KNAVE
IT WAS just 30 years ago that Dr: Frank Porter Flegal crossed the bay to Oakland from San Francisco to organize the Goodwill Industries of Oakland. It was the second year of President Franklin D. Roosevelt's first administration and every effort was being made to halt the economic depression that had been gripping the nation since the closing days of the 1920s. Without delay Dr. Flegal set up headquarters in some empty storerooms at Sixth and Washington Streets and asked for volunteers to help his benevolent cause, aiding the unemployed and distressed. "It's not charity they want, but a chance," was his plea. Public spirited men volunteered their services and became the initial directors of Goodwill Industries here. Now, as Goodwill Industries celebrate their 30th anniversary year, they look back to the depression-born program where food and clothing were the important elements of just keeping men alive. "Soup kitchen," most people called it. In 1934 alone they served over 2,670 meals. Along side the "soup kitchen" was the Goodwill chapel with its famous sanctuary mural painted by an artist who came to Goodwill desperately needing help. Over the past 30 years the landscape has changed. Where Goodwill was then located a Freeway skirts the city. To make room for progress Goodwill moved to 212 Ninth Street where the program now meets the communities' great and critical needs, such as training handicapped men and women for eventual employment in private industry and business. Persons of all ages, races and creeds frequently help. One of Goodwill's chief appeals has been for used clothing, furniture and home appliances so handicapped clients might repair, renovate and refurbish these items for resale. Such have been the turn of events that have turned a "soup kitchen” into a "job training" center - turning men into taxpayers rather than having them a burden on taxpayers.
|
| Freeway skirts Oakland where Goodwill headquarters were located at Sixth and Washington Streets 30 years ago |
Hangtown Neighbors
THE KNAVE: Nearly 50 years ago 1 was pastor of Placerville's pioneer Methodist church, a place once known as Hangtown. The church and parsonage stood at the junction of Hangtown Creek and Cedar Ravine, an area once fabulously rich in gold. On Cedar Ravine Road lived Frank Goyan, the Hangtown pioneer and one of the founders of the town and the church. The original frame church stood on Cemetery Hill just back of the brick church that stood during my residence there. This old building had been moved down to Cedar Ravine Street and used as the second story of a building there. Goyan would walk down to town frequently and often stopped at the parsonage to visit, relating many stories of pioneer days. He had a hearing aid made of a long tin tube that had a flat pan-like receptacle at the end. Our little son of five years was hovering about our guest one day and Goyan asked him a question, extending the hearing pan toward the young lad. The boy didn't know what it was for so he spat in it. Goyan was greatly amused. It was Goyan's daughter who married the District Attorney. They lived in a stately old home on one branch of Hangtown Creek a short distance east of town. A grandson still lives in the old home. In later years I became acquainted with the Henry Millers who live near Livermore at Springtown. Mrs. Miller's folks were pioneer miners and settlers of the Placerville area. She has often regaled me with stories of the mining days. Her childhood home stood on the same road east of town. She has shown me the cellar and foundation stones of the old dwelling. Beyond, on a hilltop, stands an old cemetery marked by a few headstones and ancient pines and cedars. The old brick church where I served was torn down some years ago and a new church built on Cemetery Hill just behind the cemetery. Meanwhile, the old original frame church was moved back to its original position in the cemetery grounds. Presumably all graves were moved to make room for the buildings and a parking lot. In the old days the Methodist Church moved its ministers every two or three years - a method of advancement. The town and surrounding country held fascinating stories of pioneer gold diggers. Many I buried in the little country cemeteries on the surrounding hills. Placerville, like most old towns, has grown and changed. But the everlasting hills stay on. – John W. Winkley.
Wonderful Amador
RAY TRACKWELL of Oakland finds the Amador County reminiscences of John W. Winkley particularly enjoyable due to the fact that he spent nearly a decade of his boyhood there. "My father's blacksmith trade induced him to move to Amador County when he learned there was demand for such work on power projects as well as at the mines then operating. I lived there from 1898 to 1907. The road through Jackson and over Carson Pass (Route 88) was used at that time by six and eight-mule teams, hauling logs for timbering the mines. The usual big cloud of dust also indicated the approach of a herd of cattle or sheep, whose owners commuted between the winter feed below lone and the summer pasturage in Faith, Hope and Charity valleys (Alpine County). The 'lowing' of the cattle and the baa of the sheep could be heard far enough in advance for teamsters to pull over into a wide spot in the road so they could pass. Chiming bells attached to the lead mules' hames were also a forewarning. As we lived in the Pioneer district our 'super markets' of that day were in historic Volcano where storekeepers Cassinelli, Grillo and Clute sold everything from bacon to blasting powder. Later, Tom McKenzie opened a store at Defender, now a ghost town two miles south of Pioneer. There was a post office at Defender, too. In the summer of 1899 the Standard Electric Company (forerunner of PG&E) was building a power dam on the North Fork of the Mokelumne, called Bear River. The location was about 45 miles east of Jackson. Hearing that there was a good campgrounds at the dam site my father bought a tent and hired a farmer to move us up there. We managed nicely with kerosene lamps, wood stoves and cots, it seems. It must have been worrisome to mother who was forced to look after three small boys, ages three, six and nine, in a country harboring rattlesnakes, bears and mountain lions. On top of that was the added danger of heavy blasting not too far away, and deep pools in the nearby river. None of us had yet learned to swim. But we survived without mishap."
SUPPLIES were hauled to the mountains from Ione by mule train. "Some teamsters started up the 50-mile drive with a second wagon hitched on behind," the reminiscing Trackwell recalls. "Arriving at steep Peddlers' Hill the driver would uncouple the back action and continue to the summit with the lead wagon. Then he would return (riding a mule) to the rear wagon and pull it to the summit, couple the wagons and proceed. One driver, knowing game abounded, kept his rifle handy. Having left his front wagon at the summit he started back for the second wagon at the bottom of the hill. His rifle was shouldered. As he came in sight of the second wagon he smiled to see a coyote snooping around it. Taking careful aim, he fired. Whether he hit the coyote will never be known. Unluckily, the wagon contained considerable dynamite that the bullet found on ricochet. The resultant crater showed no signs of the coyote and very little trace of the wagon. I am reminded, too, that it can hail hard in the mountains in the summer. One sight I'll never forget. Near our camp was a high, bald, granite sidehill. As the hail struck, the hill, it would bounce off and rush downward. The terrifying effect was that of a moving mountain. Bear River teemed with fat rainbow trout. I would dangle a worm before the nose of one of the big fish, but it would just sneer and glide lazily away. These tactics infuriated one laborer to the point where he exploded a stick of dynamite in the river. We all had trout for dinner that day. (No game wardens.) A Chinese cook disdained explosions. If I hadn't seen this with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it. Wading out into shallower holes in the stream he would slowly and noiselessly herd trout toward the overhanging banks. Then he reached beneath the bank and ... flip ... out would come a trout right up on shore where it could be seized by hand. Those were wonderful days."
The Feather River
EXPLOSION of the steamer Belle on the Sacramento River in February of 1856 had H. Wilbur Hoffman's attention here some weeks back when we last touched on his "History of Navigation on California's Feather River.” Cause of the Belle's mishap was a mystery, he tells us. "The Belle's boilers had recently withstood 120 pound pressure during a test," he relates. "Her engineer was reputed to be a sober, careful man, and evidence indicated the boiler contained sufficient water. A monument was erected on the Sacramento in honor of one of the Belle's dead, this monument still standing as a grim reminder of the disaster. The Marysville Herald indicated that this was the tenth explosion of small steamers on California's inland waters and as often as they occurred the press had warned the public that most small steamers were instruments of destruction. Alluding to their engines and boilers, the Herald contended that many were but 'refuse stuff' sent out from the East on speculation and 'fit only for old iron.' Another boat well known on the Feather River, the McClelland, exploded in August of 1861 near Knights Landing on the Sacramento with such fury that her pilot house, including her pilot, barge driver and another crewman rocketed upward some distance and plummeted back onto the boat deck without serious injury to either of the startled trio. Fifteen others were killed, and 11 injured. Freight and portions of the wreck were strewn on both sides of the river. The badly damaged steamer's furnace door was found 400 yards away and part of her boiler was hurtled 350 yards. The boat turned completely around and sank in shoal water."
WHILE racing, rammings and explosions were abhorred by the press and presumably by the public, prevailing opinion seemed to hold that since steamers were property of individuals, these individuals had a right to do with their property what they wished. "Present day concepts," Hoffman reports, "had not yet matured. The following from the Herald of Oct. 20, 1855, epitomizes the philosophy of the times: "Captains, owners of steamers have a right to run their boats into one another, or anything else they fancy; but to do so when the lives of hundreds of passengers are entrusted to their care, shows a recklessness and foolhardiness ...' After formation of the California Steam Navigation Company and its settlement with the Opposition in 1858, the pattern of navigation on the Feather River for the next decade was set. The Combination remained the principal water carrier, although it was opposed periodically by independent boats. The amount of freight unloaded at Marysville gradually declined, but as manufacturing and agriculture developed in the surrounding area, down-stream freight shipments increased in spite of the steadily increasing navigational hazards due to the hydraulic mining debris. Until 1864 the California Steam Navigation Company constantly maintained two steamers on the Feather River connecting with larger boats running between San Francisco and Sacramento. Each Marysville steamer ran on alternate days to the Capital city, providing service six days a week, Sunday excepted. Although the company operated only one steamer after 1864, it still provided daily service, for the boat made daily round trips between Marysville and Sacramento. The Governor Dana, for instance, would leave Marysville at 6 a.m., arrive at Sacramento between 10 a.m. and noon, unload her freight and that of her barge, reload both and return to Marysville late the same day. The crew stood watches instead of working around the clock."
TWO new steamers were added to the Combination's Feather River fleet in the 1860s. “The Swallow, with a length of 150 feet and a capacity of 175 tons, was built in 1860, followed in 1865 by the extremely light draught Flora,” Hoffman continues. "She had the appearance of a sitting duck, since she drew only 13 inches of water; in fact, she was reputed to be able to sail on heavy dew. The extremely low draught of the Flora represented another attempt to solve problems created by the rising of the Feather River bottom with hydraulic mining debris. By 1855 hydraulic miners had begun sluicing debris into the Feather and Yuba rivers, filling them with thick mud. Millions of cubic feet settled on the river beds because of insufficient fall to carry the debris to the sea, and to the reduced flow due to diversion of water for mining purposes. As more debris filtered downstream, the level of the river bed was raised and more and higher shoals appeared. By the winter of 1861-1862, the mouth of the Yuba River had become so clogged that steamers were unable to go up the Yuba to their regular landing at the foot of E. Street. Instead they landed on the Yuba City side of the Feather. By July 1864 the shoal at the mouth of the Yuba had become so high that it changed the channel of the Feather, delaying the arrival of steamers. One leaving Sacramento at noon sometimes did not arrive until 5 a.m. the next day. To remedy this the California Steam Navigation Co. built wing dams at the mouth of the Yuba during the summer of 1864. Upon completion of the dams the company widened and deepened the channel of the Feather and then dispatched its snag boat, the Rainbow, to remove the ever dangerous snags. By December, 1864 steamers could again dock at their regular landings at the foot of E. Street for the first time in three years. However, another bar had formed by the end of 1866, again preventing steamers ascending the Yuba. Snags and rising shoals took their toll of boat's, for as the river bed was raised snags lay nearer the surface. The James Blair ran afoul a log three miles below Hock Farm, swung onto a snag and sank. This time attempts to raise her failed. Of the $100,000 cargo only $40,000 was salvaged because the opposition steamer Defiance, then at Marysville, refused to come to the Blair's aid until several hours later. No insurance was carried on the freight. The Governor Dana rested on a shoal two miles downstream from Marysville for several days before she could be refloated in December 1862. The Swallow had a similar experience about the same time at the same location. Again in January 1863 the Swallow swung on a bar hitting a tree and knocking down her stacks as she steamed from Marysville, and the Governor Dana tore into a snag and was damaged to the extent that she had to be placed on the ways for repairs."
NAVIGATIONAL difficulties worsened as the mid-1860s approached. "An exceptionally strong current in December 1864 and January 1865 was particularly troublesome," Hoffman says. "So strong was it that upstream steamers at times fastened lines to trees ashore to warp the boat for considerable distances. This same current brought disaster to the Young America in January 1865 when, on her upstream trip, the current was so powerful it carried her along a bank overhung with trees a few miles below Marysville. The trees knocked down her stacks and she soon started taking in water from a snag she struck while attempting to avoid the trees. Her skipper skillfully beached her in the dark, saving her passengers and freight. The Young America finally settled on a sand bar, broke in two, and sank, a total loss except for her engines. She had been considered the best sternwheeler in the state and valued at $50,000. This same current left the Feather more treacherous than ever. It formed new shoals and deposited more snags. Now steamers were snagged or grounded at frequent intervals and by autumn 1866 boats made irregular trips. A year later when the water lowered steamers again were unable to maintain schedules. Nevertheless boats had been running daily since November 1850 and continued to do so until 1871. Low water during late summer of 1865 forced the California Steam Navigation Company into an unusual innovation to keep freight moving to Marysville. The shallow draught Flora was the only steamer that could safely negotiate the treacherous Feather at that season. Shę ran from Marysville to Vernon where she met the Governor Dana that had come up from Sacramento. At that point freight and passengers were transferred from the Dana to the Flora. Later in the season when the water was higher the Governor Dana resumed its trips from Sacramento to Marysville."
|
| Map of Oakland, Alameda and Vicinity, 1876 in georeferencer.com |
I Remember when
IT WAS the recent mention here of Tom Carroll and Joe Sullivan that brought plumber James F. Rankin forward with the following: "I knew Tom Carroll and saw him perform with the heavy hammer at the Scotch picnics at Shellmound Park, along with Bert Lund and the big wheel bicycle races. I hold a 65-year membership pin in the Order of Scottish Clans, and I well remember those picnics... To go further back in memory I have in mind when the Oakland city limits ran down the center of 36th Street. The street was paved only to the center line. When cable cars were installed on Piedmont Avenue, from the junction of Broadway, and ran out to the cemetery, the cars on return had to coast down to pick up the cable again at Broadway. The old Oakland Avenue streetcars would travel by gravity down Piedmont's Highland Avenue to Blair Park where Sunday picnics were held. I was there the day a little boy rode the sandbag skyward when the balloon was released. It was a terrible sight to see the little boy dangling on the end of that rope, high up in space, finally falling to his death. The return from the park by cable car was by gravity through grain fields back to Oakland Avenue to again pick up the cable. One thing I haven't seen in the Knave. The means of generating power when we didn't have modern generators. The Oakland Cream Depot was at 18th and Telegraph Avenue. They had a treadmill where a horse operated the simple machinery, and there was a dog wheel like a squirrel cage operated by a dog. This contraption pumped water from a well. William Fitzmaurice and myself and Morris Lesser had paper routes. The Morning Times was printed on 14th Street, and at 4 a.m. we would take those tiny single sheets as they came off the press over to a bench and fold them by hand, ready for delivery on our routes ..."
No comments:
Post a Comment