Wiedoeft and Tate
Show business lost two of its most colorful d figures last week in the deaths of Rudy Wiedoeft, the saxophone king, and Harry Tate, the vaudevillian. Wiedoeft, California-born son of an orchestra leader, was a professional clarinetist when he was 11 years of age. By the time he had reached manhood his saxophone playing was setting a standard for others to follow. A young Yale undergrad, for example, changed his own name of Hubert Prior to Rudy Vallee. Wiedoeft owed much of his success to the friendly aid given him by Paul Whiteman. The two had grown up together when Wiedoeft's father was an orchestra leader in Denver, but his lasting fame was due to his own proficiency both as a virtuoso and a composer. Wiedoeft's passing was tragic because of his comparative youth - he was 46 - and made even more poignant by the collapse and death of his aged mother when she heard the news. ... Harry Tate represented quite another school of popular entertainment, vaudeville, and his death at 67 was due to the war that left him unscathed when it was fought some twenty years ago. Tate died from a head injury sustained from a shell splinter during a German air raid on the Scottish coast. He was. watching the aerial action when the fragment struck, blindness in one eye setting in before death. For nearly 40 years Tate was a top figure in the English 'alls and the American two-a-day. His "Motoring” sketch, later done in the United States by Harry Langdon, was a masterpiece of slapstick satire; and his "Golfing" sketch was another bit of hilarity. He is said to have collaborated with W. C. Fields on the latter's version of golfing. The two men were great cronies in the old days.
Jersey Lily and Piper
We like to look back on the old days of the theater as halcyon ones in which a brave spirit of camaraderie was constantly in evidence. Nothing, of course, could be further from the fact. Life was lived with a constant show of arms and if proof were needed I came across it in the yellowing pages of a theatrical journal dealing with a Virginia City event on July 23, 1887. The contributor, who signed himself Plumus, was miffed at Mrs. Langtry and her manager and wrote: “Mrs. Langtry played to a good house here last night. The proceeds were nearly $1000 - the figure predicted in my last. The verdict of the Comstock is: As a beauty, she is a queen, as an actress, she is not even a citizen. Her representative and treasurer, Mr. Keogh, has a supreme contempt for all San Francisco papers and declared he would recognize none of them. He was not less considerate with Manager (John) Piper and his family, insisting that each member thereof should have the privilege of paying for admission. Truly some men (and some theatrical companies) have theatrical greatness thrust upon them. Robinson's circus Saturday. No other amusements in sight ... Plumus." The adamantine attitude of Mr. Keogh seems to have been paralleled in Oakland where, according to the Fox West Coast executives, they were forced to pay for their seats to see "Gone With the Wind” by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, owners of the picture.
'Acalanes'
Obviously a new school must be given a name. In Southwestern Contra Costa County, where a union high school is planned - with bonds voted and bids called for - M. H. Stanley, clerk of the present board of trustees, recalling the old Rancho Acalanes, offered the word as suggesting a Spanish land grant and thereby precipitated some argument and speculation. Modestly, Stanley explained, his proposal was no more than a tentative one, but the name has stuck. Moreover, after some research it has gained in favor. Stanley Warburton, principal-elect of Acalanes High, did some investigating into the background. From Dr. A. L. Kroeber, chairman of the University of California department of anthropology and authority on the California Indian, he received a letter containing the statement, "I am delighted to know that one of the appropriate indigenous names is being preserved in the designation of your Union High School.” Acalanes, pronounced "Ah-kah-lah-nays," it is agreed, was a better choice than that of Laguna de los Palos Colorados, name of another major Spanish grant in the area. Use of the name Acalanes by the high school cheering section is within the realms of plausibility, but "fifteen for Laguna de los Palos Colorados" would appear to offer some difficulty in enunciation. Warburton's letter continues: "Acalanes is probably the Spanish name given to a Costanoan Indian village of this vicinity called Akalan. These coast Indians, now practically extinct, inhabited the San Francisco Bay area as far inland as the Mount Diablo Range and southward to Point Sur, below Monterey. Shell mounds in this area go back three thousand or more years and are among the richest in California. These Indians held in high respect the eagle as one of the animals that explored land and created man after the waters receded, leaving the world. Ranch Acalanes was granted August 1, 1834, to Candelario Valencia, a soldier of the San Francisco company. Acalanes was thus one of the earliest grants.
Out of the Background
It was not until 1840 and later that grants were made to Alviso, Livermore, Soto, Moraga, Pacheco, Valencia, Castro, Bidwell and others. Valencia sold the land shortly afterward to William Alexander Leidesdorff, prominent ship master and San Francisco businessman. Leidesdorff was an early member of the San Francisco council, treasurer, member of school committee, United States vice-consul and local political leader. He had the distinction of launching the first steamer that ever sailed on San Francisco Bay. In 1847 Leidesdorff sold Rancho Acalanes to Elam Brown, a native of New York who began pioneering at the age of one. Brown served as captain of an overland company of 14 families and 16 wagons which he led to California, arriving October 10, 1846. He enlisted under Fremont and served against Castro. Brown brought his family through the Moraga Valley to their new home. They arrived February 7, 1848, the second American family to settle in Contra Costa County. Brown made two moves before finally settling in a spot near Lafayette still marked by the immense black walnut trees he planted. Public spirited, Brown served as "juez” of Contra Costa, member of the Constitutional Convention of 1849, and member of two Legislatures immediately after adoption of the first State Constitution. Another pioneer family closely associated with early Rancho Acalanes is that of Nathaniel Jones. Jones bought a portion of Acalanes in 1848 and shortly set out trees which gave the name of Locust Grove to his homestead. Nathaniel Jones served as sheriff, public administrator, and County Supervisor in Contra Costa. His eldest son, Robinson M. Jones, was a farmer, teacher, county surveyor, newspaperman and warehouse operator. This glimpse into a portion of the background of Rancho Acalanes gives some indication of the rich history associated with the name. Indian lore suggests that the American eagle might make a fine school emblem. The significant contribution of the respected pioneers who settled Rancho Acalanes would warrant a school a motto such as “We serve our State." Credit for this information should be given to Mrs. Jessie D. Francis and to Lloyd K. Chorley, who a have studied such sources as Kroeber's "California Place Names of Indian Origin," Hoover's "Counties of the Coast Range" and Bancroft's “Pioneer Register" or "California; Local Annals.”
On That Old Rail Line
Evidently the stories of the old California-Nevada Railway strike sparks in many local memories. In the days when that line was running, our community was small and habits leisurely. What matter if a car jumped a track? The picnic and excursion (do we have them now?) was a large event. John Laughland digs back in thought to a tale of a rail line which was to have been great and accumulated rust, weeds and regrets. He writes of a land sale excursion "advertised for a Sunday at Orinda by a well-known real estate firm of those days. Any real estate sale of importance would have a band for music. The train left 40th and San Pablo, and though it was raining heavily, everyone was in a gay mood. We had not made much progress before the engineer was blowing his whistle as though it was a Fourth of July affair. The train slowed down and finally stopped. It required the assistance of all passengers to tear down a fence that had been erected across a cut on the right of way! They probably didn't have any track walkers in those days! All went along smoothly until we hit a trestle and the last car was bumped off the tracks. We left it there and picked it up on the way home. The real estate sale was a as failure, as it was entirely too wet to show the property to advantage. But the musicians conceived an idea for amusement. They took a cymbal and divided it into ten spaces and made a wheel of fortune. Numbers were 25c each, making a total of $2.50. The winner paid the band men 25c per turn. Being a band member, I was glad to see the wheel spinning merrily. We could not lose, but we were forced to many extra turns by cries of 'Liner - Liner' when the marker stopped near the line. This went on is until train time. Some of the race tracks would have liked to get our 'cut and percentage' that day. All in all, it was a jolly crowd, and all enjoyed themselves - even the realtors. I wonder if there are many who will recall that trip?"
Cars Often 'Jumped'
Not of the same trip, mayke, but out of the story of the old railroad, come reminiscences from James A. Dewing of Walnut Creek. He remembers a Sunday School picnic on the exasperating, challenging and inviting line. There are place and other names in his interview which will interest others. "We had a grand time playing, eating, racing, etc., at Bryant's Station, now Orinda Crossroads. On our way home the passenger car in which I was, suddenly began to jolt along the ties in the middle of the track. It finally came to a stop against the 6x6 siderail and tipped up until it was balanced on one set of wheels. Then it came down, right side up on the tracks. We kids were ushered out on a flat car with benches along the sides and taken to the end of the trestle to wait while the passenger car was put back on the tracks - but no one rode in it the rest of the way home. We got off at the 53rd and Adeline Station, next to the Chinese Gardens, where there were about 30 acres of corn, peas and tomatoes. Some years later an Oakland man was shot dead there for stealing corn, or, I might say, for trying to steal some. Tough 'guys' had the habit to helping themselves from the gardens of the Chinese, and when the latter remonstrated they were told emphatically they had no rights to protest. The Chinese imported a gunman, and when a confident tough shot his pistol the latter returned the fire to deadly effect. The 'thief' would have been insulted if called by that name, for in those days there were many who thought it no more than right to steal from the Chinese. The Chinese was arrested and kept in jail for several months, probably to forestall retaliation. If I'm wrong, correct me. Anyhow, the Chinese used to peddle their vegetables and fish around town in two large baskets carried on each end of a bamboo pole over their shoulders. They used a kind of uneven gait when carrying the load (we have all seen it), which I have since found useful in carrying large buckets of milk. The rhythm of the walk keeps the load from swinging too much."
Superstition Mountain
To many there is nothing more fascinating than the legends of "lost mines." Men who e dig into these tales of great wealth found by chance and lost, usually, by tragedy, have been known to give up their businesses, stake their future on a hunch and a hope and follow the trails which the ghosts have left. Others, who are practical, have gathered the many yarns and put them into books. Then there are those ; who accept an American habit and “organize a society" of men who share a common thought or fancy. At Phoenix, Arizona, the Dons Club (perhaps with some appreciation of publicity values to their section) annually sponsors a tour to the forbidding Superstition Mountain, setting for a "lost mine" story which is as grim as any. The club, Winter tourists, and others trooped to the place which, fortunately, is less than an hour's drive from Phoenix. At a point where the historic Apache leaves U.S. Highway 70 stands Superstition Mountain with its enduring invitations, locale of a thousand fantastic legends which go back to a day when one Jacob Walz is said to have discovered a fabulously rich mine, the "Lost Dutchman.” A few years ago one prospector actually returned to Phoenix with several gold nuggets which he claimed to have obtained from the legendary mine and there was considerable controversy at the time as to whether the gold was newly mined or had been melted down. At the site there is now a monument erected to Jacob Walz - the self-willed man who did more to bring dubious fame to Superstition Mountain than any other. The monument bears a bronze plaque which reads: "Here lies the remains of Snowbeard, the Dutchman, who in this mountain shot three men to steal a rich gold mine from Spanish pioneers, killed eight men to hold his treasure, then killed himself in 1892, without revealing its location. Dozens of searchers have met mysterious death in the canyons there, yet the ore lies unrevealed. Indians say this is the curse of the thunder gods on white men in whom the craving for gold is strong. Beware, lest you, too, succumb to the lure of the Lost Dutchman mine in Superstition Mountain.”
The 'Adams Diggings'
From a man who has been down there, and retrieved some values in alluring prose, Edmund Kinyon of Grass Valley, I have a story of the Adams Diggings. Here was a "lost mine" which served its purpose in tempting adventure and stimulating dreams for a number of years. The Diggings, yarn has it, was discovered and lost in 1859 and never, insofar as the record shows, rediscovered. Writes Mr. Kinyon in the Grass Valley Union: “Various versions of the Lost Adams Diggings were told to me by old-timers from the Gila to the Rio Grande, each one suitably embellishing the essential incidents - two thirst-perishing prospectors who told of being guided to a fabulous natural gold cache by a Mexican youth who they had rescued from the fierce Apaches. Later, of course, the entire party - except Adams and one companion -were killed in an Indian ambush. They fled the desert after marking the location . . the center of a triangle formed by three mountain peaks. Years later Adams purportedly returned with a strong company and sought to relocate the cache . . no convenient triangle formed by mountain peaks could be found. My lost mine narrative was published in London s in 1904 by the Wide World Magazine. Many letters came asking for more specific directions to the scene of the mislaid treasure . . the same which I did not happen to be possessed of. But few are the mining regions which do not have their lost mine traditions and few the typical prospectors who have not followed the mirage of the plausible tales woven around them."
From Kentucky for Gold
Back in 1849 a Kentucky farmer was getting set and ready to take the "trails over" to California. All that he owned, he would sell to finance a covered wagon trip. From a copy of a newspaper of the times we may learn just what it was he possessed and gain some few pictures of the times. Mrs. Charlie Brown of Pacific Grove has dug out of her scrapbook the clipping which offers one Argonaut's bill of sale: "Having sold my farm, and as I am leaving for Oregon territory by oxen team on March 1, 1849, I will sell all my personal property, except two oxen teams, Buck and Ben, and Lon and Jerry, consisting of the following: Two milk cows, 1 grey mare and colt, 1 pair of oxen, 1 yoke, 1 baby yoke, two ox carts, 1 iron plow, with wood mold boards. 800 feet of poplar weather boards, 1000 three-foot clap boards, 1500 10-foot fence rails, 1 60-gallon soap kettle, 85 sugar troughs made of white ash timber, 10 gallons of maple syrup, 2 spinning wheels, 30 pounds of mutton tallow, 1 large loom made by Jerry Wilson, 300 poles, 100 split hoops, 100 empty barrels. One 32-gallon barrel of Johnson Miller whiskey, 7 years old, 20 gallons of apple brandy, 1 40-gallon copper still. Four sides of oak tanned leather, 1 dozen wooden pitchforks, a one-half interest in tan yards, 1 32-calibre rifle, bullet molds and powder horn, rifle made by Ben Miller. Fifty gallons of soft soap, hams, bacon, and lard, 40 gallons of sorghum molasses, 6 head of fox hounds, all soft mouthed but one. At the same time I will sell my six negro slaves: 2 men, 35 and 50 years old; 2 boys, 12 and 18 years old; 2 mulatto wenches, 40 and 30 years old. Will sell all together to same party, as I will not separate them. Terms of sale: Cash in hand or note to draw 4 per cent interest with Bob McConnel security. My home is 2 miles south of Versailles, Kentucky."
Versatile Lawrence Weber
Today is such a day of specialization, particularly in the theater, that few may hope to duplicate the variety enjoyed by such men as Lawrence Weber, who started life as a circus clown at 13, and rose steadily to a position of trust and importance in the theatrical circles. In 1910 Weber organized the Columbia Burlesque Circuit. He dabbled in early movies with the Warner Brothers in their salad days as producers. He was associated with Harry H. Frazee both in sports and theatrical productions. He was a member of the board of governors of the League of New York Theaters and was active in the various managerial fights in and around New York. In his later life Weber was known chiefly as a producer. One of his most successful presentations was "Little Jessie James" in 1923, and one of his last was the famous "Let Us Be Gay," done in association with John Golden. His most important fight promotion was the Jess Willard-Jack Johnson heavyweight contest in Havana back in 1915.
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