walnut trees, and a numerous crew serving a rattletrap hay-baler, to mention only a few of them. Where else are pictures of this sort to be found in these days of mechaniza tion of every operation? — 37 —
ROBERT EASTON Can you see by the glint in his eye that, when Bob looks at you, he sizes you up with uncanny accuracy? Bob is an extraordinary man who has been a member of the Santa Barbara Club for more than a half century. This, in it self, is no small feat. More than this, we see him every morning walking from his residence near the Old Mission down to his office in the telephone building, a distance of almost two miles. And, every Sunday morn ing, I sit in the pew immediately behind him and Mrs. Easton in All-Saintsby-the-Sea Church. There is a spriteliness about him, a cheerfulness, that makes him an interesting and an agreeable companion in the Library and the Dining Hoorn of the Club. While he is a keen and a successful business man, he is a person deeply interested in politics and politicians and so, necessarily, he has an intimate knowledge of events that have transpired in Santa Barbara County. This is merely another way of saying that he is a sort of oracle whom we of Noticias have consulted many times. His first article dealt with Judge Canfield, a man widely known hereabout a half century ago but, alas, one almost unknown to Barbarenos today. Bob knew Judge Canfield intimately, and he admired him greatly. Bob’s second article was a brief biography of Don Caspar Orena — 1825 to 1904. When it was decided that we should attempt an issue devoted wholly to Santa Maria, it was to Bob that we turned for guidance because Bob was highly respected and widely known in that city situated in the north western corner of our county. Though his name did not appear anywhere in the issue, it was Bob who brought together the group of Santa Marians who did so fine a job with this particular number of Noticias. And so we of the
Staff are deeply in Bob’s debt. The picture accompanying this brief sketch is an excellent likeness of him.
— 38 —
ROBERT I. HOYT Bob possesses many facets of character, as do most of us; but, first of all, he is an architect. Robert I. Hoyt, A.I.A. In addition to his architecture, he has a very great gift with a sketching pencil. Sometimes, I have noticed, these two gifts do not go hand in hand; but with Bob they do. Bob has drawn buildings and parts
of
buildings
with
great
charm
and
skill — the drawing that he made of the Old Mission, as one of the end sheets of “Adobe Days” is one of the strongest, most striking likenesses of this famous edifice that has fallen under my eye. The drawing that he made of the Mission Garden Gate is so very good that it makes a companion piece for that most pleasing etching that was made in the 1880s by Henry Chap man Ford of the great arch in the aqueduct wall that ran from the “Filter House” to the Mission Garden. Knowing all of this, I have gone to Bob many times for help with cover designs and, less often, for bits of illustration for this or that text. I hold that one of his happiest designs is that of Goleta Point. It is great! It is this ’cover that Mrs. Furlong, writing in praise of the “Goleta Issue” in general, selected for particular mention and approval. It is a truism, probably, that even a competent psychiatrist can not tell by looking at a man’s hat what is this person’s chief hobby. This is true of me, certainly, who am no “ist” of any kind; and so I never would have guessed that Bob, the dedicated architect, had a deep interest in antique automobiles had I not seen one evening the feet of his spread legs unex pectedly protruding from under the running board of an automobile that saw the light of day long before Bob did. Bob likes to monkey with old motors, especially very old motors, I now know; and so, when you see coming down the street a big, high car that would have been familiar to Woodrow Wilson, or even one in which Teddy Roosevelt might have been proud to ride in to his inaugural ceremonies; and when you notice that this ancient vehicle is being driven by a blonde man who is wearing a broad-brimmed Stetson, you are to realize that this is Bob Hoyt taking the air in the car that he personally has rebuilt from the ground up. And he is enjoying the air ’character”? I assume that it does do
immensely! Does this make him
so. Anyway, it adds a third string to his bow, and it makes him just that much more interesting to all of us — and to himself as well. Bob is a talented “boy.” — 39 —
PAUL SWEETSER Paul is a member of many organizations and he is active in all of them. To name a few, he is a member of the Bar, a Native Son of the Golden West, a past president of Old Span ish Days, and the first president of our Histori cal Society. At the moment, he is our Secretario (because of his South American diplomatic con nections, he affects a decidedly “frijoli” accent at times) and he it is who sees to it that all motions, sometimes made carelessly by exuberant Directors, are properly worded as far as the red-eyed letter of the law is concerned. (And that is pretty far!) As “Master of Ceremonies” he is pre-eminent, especially when he approaches the podium all decked out in his “Spanish Regalia.” Isn’t there a verse of a song somewhere that runs: If you wanted a man to encourage the van or to harass the foe from the rear, or to storm a redoubt, you had only to shout for Paul Sweelser”? Anyway, our Society owes Paul very much indeed. And Noticias is deeply indebted to him, too. When we wanted to put out the first of two “Building Issues, it was to Paul that we turned for the history of our Society. Then, in April, ’66, when we proposed to put out an issue devoted to the First Fiesta Parade, in 1924, it was Paul who was asked to bring together the proper men to plan the number and to collect the most suitable photographs. And, as usual, Paul accepted these responsi bilities with cheerful competence. Need it be said that the issue was great?
— 40 —
CAMPBELL GRANT Campbell is a clown, as this "ood picture of him shows him to be. As happens rarely in the case of amateur funnymen, he is much more amusing and clever than are most of the pro fessionals; and so, wherever he goes, Fun goes with him. As an example of this, one evening when he and two other hikers made their camp in the High Sierras, Ted Carpenter and the third man chose to make their beds near the small campfire while Campbell madi his near some large boulders, a cozy little nook a hundred yards from the fire he thought it to be. Some lime in the moonlit night (Campbell is not exactly sure of the exact time) his face was pushed firmly yet not roughly to one side. He awoke, of course, and, opening his eyes, he looked up and into the face of a bear that was bending over him. Ha, ha, ha! In the morn ing, when he looked at himself in a small hand mirror, he beheld the abrasions on his cheek made by the four claws of the bear’s front paw. Ha, ha, HA! It was very droll — for the other two hikers. Had Campbell chosen to go into the movies, assuredly he would have made a fortune; but he chose instead to be an artist-anthropologist. Who ever heard before of a humorous anthropologist! Well, for proof of this, open “Men Out of Asia” and look at any one, or all, of the illustrations by Campbell in that wonderful book. His recently published Rock Paintings of the Chumash Indians” is one of the most beautiful volumes on my shelves. As for Noticias, his “Tar Pits of Carpinteria” is great. And then there was the time when he and I attended the wedding in the Old — but that is another story and so, no matter how amusing it was, it does not belong on this page. As I think of it as I write this much of it, I can not restrain an inward chuckle — nor do I wish to do so. Ha, ha, ha. HA!!! Wherever Campbell goes, FUN certainly walks with him!
— 41
HEWETT REYNOLDS Why are all graduates of Princeton College niotivaled by the unshakable conviction that tliere is no other educational institution in the world that compares favorably with their be loved Alma Mater? That the sun rises every morning for the express purpose of shining on Princeton? Why? Hewett is a devoted Princetonian, certainly: and he also is a retired school teacher. As such, he is a compadre of mine. Furthermore, he is a friend of long standing. Because he has a deep and considerabl interest in American History, especially as it relates to the Great Virginians of the Revolutionary Period, and because he, as Headmaster, has taught “Senior English” at the Deane School for many years, he seemed to be the logical man to write a short biographical sketch of the famous Santa Barbaran, Jose Lobero, for the “Lobero Theatre Issue” of Noticias. From George Washington to Jose Lobero may seem to some to be very long stride. To Hewett, it was not so, for he cheerfully tackled the job; and so he became one of the small band of loyal supporters that made this particular issue of the magazine the imteresting and instructive one that it was, and still is. One day, when we both were practicing our common profession, he told me that a boy had handed him a precis so badly written that the Head master could not read it. .\nd. said he indignantly, “I handed it back to him and he said that he could “read it.” “I answered that I had no interest in pri vate communications written in secret script.” Recently, I have had dinnei- with Hewett and on the tables were more than a hundred red roses from his garden. More than a hundred!
— 42 —
a
ETHEL-MAY DORSEY Mrs. Dorsey is one of the dynamos of the Santa Maria Community. She has energy — lots of it — and she is an organizer of ability and skill; and so her fields of interest are of more than passing importance. The local “Bugle” reports her as being an avid traveller, a lover of good music, and an habitue of the golf course. Granting at once that all of this is true, my impression of her is somewhat different from the newspaper appraisal; for 1 see her as one who is very much at home when she has a pen in her hand a lady of or a tyjjewriter keyboard under her finger tips. Obviously, she IS i many parts. It is she who has edited and published “This Is Our Valley, and group of hard-working, 'ho has organized “Santa Maria Valley Beautiful, enthusiasts whose aim is to beautify Santa Maria by the planting of many shade trees. As one help in this latter project, Mrs. Dorsey has originated the device of encouraging grandparents to plant trees in the names of their grandchildren. This is an unusual “Twist” that indicates rather clearly the originality of its inventor’s mind. Mrs. Dorsey readily accepted the invitation to put together an issue of Noticias that would be devoted to Santa Maria, and she set to work on this job immediately. The result could not have been happier. For me, personally, it was a great jileasure to meet Mrs. Dorsey and to have printed the material that she so effectively and so promptly gathered together. The final result is one of our most attractive numbers.
— 43 —
EDWARD A. GILBERT When Ed died, in the Fall of 1966, he was my oldest friend. Necessarily, at this writing, as I look back through the sixty, almost seventy, years of that very satisfactory comradeship, Ed’s
'J»
many, fine qualities stand out sharply lined in my mind. He had courage, staunchness, loyalty, generosity, and an extraordinary, infectious
sense of humor that was never failing. It is obvious to me now that those years when as boys we enjoyed one adventure (perhaps “escapade might be the better word to describe them) after another, definitely influenced me and added to my sense of what was decent and what was not so. And, in addition to this, Ed undoubtedly was the most attractive boy and young man in Santa Barbara. I could tell many good stories about him but I limit myself to one: When Fred Stone came to the Potter Theater, a large group of us bought a block of seats that ran across the entire floor of the theater. I suppose that my seat was in the 7th or 8th row. Ed was near me, almost in the middle of the row. Every time that Fred made one of his nonsensical, extraordinarily comical sallies, Ed’s high, in fectious response could be heard from every seat in the house. And then the ceiling vibrated up and down to the almost explosive laughter and ap plause of the audience. The comedian on the stage, encouraged and stimu lated by these thunderous responses, took additional fire and became so absurdly ridiculous that the situation all but passed out of bounds. That was a night for Santa Barbarans to remember, surely! And I do remember both
it and Ed. There is a famous quotation taken from I know not where to the effect that “he was a man, take him for all and all. I shall not look upon his like again. Ed wrote two articles for Noticias, both of them on subjects that were very close to him. The first one was on another man with a sense of humor, Clarence Mattel, which appeared in the issue devoted to the portraits drawn by this very talented artist. The second had to do with the San Marcos Pass, a route into the Valley that Ed used many times. He appears in several other articles as one of the characters, notably in the “China Camp Issue.” Ed’s interests were many and varied. Perhaps, most of all, he liked horses and all those activities that are associated with these useful quadrupeds. He liked golf. too. One day on the old Montecito Countrv Club course, I saw him make “a hole in one.” This was the more remarkable a feat because — 44 —
this so-called green was over a rise in ground and so it was out of sight of the player on the tee. When Ed, after an extended search, found his ball actually nestling in the cup, he fell flat on his back on the hard-oiled “green” in astonishment and feigned unconsciousness. Ed followed this game all the active days of his life. As is to be seen plainly in the accomi)anying picture, in the later days of his life, Ed was devoted to his dog, a friend who went everywhere with him. When lunching at the Santa Barbara Club, Ed never failed to save a tidbit from his plate for his companion, who was awaiting Ed’s coming on the front seat of the automobile. Now that Ed no longer is here, I miss him very much.
— 45 —
CHARLEY WHITCHER Charley, at the moment of writing this brief and informal sketch, is living in Buffalo, New York, where he plays golf enthusiastically every day that the weather permits; but in my mind he is most easily associated with the area around Los Olivos, where I knew him as a rancherfarmer who looked with some suspicion at any man who was silly enough to follow a little, white ball from one gopher hole to another. He possessed a considerable knowledge of the weather, of deer hunting on and around Figueroa Moun tain, and of the annual run of steelheads in the Santa Ynez River. How many bucks he took with a rifle and how many trout he took with a pitchfork I do not know, but. as a teller of tales of episodes that occurred here and there he was, and is, without a peer because he added to the spoken word a lively pantomine that could be devastating to the disciplines of a sedate and sober audience in a prim, old-fashioned parlor. Why, there was that snuffing old bear and loudly snuffing Charley on his hands and knees — Yes, Charley is a gifted story teller and one of the best natured and most helpful companions and friends who is known to me. Look at his face! Can’t you see him galloping around in an old barn in the dark and yelling “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” as he told the story of a group of hunters who had gone to sleep on an old barn floor one rainy night?
— 46 —
CLIFFORD McELRATH Cliff was and still is in the minds of many of our old-timers the Bravo of our Channel Is lands. He often carried a loaded revolver on his hip and a rifle in his hand as he went about on Santa Cruz Island because things were rough over there when he was Superintendent. They were, indeed! He held his ground against heavily armed fishermen when less vigorous and cou rageous men gave up the contest and retreated to the security of the Main land. Why, when they began to shoot at Os — but this is a sketch of Cliff and so I shall not allow myself to be sidetracked from him, amusing as it is to remember how .... As one looks at his picture, this bravo side of his character is not too obviously indicated because he resembles about the eyes not Wild Bill Hickok of story and legend but rather his sister, Bertha Bakewell, the wife of the well known and highly respected doctor, Ben Bakewell; and Cliff has the open face of a staunch friend. In all of my dealings with him he has been forthright and straight forward, and he has written as he has talked. When he has liked a person or thing, he has said so: and if he has not liked some thing or somebody, he has not hesitated to use picturesque language to ex press his feelings. (He was a machinegun sergeant in the First World War.) Necessarily, he has had many stories to tell. All of this, when put together, has made for interesting, even hilarious conversation. My only regret has been that I did not know him earlier, when he had this loaded gun on his hip and this rifle in his hand and he was Superintendent of Santa Cruz Island for Mr. Caire. His forthcoming book on the Island is great.
— 47 —
\
THE EDWIN GLEDHILLS The Gledhills are too well known to the members of the Historical Society and to the readers of Noticias to stand in need of any in troductory sentences here; and so I shall state only that I have known and admired Edwin for very many years; that he, as the City’s most prominent portrait photographer, has made many, really fine pictures of every member of the Spaulding family, and that it was a pleasure to us to have Andriette and Edwin move into their present residence on Glendessary Lane, a home hardly more than a long stone’s throw from my own home at 720 Mission Canyon Road. So fine were the Gledhill portraits that the entire “Winter Issue, 1960” of Noticias was devoted to them. Since Edwin has ceased to be a professional photographer, he and Andriette have contributed most, if not all, of their leisure time to bur Historical Society and to the preservation of historic landmarks in this locality. Is it necessary for me to add that Edwin has been an enthusiast from the first day that he came to Santa Barbara and that he ever has thrown himself into whatsoever he has done in this ad mirable and engaging way? The Gledhills have given so freely that our So ciety is very deeply in their debt.
— 4S —
HUGH WELDON Hugh and I, along with many other boys, were in the same gym class in the Y.M.C.A. in about the year 1905, when that then famous institution had its quarters on the second floor of the building that then stood on the west cor ner of the intersection of State and Canon Per dido Streets; and we played basketball on the vacant lot across State Street and about in the middle of the 900 block. Neither one of us looks much like a gymnast or a basketball player now, of course; but, in memory, he and I still go back to those youthful days and, when we meet, we see each other very much as we saw each other so very many years ago. An optical illusion, or some other kind of an illusion? Well, maybe so. Anyway, this is one of the deep satisfactions that are an intrigal part of old and good friendships. And so it happened that, when I wanted some one to give for an issue of Noticias an eye-witness account of the coming to Santa Barbara of the Great White Fleet, in 1908, I turned naturally and confidently to Hugh. Nor did I turn in vain! Today, Hugh is a highly respected lawyer with an office on East Anapamu Street. More than this, he stands high in the counsels of our Historical Society. And, in addition to all of this, he enjoys the smoking of a good cigar. There are those who will say that this is nothing but ir relevant bathos; but, to me, a cigar tends to place a man; and, in some measure, it sets him apart from the ubiquitous “cigareeteer.” Hugh is a wheel horse (if there are still those who understand this significant term) one who is a steady conservator of good sense and sound judgment in our too modern and flighty society.
— 49 —
I >V.in
CLARENCE MATTEI As far as Noticias is concerned, this ex ceptionally gifted artist, who was able to make such extraordinary, speaking likenesses of the people who sat for him both in oil and in char coal — many have said, for example, that his charcoal drawing of the Brinton Twins is the best child’s picture that they ever have seen — is much like that other greatly talented artist, Ed Borein, in that both men without their knowledge have contributed magnificently to our magazine. Even so, when I see a likeness of Clarence — the self-drawn portrait here shown, for example. I have the impulse to laugh loudly and whole-heartedly for, in spite of his handsome, serious expression, he was a funny man, a very funny man; and his friends still derive much amusement when they recall his sundry tricks and pranks. Which one of these shall I set down here? The choice is not an easy one to make. Well — One day, Clarence went into the Ladies Locker Room at the Country Club and, entering a dressing booth, he availed for one or two or three golfing enthusiasts to arrive. Presently, two ladies came into the room and, at that, the most awful cat and dog fight developed that can be imagined. The cat meowed and spat and screamed. The dog, or dogs, barked and growled and snapped their teeth. The scuffling was violent. It was a fearful row. The fair golfers departed the room precipitantly and returned with ample reinforce ments armed with brooms and golf clubs and rakes and every other weapon that was within grasping distance. The booth door was opened cautiously, and there sat Clarence grinning his most engaging grin. On another occasion, Clarence was a guest at a dinner party where the food was delicious and the moon sparkled brightly in the glassware. It was a festive occasion, it was a time when old friends saluted each other hand somely and often. I admit that It did become a shade noisy toward the end of the meal as the company left the dining table and repaired to the comfort able chairs and sofas of the living room. Every one was in an expansive mood. As the conversation darted from this to that extremely interesting sub ject, Clarence took from his pocket a small, black ball seemingly made of rubber and held it aloft between finger and thumb. Then he casually tossed it against the wall near the ceiling. The ball did not bounce back into the center of the room, as it should have done. Instead, it ran down the wall as a large drop, or gob, of thick molasses might have done. When it reached the floor, Clarence rather carelessly picked it up and dropped it back into the pocket of his dinner coat. Some of the company were goggle-eyed, all were — 50 —
silent. There was much restless shifting about in the chairs. Then, one or two couples arose and started for their homes. And so the party broke up. It was a memorable affair. On still another occasion, Clarence climbed up and into a seat in a boot black’s stand and — I guess that I should stop here, for I am confident that I have written enough to convince every reasonable person that Clarence was a very great artist indeed. If more is needed, I respectfully refer you to Winter, 1962” of Noticias, which issue is devoted solely to the work of Clarence Mattei.
— 51 —
RUSSELL RUIZ
Here are two pictures of Russell. You can take your choice of them. There are two for several reasons: The first is that they both are available to me, and that is so unusual a circumstance that I leap to make the most of it. The second and more important one is that, by their backgrounds, they help to emphasize two important influences in his life. One of these and unquestionably a strong one, is that he is a lineal descendent of Lieu tenant Filipe de Goycoechea (Russell has instructed me in the spelling of this wonderful name, and so I am sure that I am right here) the second commander of the Royal Presidio at Santa Barbara. This fact certainly places Russell in one of our very first families, and it has served to fix his attention on the old fort and its history; and so now he is recognized as an authority on this interesting subject. This is one of the reasons why we asked him to prepare the material for the “Presidio Number” of Noticias, “Winter, 1967.” If you now will turn your eyes from West to East, you will notice the second great influence in Russell’s life. Russell is a purchaser of old and rare books that he has on his shelves. It is because of this trait that he has become respected in the historical field. It is easy to put books on the shelves of a library. Very easy, indeed! It is much less easy to put them into one’s head, as Russell has done, and to have them ready for use whenever needed. A third string to Russell’s bow is his considerable skill with a pen and with a brush. He draws the Santa Barbara scene beautifully and knowledgably. Should you care to look at his drawing of Cabrillo’s ship, you will see at once that there were lateen, or Mediterranean, sails on his vessel. Having satisfied yourself on this point, will you notice that Vancouver’s ship is square rigged? This is not a vital point, perhaps, yet it unquestionably is a point when seen in an historical magazine. It is the sort of thing that makes a drawing by Ruiz the delight of those people who have some small acquaintance with History and, shall we say, with Noticias. A fourth point in Russell’s character, or “Image, to use a much over worked, present day expression, is his constant cheerfulness. I can assure — 52 —
you that, when these East-West pictures were taken of him, the photographer had no need to tell him to smile before he snapped the shutter of his camera. Russell has drawn many pictures for Noticias, and all of them have been done with the most agreeable cheerfulness. Making this point in this way may suggest to you that I am rating his cheerfulness above his skill as a draughts man. Nothing could be further from my intention. You have only to look at any one of his pictures, or at all of them, as they appear in the successive issues of Noticias to see how really good they are. What I do mean to con vey is that any editor, even the Editor of so small a magazine as is Noticias. would be a clod indeed were he not grateful for the cheerfulness and will ingness with which Russell has accepted and carried out the assignments that have been offered to him. I like and admire Russell very much.
— 53 —
WILLIAM A. EDWARDS This is the picture of a great athlete, and I don’t mean by this term one who tries to throw his weight around in a parlor; for Bill never has been guilty of this. The size of the picture that he has sent to me is an excellent indicator of the modesty of the man. When Bill was a young man, a student at the University of Cali fornia, he became the best high-hurdler in that institution. Then, during the meet that had been arranged in commemora tion of some important past event, the man who held the world’s record in Bill’s event was invited to participate to add importance to the meet. During the warm-ups for the big race, the Champion, in a condescending sort of way, said to Bill: “You’re too tight, kid. Loosen up! Drop your leg sooner as you go over the hurdle.” In the race that followed, Bill got off to a good start and he led the Champion to and through the finish tape. And so Bill became the tri-holder of the world’s record, a fact that was commented on with some glee even by the Police Gazette. After this triumph, Bill became an architect. Eventually, he designed the Fox-Arlington Theater. And this was a second world’s record, as far as I was concerned. I still remember my astonishment and delight when I attended my first performance in it. Today, the Theater is much changed and it has become “old hat” but, on the night that it opened, it was some thing to shout about. Before the United Slates as a combatant entered the first phase of the World War, Bill volunteered for duty in an ambulance unit that was to be come part of the French effort. Understandably, he served well in that ca pacity and, eventually, he was kissed on both cheeks by a French general and had a Croix de Guerre pinned on his chest. I never have seen this medal nor has Bill ever spoken of it to me, yet it is common knowledge that he has it — a distinguished honor of which we all are very proud for Bill. As far as Noticias goes. Bill has been one of our most loyal supporters. Because he is gifted in the use of a pencil, he was asked to draw for us one of the “Stanwood Bridges.” As we all know, he has done this with great charm. Lately, he has written for us his recollections of Pon Sue. As is to be expected, these recollections are steeped in sympathetic understanding, humor of the quiet, chuckling kind, and, perhaps, some nostalgia. And so we return to the small picture from which we started. It seems to me as I study it, that most if not all of the fine qualities that I have tried to describe in these few lines clearly are written there for every eye to see. — 54 —
MARSHALL BOND Having glanced at the accom panying photograph, would you say that Marsh is a connoisseur of bells, especially of bells in a belfry? (The
,
phrase seems to strike a familiar chord. Isn’t there something some where about bells in his belfry? Well, maybe so.) Marsh is interested in many things that are all but unknown in detail to the ordinary man met on State Street. He reads books on many subjects and so he is a knowledgable fellow. More than this, his father had restless feet; and so he went to Alaska during the Gold Rush to that frigid land. And so it comes about that Marsh, too, likes to wander into primitive regions of all sorts, including books. The unspoiled rivers of Mexico have great attraction for him and, when the spirit moves him to do so, he goes to that southern country. For the most part, however, his preoccupations are with things less active and more sedentary: his friends often see him walking down the street with a book, often an old one, under his arm as he wends his way to El Paseo. Several times have 1 watched him at a table there, and I have wondered at his ability to do two things at the same time: with his book spread open on the table beside his full plate, he reads a line and then takes a morsel of food into his mouth, reads a line and takes a morsel of food, reads three of four very interesting lines and skips the morsels of food. In this pleasant fashion he makes the ceremony of lunch an especially interesting and informative and long-drawn-out occasion. To me, who has a single track mind, this is a performance that verges on the wonderful. My friendship with Marsh goes back to those halcyon days when he was an attractive “small boy” in a local school where I, as a boy-grown-tall, and one with a ready discipline, was a teacher. Marsh and 1 still are good friends, and this fact speaks volumes for his good nature and his tolerance and his general friendliness. When I needed an article of Beachey’s spectacu lar aeroplane flight (one of the first in Santa Barbara) around the polo field in Hope Ranch, quite naturally I turned to Marsh for it; and, again quite naturally, he replied cheerfully by writing an exceptionally good story for the “Summer. 1961” number of Nolicias. Currently, he is high in the counsels of the local chapter of the Sierra Club here his restless feet and active mind have plenty of room in which to move around.
_55 —
PRYNCE HOPKINS Prynce has had an interesting life. It would be easy to list here the educational institutions that he has attended, the countries around the world that he has visited, and the usual and the unusual things that he has done; but this would be only a part of the picture and, as I see it, the less interesting part. The more im¬ portant part is the quality of his mind. Almost from childhood, he has busied himself with things, schemes, and ideas that were more or less foreign to the everyday thinking of his friends and cornpanions. As a very young man, for example, he became interested in aviation. (This was immediately after the turn of the century, when some men were saying publicly and loudly that, if the Almighty had intended men to fly. He would have equipped them with wings.) Prynce wished to fly. He began to experiment with gliders. Having made one that would carry him, he hoped, he had it patented; and then he began to practice on it. As he expressed it to me, If my mother had not become so alarmed for my safety, I now should be either dead or one of the world’s most famous aviators. Prynce has an unusual ability to read a textbook and then to set down on paper accurately and intelligently what he has read, and so his standing in the colleges he has attended —● Stanford, Yale, Columbia, M.I.T., and so on — has been very high indeed. He has wit, too, and so several of his quick retorts still are remembered by us. When Clarence Day, the Assistant District Attorney, told a bevy of girls at a Beach Tea that he had been selected to be Aide to the Grand Marshall at the Fourth of July Parade, Pry nee took him down a peg or two by remarking to the Bevy that Clarence was nothing but a lemonade. When he addressed the student body “up on the Hill” after a trip to Scandinavia, he told the eager damsels who were his audience of his impressions of Sweden. “Why,” said he, “I visited a cheese factory and, opening the door, I leaned up against the smell.” To the afore said damsels, this was a new approach. Prynce Hopkins, B.A., M.A., Ph.D., Ll.D., and P.D.Q.
— 56 —
PETER EDWARDS How valid are the “old wives tales” of our grandparents? Is there such a thing as family resemblance? Does the tree incline as the twig is bent? Is the son like his father? Coming down to cases, Peter is not a high-hurdler, but he likes to ski and he likes to sail in our Chan nel. He has designed and constructed some of our most attractive homes and office buildings; and he served with our mountain troops in Italy. By a curious chance, he has five children — two girls and three boys — just as his father had when he was the age that Peter now is. And, more than all of this, he has a very pleasing, agreeable disposition. When I asked Peter if he would draw for us the Southern Pacific Passenger Station because I felt that, as soon as “the Daylight” is discontinued, this old landmark would be razed. Peter replied (almost in the words that his father had used) that he was not that kind of a draughtsman but that he would try to do it. As our readers know, the result was great, a companion piece to his father’s “Rattlesnake Bridge.” I can hear the cynic and the skeptic, having read this far, mutter to him self, or herself: “So what?” I can only answer: “Cheer up! These are two good men. If you don’t know a pattern when it slaps you in the face, go and chew for awhile on a green persimmon. As I mentioned earlier, Peter likes to ski; and so he takes his entire family into the high mountains whenever there is enough snow to support this exhilerating sport. Last year, on one of these excursions, Tony, age four, an enthusiastic skier, fell and broke his leg; but what is a broken leg to an ardent skier! He was taken to the hospital and patched up; and now, this winter, he has gone back to the snow fields for a chance to break the other leg! Is the expression: “Peter’s family is a closely knit one” too corny to be set down here? Anyway, the twig certainly is bent; and all that re mains is to be seen whether this tree, too, when it is grown tall, will re semble in some measure the two trees that have preceded it. We hope so. Good luck, Tony!
— 57 —
WALTER KONG Here is a great man! Mr. Kong stood in front of the gold-leafed, carved shrine in the end room of our Museum and read off to me the date when this shrine was made in Canton, the names of the men who contributed to its cost, and their places of residence. He did all of this as readily as I might read from the evening newspaper. More readily! And then he described the whole of the episode for Noticias in as readable an article in English as any that has come to this Editor, and far better than most. These bi-lingual and tri-lingual people certainly are something! I must be even more provincial in my outlook than I had supposed was the case, for this whole operation was wonderful to me. And Mr. Kong did it all cheerfully and with no ostentation whatever. But why not? Is he not a graduate of Stanford University and a man of affairs in Santa Barbara! As I talked with him in his store in the eleven hundred block of State Street, I was much impressed by his quiet voice, and by his general air of competence and courtesy and friendliness, and I took it kindly of him that he was willing to do this important job for Noticias and for our Society. It was pleasant in deed for me to be again associated, even if briefly, with a dealer in Objects of Oriental Art. For how many months, even years, has Elmer Whittaker tried to get accurate information about the making of this shrine and the uses to which it had been put here in Santa Barbara! And now, how easily and how authoratatively do we have all of this data. The fact that Dr. Sun Yat Sen used it in his revolutionary activities adds greatly to the shrine’s intterest for use.
— 58 —
ERNESTINE KOEFOD Here is very capable and civic-minded lady. She is especially active in those organiza tions whose fields of endeavor lie in the Arts. She reads fluently both French and German (and English, too, of course) and her library is made up of many books that are not found on the shelves of the ordinary lady or gentleman of Santa Barbara. For example, she read Andre (let us not forget the accent acute!) Maurois’ “Adrienne” in the original, while I read Gerald Hopkins translation of it. That is the difference! For some years, Ernestine wrote a weekly column for the News-Press, and a very interesting and widely read column it was. She has been promi nent in the management of Lobero Theatre ever since the old building was torn down and a new one was erected. She has been high in the counsels of the University of California at Santa Barbara. For six years, she has been the “First Lady” of our Historical Society. Who was it, then, who took a leading part in the preparation of the material for our Lobero Number”? Nat Wills? yes. Reg Faletti? Yes. Ernestine Koefod? Most certainly, yes! And so this one is ranked among our best numbers. I suppose that Ernestine is as familiar with as many plays as is any other Santa Barbaran. At any rate, it was she who read to us a play, whose title I never before had heard of, under the huge trees of the Sequoia National Park. Don’t play scrabble with her, for she is a tri-linguist and she surely will beat you every time. This picture, by the way, is an excellent likeness of her. In 1922, Ernestine was elected to the presidency of the Santa Barbara Women’s Club, and so she became one of the leaders of the post-war Civic Improvement Movement, which has meant so very much to us all.
— 59 —
ROBERT BATES It always is a pleasure for me to see Bob, even to see a picture of him, because we are “sympatico” to a considerable degree. I met him first about 1899, when the Spauldings moved into their new house on the corner of Chapala and Sola Streets — the north corner — and Bob and his brothers lived on the corner of Cha pala and Arrellaga Streets — the west corner. Now, Bob is living high on the mesa in Ventura County that overlooks Rin con Point and the Channel beyond; and there he owns and works his ranch. Bob has a cultivated mind, and yet he knows Santa Barbara County and the basic facts of our lives here as only a man with his feet on the soil can know them and as only a second generation Barbareno can know them. Bob’s father, Dr. Bates, came to our famous city in 1869, when the present Ventura County was the eastern half of our present county. Bob has been a “consult ant” of our magazine for some time. His first article, in which that extra ordinary story of Dr. Biggs and this man’s ability to roll a cigarette with one hand, is mentioned. His second and latest article, in “Autumn, 1967,” is concerned with Bob’s recollection of the Chinamen who were so important a part of the life in our community from about 1880 through the turn of the century. A more helpful knowledgable a “compadre” it would be hard to find anywhere. (Please notice that I can sling the local lingo a little when I set my mind to it. Bob, of course, does it with ease.) All of these facts and experiences and inheritances make Bob a conservative, I suppose — a con■ servative who has a deep understanding of the Channel Area and a keen and reasonable desire to keep it the fine land in which to live that it always has been.
— 60 —
MAMIE GOULET ABBOTT Mrs. Abbott has had an interesting, it al most might be said that she has had an historic life, as a young woman,for she went to the Santa Ynez Mission to keep house for her uncle, a priest who recently had been assigned to that post. That the whole mission establishment at that time was in a state of disrepair is the un derstatement of this book of friendly overstate ments. To Father Buckley, who was a missionary of the Order of St. Francis, the primitive conditions may have been at least bearable, a part of the every day performance of his duties; but, to the girl, Mamie, who was sixteen years old at the time, and who was of an orderly, tidy (see the accompanying snap shot) turn of mind, they were something else again, as the saying is. Her ac count of the long and almost continuous rain that culminated for Father Buckley and Mamie in the fall, or noisily slump, in the middle of the night of the bell tower of the Mission is one of the most poignant tales of “Adobe California” that I have read. (For the full story, see the “Santa Ynez Valley Number — Autumn, 1962.”) She has written: “while cleanin B’ repairing, and restoring to usefulness such old things as old oil paintings, silk brocades, and many other precious objects, I became interested and gained an appreci ation of their value and the need for preserving them.” And so, as the months passed, the young woman brought at least some degree of order to the dilapidated mission establishment.
— 61 —
SELDEN SPAULDING There is a saying —
Like father, like son
— that often is used with telling effect (even I have used it where I thought it was appropri ate) but, sometimes, it is far from the actual facts of life; and this is one of the latter cate gory. This Selden is an artist and, as such, he has a fine, discriminating eye for color. Cer tainly, I have no such talent, for I am all but color-blind. Blue-green? Green-blue? It is all one to me. But it is not so with Selden, for he sees the difference at first glance. And so it is Selden the Elder has gone to him many times for ideas and for other helps in the making up of the different numbers of Nolicias as they have followed one another with sometimes frightening frequency. It was Selden the Younger who took all of the photographs for the Point Conception number and who arranged all the material that is between the two covers of it. It was he who designed the really handsome “Shell” cover for this issue, and the equally handsome “Sycamore Leaf” cover for the “Water” number. Both are un usual to a degree. Selden served as an artillery officer under General Balmer during the Second Phase of the World War in England, France, and Germany. After the close of the War, he studied and painted in France, in the Cezanne Country, for a decade, or more. Returning to the United States, he has con tinued to paint as he has taken an ever deepening interest in civic affairs. He is my son, and I am proud of him.
62 —
DR. LEO L. STANLEY Here is a paragon—the Fair-Haired Boy of at least one Editor in the United States. Out of a clear sky, without solicitation of any sort on my part—I not only never had met him but I never had heard of the man—there arrived at my hand the story of a young man who, needing money to go on with his medical education, had sold pea nuts, newspapers and many other items desired by travellers on the Southern Pacific passenger trains in the heyday of that serv ice. Coming to Santa Barbara just after the turn of the century as a “Peanut Butcher” (I use his nomenclature) he met Sheriff Jim Ross at the railroad station, he steered hungry travellers into Neal’s Restaurant, he visited the Old Mission, he rode on our street cars, and he did many other things that were conspicuous parts of our town in those happy days. Why, even I may have bought a peanut or two from him for I, too, travelled by train on oc casion in those days; and, from childhood, I have considered the humble peanut to be America’s finest vegetable. Now, I learn that Dr. Stanley has been chief surgeon in San Quentin Prison, a member of our own Rancheros Visitadores, and a rancher of sorts near Fairfield, California. When our Society (Julia Forbes, really) gave that fabulous party for the contributors to Noticias, this light-footed man of many parts came all the way from Fairfield to be present with us on that occasion. Look carefully at his face (dis regard the costume) as this picture gives it to us, and read what is written there so plainly. Long may this man wave in the Land of the Sombrero and the home of the avocado, the palm tree, and the prickley pear!
— 63 —
HAROLD EDWARDS Harold is my son-in-law, and a right good son-in-law is he. He also is a farmer in the Marysville Area now, though, formerly, he was domiciled in Southern California; and there he raises a variety of crops. This occupation keeps his feel on the good earth and his chief interest in the soil and the weather; which is a fine and a comforting circumstance in these troublous times. His roots go very deep into the history of our State and our Nation. His father, Harold Senior, was born and raised on the corner of State and Valerio Streets, where now flourishes the Blue Onion Restaurant; and Har old’s father’s father came to California from Oswestry, England, in the days not long after our Gold Rush. As is well known to every Californian, Marys ville is an historic place, second (or third) in importance only to San Fran cisco; and so Harold Junior is very conscious of our history that has been made and also of that which is being made presently. He has had two doctor sons in Vietnam with our armed forces. When the Great Flood (I don’t mean Noah’s Flood) was raising the water level higher and higher in the Feather River, Harold and his sons, as a matter of course, patrolled the massive levy on their side of the River night and day. Then, because this is the kind of man that he is, Harold, after the waters began to subside, recognized the episode for what it was historically and, sitting down at his desk, he wrote the story of it. At the time that he made this valuable record, he did not know that he was writing it so that the readers of our magazine might have an accurate, first-hand account of the disaster: yet such was the case. (See “Winter, 1959”)
— 64 —
GEORGE EDMONDS What is there about George that this picture of him declares so unmistakably that is distinc tive and different from almost every other male contributor to Noticias whose picture is shown in this famous scrap book? George writes that the picture flatters him (yes, this is what he has written to me) and this is why he chose it. Well, this is not the case, for George is an eye
f
catching fellow in his own right, and he needs no biased camera to prove it. George is tall and slenderish, and he is a famous golfer, hereabouts. More than this, he is a winning golfer. As a domino player at the Santa Barbara Club, he is good; but he is not always a winner — but then, the competition in that gameroom is very keen, not to say ferocious at times. And so it can be seen that George is an athlete of considerable proportions. And so, as is true of so many good athletes, he is a good fellow and he possesses a good sense of humor. This is a strong combination. He has lived in Santa Barbara for a long time. He is widely known here and is knowledgable about events and men in the community. More than this, he was City Editor for the News-Press at one time; and so we can say confidently that he is very knowledgable about the town. It was in this capacity that he visited Elwood immediately after the shelling by the Japanese submarine. The article that he wrote for Noticias about this famous. or infamous, or ludicrous, episode is of real value historically — much more so than sometimes is the case. The distinguishing thing about George, as the picture truthfully shows, is his nifty bow tie. You see, a long, flowing fore-in-hand might interfere seriously with his golf swing and with his right arm as he moves his domino counters about the table.
— 65 —
JOHN T. RICKARD His Honour, the Mayor! (Everyone, stand up!) The President of the Forty-Niners! (Sit down, boys, and have a good time.) Attorney at Large! And so it goes. Jack is a member of one of our oldest families, he is agreeable, and he has ability; and so he has held many offices in Santa Barbara, and he is better than well known here. The Forty-Niners, by the way, are not necessarily descendents of those hardy adventurers who sought gold throughout the Mother Lode Country, but they must be ranchers in the Santa Ynez Valley, an area where there is no native metal whatever. At the first meeting of the group, there were forty-nine men present either in person or by proxy; and so there are forty-nine men in the organization today. This certainly is the conservative point of view carried to its ultimate! But, to return to Jack — As Master of Ceremonies he is suave, smooth, pleasant, and a good teller of stories — a very effective gentleman indeed. I rate him as the best M. C. in Santa Barbara and surrounding communities. Oh yes, there are other good M.C.s hereabouts, but none of them has Don Caspar Orena standing behind him with the old gentleman’s hand on his shoulder. From all of this it is easy to figure out how Jack came to be predated contributor to Noticias.
— 66 —
highly ap-
PEARL CHASE What can be said about Pearl with any hope that it will be new to our readers? She has won so very many awards for distinguished service and so many ceremonies of one sort or another have been arranged in her honor that I have the definite feeling that there is very little that can be said here that will be an ad dition to this extraordinary record. Did not the Reader’s Digest devote a whole article to the accomplishments of Dr. Chase? Have not conservationists the country over acclaimed her! What shall I add
here? Because Pearl played so large a part in the Reconstruction Effort in the years immediately after the Earthquake of 1925, which wrought such havoc to our fair city, it was to Pearl that we turned for an authentic account of these measures and of the whole reconstruction effort for our “Earthquake Number” of Noticias. Because she is by nature a keeper of detailed records, she wrote for us easily and readily one of the most valuable stories that we have printed in the decade just passed. Presently, Pearl is devoting her considerable energies to the safe-guard ing and preserving of our old landmarks that still are standing, and to the restoring of the most important of those that no longer exist as structures. The Royal Presidio, which used to stand around what is now the intersec tion of Santa Barbara and Canon Perdido Streets, which was about a city block in extent, is very much one of these landmarks of the second category. Certainly, we wish her the greatest success here.
— 67 —
HARRY DUNN Looking at the subject impartially, here is a great man, one with a long record of fine ac complishment to his credit. Looking at him as a friend of very long standing (as he is) I say that Harry is a good guy and one of whom I think very highly indeed. He was the first boy I met when I came to Santa Barbara in 1897 because he was the son of Mr. E. P. Dunn, the genial and able proprietor of the Arlington Hotel, at which famous estab lishment we spent that first winter. Harry had a great gift for fun (what some of the guests called it I can only guess) and we had a swell time together. Well, Harry grew up, as did most of us, and went to school and college. When Herbert Hoover went to Belgium to feed those invaded, starving children, Harry went along as a volunteer worker. In the First Phase of the World War, Harry was an officer of artillery (I was told at the time that he was the best young officer in the A.E.F This is high praise, but I am his friend and I believe it to be true. Look at his picture, if you question it!) Then he became a lawyer in Los Angeles. Now, at the top of his profession in that city, when he calls a spade a club, he is believed with out question. Has he not the whole Constitution solidly behind him? Of course he has! If you wish to get his side of “Arlington Hotel vs the Boys Case,” turn to the “Summer, 1963” number of Noticias. For the record, he wrote this “opinion” for us cheerfully and without undue pressure on our part, and I believe that he had real pleasure in writing it. Harry is a good guy.
— 68
.V
NICHOLAS FIRFIRES U
Nick is an all-out,
western
artist, and
he and his horse dress their parts. Notice the nice hair rope, the hackamore bridle, the som brero, and the natty mustache. (Did you over look the concho on the spur strap and the chaps?) He paints in oils, sometimes on large canvasses; and these pictures have given him a wide reputation and have made the cash register ring pleasantly. Having said all of this, I feel that I should add that I have a watercolor of a burning French Village that he painted while he was in the army that I think is very fine indeed. He makes many pen and ink sketches, too, as illustrations for books and other, somewhat similar uses; and so these, too, have helped to spread his reputation. As for Noticias, Nick has been more than generous in his contributions. Here he is best known, I think, for his two riders on the cover of the Ranchero Visitidores Number; but he has done so many other fine things for us that I am not too sure of myself in this dictum. And always he has drawn these valuable sketches for us cheerfully and willingly. On my wall is a large drawing of two vaqueros roping a grizzly bear. This one, too, is a striking picture.
— 69 —
ANNA LINCOLN Anna comes of a family, the Lincoln Fam ily, that has lived in Santa Barbara for a cen tury. Its various members have held many posi tions of responsibility here. I think of Anna’s father, Mr. Henry Lincoln, and the First Nation al Bank as being one and inseparable. Henry’s brother, John, used to play cribbage in the back room with Mr. Nathan Bentz in the latter’s store (Oriental imports) on the corner of Victoria and State Streets when business was a little slow. Henry and John’s father, and Anna’s grandfather, at one time owned Tajiguas Ranch, the establishment now known as the Upham Hotel, and other historic and near historic properties. And so Anna is no Johnnie come lately. She has been a Barbareno for three important genera tions, which is a real distinction in itself in these modern days when every one who has been here two weeks feels that he or she is approaching the status of “Old Timer”: Anna has played an important part in the development of our Historical Society. We remember very pleasantly and gratefully the many hours she put in at the Old Mission in the days when our “headquarters” were located in the western extremity of that fine, historic edifice. When Anna showed to me her letters and records of the Lincoln family and offered to allow us to use them for an issue of Noticias, my instantaneous reaction was: “Can a duck swim!” For further information about this prominent family I respectfully refer you to “Autumn, 1964” of our famous quarterly magazine. It is a fine issue.
— 70 —
MARTHA FURLONG Mrs. Furlong, whose maiden name was Martha Rice, was born in Sacramento in 1881. Much of her long and useful life has been spent as a school teacher. Coming to Santa Barbara because of the ill health of her husband in 1931, she taught English in the Santa Barbara Girls School and then, for thirteen years, she worked with (taught) physically handicapped children in this community. After the death of her husband, she moved to La Jolla to live with her daughter. (Her son lives in New York.) She has two grand daughters and two great granddaughters, (Having had, myself, two or three great grandchildren — or is it four? — arrive on this mortal coil, I am particularly interested in these fourth generation children of Mrs. Furlong.) My introduction to Mrs. Furlong was made by mail, a circumstance that is of particular interest to me because it is in this way that I have met several other very interesting persons. It happened in this way: A letter post marked “La Jolla” came to me one day. It stated that the writer had infor care mation concerning the Santa Barbara of a century ago that we might to use in some future issue of Noticias. Think of that! No scratching of the bottom of barrel, no frantic, last minute search for material, no nothing but to say “yes’ for the Editor; and then to let the presses roll! I have not the slightest idea of how or where she heard of our quarterly magazine. And so the Furlong Papers Issue, one of our most interesting and readable numbers (did not Mrs. Furlong teach “English”?) was begun. Since that time, happily, I have met Mrs. Furlong in person and have been delighted to have had this opportunity.
— 71 —
X
\'
YALE GRIFFITH When the “Sombrero Number” of *‘Noticias was in the process of being put together, a man to write an appreciation and an appraisal of Sheriff Jim Ross was needed; and so we of the Staff turned quite naturally to Yale, for is not Yale a lawyer of note and as such he must be on familiar terms with our law-enforcement of ficers. For the same reason — for a lawyer who is not fluent in talking and writing is a contradiction — he writes well. Added to these certainties, he is a Barbareno with a California Poppy in his hand; and so he can be counted on to know intimately the background of this story. Yale accepted the assignment with smiling pleasure, and he did a fine job with it. {Spring, 1963) Necessarily, Yale has many another string to his bow: He is a Trustee of Pomona College and has been so for more than twenty years. He was a member of our local Board of Education for twelve years. These two facts indicate to me that he knows something about “Education, as well as about the Constitution of the United States. I can not refrain from mention ing that I knew his father and that I held this gentleman in high regard. “Lawyer Griffith!” And so, as the twig is bent so does the youngster incline. Yale warms now the seat of the chair that his father warmed in the old days Lawyer Griffith! As I wrote this, I have spoken to Yale on the telephone; and he has told me that he is starting on a trip right now, and so he has little time for idle conversation. Yale has become a great “tripper.” It would be interesting to list here all of his trips, but space does not permit us to do this. I only shall repeat what Edward Starbuck said to me about him: “Yale is a good egg.” He is, indeed!
— 72 —
SHREVE BALLARD Shreve Ballard has lived in Santa Barbara for a long time and so he is thoroughly familiar with this community during that |>eriod in our history when horses were ridden and driven on the dirt streets and when electrically pro pelled streetcars ran up and down paved State Street on ten minute schedules. Because he is so knowledgeable, he never would think twice about which end of a Mexican saddle goes on which end of a horse. And so, from the Noticias point of view, he is a valuable citizen. That he is one of our very skillful photographers the accompanying self-portrait attests very clearly. He has a sense of humor, too. I remember well the occasion when he told me of watching a Chinese houseboy come into the dining room from the kitchen of the Thacher School with a full tureen in both hands. As he lifted this now famous soup recepticle over the head of the teacher who presided over the table where Shreve made one diner, the dish broke square ly across its middle. The frightened waiter ran from the dining room into the kitchen, down to the town of Nordhoff (“Ojai” to you, perhaps) and on down to Ventura. Should you wish to read a well written, first-hand descrip tion of the eastern suburbs of Santa Barbara before the First World War, turn to the Autumn, 1966, number of our magazine and read “Before the Freeway Came.” Incidentally, the title is an especially happy and apt one.
— 73 —
EDWARD SELDEN SPAULDING Here I am at last, and almost as big as life. It is the only picture of me available, so it will have to do. As I have written so very much about myself in the preceding pages, when I set out to write only about other people, I hardly can be expected to write more here. So I close this magnus opus with a story: A small boy with a pronounced lisp in his speech was skating on the ice of a pond in Buffalo. Foolishly, he ventured onto the thin ice, which broke under his weight, and into the very cold water he went. Other skaters were on the pond and so he was pulled out. As he stood on the firm ice and shivered violently, he put his hand on his hip and cried piteously: “My tail isth told.”
— 74 —
r
RARBARV
f-.
r'
OFFICERS President
.... Paul G. Sweetser
First Vice President ....
. Mrs. Wilson Forbes
Second Vice President
Hugh J. Weldon
Secretary
Mrs. Charles Cannon
Treasurer
John Gill Thomas J. McDermott
Past President
DIRECTORS Rev. Virgil Cordano
Dr. Edward Lamb
Elmer H. Whittaker
Mrs. Edwin Deuter
Mrs. Godwin Pelissero
John Galvin*
John D. Gill
Hobart Skofield
Thomas M. Storke*
Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill
Garrett Van Horne
John Jordano, Jr.
Hugh J. Weldon
Mrs. Henry Griffiths
*Honorary Directors Acting Museum Director
HISTORICAL SOCIETY MEMBERSHIPS Classes of membership: Benefactor, $5000.00 or more; Life, $1000.00; Patron, $500.00; Fellow, $100.00; Associate, $50.00; Contributing, $25.00; Sustaining, $10.00; Active, $7.50; Student $5.00. Dues are tax deductible. Mailing Address: 136 E. De la Guerra Street, Santa Barbara, Calif. 93101
QUARTERLY BULLETiN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HiSTORiCAL SOCiETY 136 EAST DE LA GUERRA STREET SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA 93101
Non-Profit Org. U. S. Postage PA t D Santo Barbara, Calif. Permit No. 534