8 At the time of my arrival, the plaza, longed the nucleus of the original settlement, was the center of life in the little community, and around it clustered the homes of many of those who were uppermost in the social scale, although some of the descendants of the finest Spanish families were living in other parts of the city. This was particularly so in the case of José Andrés Sepulveda, who had a beautiful old adobe on some acreage that he owned northwest of Sonoratown, near the place where he constructed a stone reservoir to supply his house with water. At the old plaza church dwelt a number of families of position, and for the most part of wealth, in many cases the patrons of less fortunate or dependent ones who lived nearby. The environment was not beautiful, a solitary pepper, somewhat north of the plaza, being the only shade-tree there. Yet the general character of the homes was somewhat aristocratic, the landscape not yet having been seriously disturbed by any utilitarian project such as that of the cityfathers who, by later granting a part of the old square for a prosaic water-tank, created a greater rumpus than had the combative soldiers some years before. The plaza was shaped much as it is at present, having been reduced considerably, but five or six years earlier, by the Mexican authorities. They had planned to improve its shape, but had finished their labors by contracting the object before them. There was no sign of a park. On the contrary, parts of the plaza itself, which had suffered the same fate as the plaza in San Francisco, were used as a dumping-ground for refuse. From time to time many church and other festivals were held at this square, a custom no doubt traceable to the old world and to earlier centuries, but before any such affair could take place, requiring the erecting of booths and banks of vegetation in front of the neighboring houses. All rubbish had to be removed even at the cost of several days' work. Among the distinguished citizens of Los Angeles, whose residences added to the social prestige of the neighborhood, was Don Ignacio de Valle, father of R. F. de Valle. Until 1861 he resided on the east side of the square, in a house between Calle de los Negros and Olvera Street, receiving there his intimate friends as well as those who wished to pay him their respects when he was alcalde, councilman, and a member of the state legislature. In 1861 de Valle moved to his ranch Camulos. Ignacio Coronel was another eminent burger residing on the east side of the plaza, while Cristobal Aguilar's home faced the south. Not far from de Valle's, that is, back of the later site of the Pico House, between the future Sanchez Street and Calle de los Negros, lived Don Pio Pico, then and long after a striking figure, not merely on account of his fame as the last of the Mexican governors, but as well because of his physique and personality. I may add that as long as he lived, or at least until the tide of his fortune turned and he was forced to sell his most treasured personal effects, he invariably adorned himself with massive jewelry of much value. And as a further conceit he frequently wore on his bosom Mexican decorations that had been bestowed upon him for past official services. Don Pio really preferred country life at the ranchito, as his place was called, but official duties and later illness, and the need of medical care, kept him in town for months at a time. He had three sisters, two of whom married in succession José Antonio Carrillo, another resident at the plaza, and then the owner of the site of the future Pico House, while the third was the wife of Don Juan Forrester, in whose comfortable home Don Pio found a retreat when distressing poverty overtook him in old age. Sanchez Street recalls still another dawn of the neighborhood, Vicente Sanchez, grandfather of Tomás A. Sanchez, who was domiciled in a two-story and rather elaborate dwelling near Carrillo, on the south side of the plaza. Sanchez Hall stood there until the late seventies. The beau-brummel of Los Angeles in the early fifties was Don Vicente Lugo, whose wardrobe was made up exclusively of the fanciest patterns of Mexican type. His home, one of the few two-story houses in the Pueblo, was close to Ignacio de Valles. Lugo, a brother of Don José María, was one of the heavy taxpayers of his time. As late as 1860 he had heard of twenty-five hundred head of cattle, or half a thousand more than Pio and Andrés Pico together owned. Maria Baestero, Lugo's mother-in-law, lived near him. Don Augustine Olvera dwelt almost opposite Don Vicente Lugos, on the north side of the plaza at the corner of the street perpetuating his name. Don Augustine arrived from Mexico where he had been Hues de Paz in 1834. Or about the same time that Don Ignacio Coronel came, and served as captain in the campaign of Flores against Fremont, even negotiating peace with the Americans. Then he joined Dr. Hope's volunteer police and was finally chosen at the first election in Los Angeles, judge of the first instance, becoming the presiding officer of the court of sessions. Five or six years later he was the school commissioner. He had married Dona Concepción, one of not less than twenty-two children of Don Santiago Arguello, son of a governor of both California's, and his residence was at the northeast end of the plaza, in an adobe which is still standing. There, while fraternizing with the newly arrived Americans, he used to tell how, in 1850, when the movement for the admission of California as a state was underway, he acted as secretary to a meeting called in this city to protest against the proposal, fearing lest the closer association with northern California would lead to an undue burden of taxes upon the south. Olvera Street is often written, by mistake, Olvera. Francisco Urcampo was another man of means whose home was on the east side of the plaza, although he was also a member of the new Ayuntamiento inaugurated in 1849, and although he had occupied other offices, he was very improvident, like so many natives of the time, and died in consequence a poor man. In his later years he used to sit on the curb-stone near the plaza, a character quite forlorn, utterly dejected in appearance and despondently recalling the bygone days of his prosperity. Don Cristóbal Aguilar several times in his career an occaldé, several times a city councilman beginning with the first organization of Los Angeles, and even twice or thrice mayor, was another resident near the plaza. His adobe on Upper Main Street was fairly spacious, and partly, perhaps, for that reason, was used by the Sisters of Charity when they instituted the first hospital in Los Angeles. A short distance from the plaza, on Olvera Street, he long stood the home of Don José María Abila, who was killed in battle in the early thirties. It was there that Commodore Stockton made his headquarters, and the story of how this was brought about is one of the entertaining incidents of this warlike period. The widow, Abila, who had scant love for the Americans, had fled with her daughters to the home of Don Luiz Vignès, but not before she placed a native boy on guard, cautioning him against opening either doors or windows. When the young custodian, however, heard the flourishes of Stockton's brass band he could not resist the temptation to learn what the excitement meant, so he first poked his head out of a window and finally made off to the plaza. Some of Stockton's staff passing by and seeing the tasteful furniture within were encouraged to investigate with the result that they selected the widow Abila's house for Stockton's abode. Another Abila, Francisco, had an adobe at the present southeast corner of San Fernando and Alpine Streets. Francisco Gallardo, daughter of one of the Sepulvedas, lived in the vicinity of the plaza. The only church in Los Angeles at this time was that of Nuestra Senora La Reina de Los Ángeles, known as Our Lady, the Queen of the Angels, at the plaza. And since but few changes were made for years in its exterior, I looked upon the edifice as the original adobe built here in the eighties of the preceding century. When I came to inquire into the matter, however, I was astonished to learn that the church dated back no farther than the year 1822, although the first attempt at laying a quarter-stone was made in 1815, probably somewhat to the east of the old plaza, and a year or two after rising waters frustrated the attempt to build a chapel near the river and the present Aliso Street. Those temporary foundations seemed to have marked the spot where later the so-called women's gun, once buried by Mexicans and afterward dug up by women and used at the battle of Domingo's Ranch, was long exposed to view, propped up on wooden blocks. The venerable building I then saw, in which all communicans for once of pews knelt on the floor or stood while worshipping, is still admired by those to whom age and sacred to tradition, and the sacrifices of the early Spanish fathers make appeal. In the first years of my residence here, the bell of this honored old pile ringing at six in the morning and at eight in the evening, served as a curfew to regulate the daily activities of the town. Had Edgar Allan Poe lived in early Los Angeles, he might well have added to his poem one more stanza about these old church bells, whose sweet chimes, penetrating the peace and quiet of the sleepy village, not alone summoned the devout to early mass or announced the time of Vespers, but as well called many a merchant to his day's labor and dismissed him to his home or evening's rendezvous. That was a time of sentiment and romance, and the memory of it lingers pleasantly in contrast with the rust and bustle of today, when cold and chronometrical exactitude, instead of a careless but in its time sufficient measure of the hours, arranged the order of our comings and our goings. Incidental to the ceremonial activity of the old church on the plaza, the Corpus Christi Festival was one of the events of the year, when not the least imposing feature was the opening procession around the plaza. For all these occasions, the square was thoroughly cleaned, and notable families such as the Del Valleys, the Olveras, the Lugos and the Picos erected before their residences, temporary altars, decorated with silks, satins, laces, and even costly jewelry. The procession would start from the church after the four o'clock service and proceed around the plaza from altar to altar. There the boys and girls, carrying banners and flowers and robed or dressed in white, paused for formal worship. The progress through the square, small as the plaza was, thus taking a couple of hours. Each succeeding year the procession became more resplendent and inclusive, and I have a distinct recollection of a feature incidental to one of them when twelve men, with twelve great burning candles, represented the apostles. These mid-winter festivities reminded me that, on Christmas Eve, the young people here performed pastoral plays. It was the custom, much as it still is in Upper Bavaria, to call it the homes of various friends and acquaintances, and, after giving little performances, such as los pastores, to pass on to the next house. A number of the apostles and other characters associated with the life of Jesus were portrayed, and the devil, who scared half to death the little children of the Hamlet, was never overlooked. The Buñuelo, or native doughnut, also added its delight to these celebrations. And now a word about the old Spanish missions in this vicinity. It was no new experience for me to see religious edifices that had attained great age, and this feature therefore made no special impression. I dare say that I visited the mission of San Gabriel very soon after I arrived in Los Angeles, but it was then less than a century old, and so was important only because it was the place of worship of many natives. The Protestant denominations were not as numerous then as now, and nearly all of the population was Catholic. With the passing of the years, sentimental reverence for the Spanish Fathers has grown greater, and their old mission homes have acquired more and more the dignity of age. Helen Hunt Jackson's Ramona, John S. McGrory's mission play, in which, by the by, Señorita Lucrida, daughter of RF, and granddaughter of Don Ignacio del Valle, so ably portrays the character of Donia Josefa Yorba, and various other literary efforts have increased the interest in these institutions of the past. The missions and their chapels recall an old Mexican woman who had her home, when I came to Los Angeles, at what is now the southeast corner of San Pedro and First Streets. She dwelt in a typical adobe, and in the rear of her house was a vineyard of attractive aspect. Adjoining one of the rooms of her dwelling was a chapel, large enough perhaps, to hold ten or twelve people, and somewhat like those on the Dominguez and Coronel estates, and this chapel, like all the other rooms, had an earthen floor. In it was a godly decorated altar and crucifix. The old lady was very religious and frequently repaired to her sanctuary. From the sale of grapes she derived in part her income, and many a time have I bought from her the privilege of wandering through her vineyard and eating all I could of this refreshing berry. If the grape season was not on, neighbors were nonetheless always welcome there, and it was in this quiet and delightful retreat, that in 1856 I proposed marriage to Miss Sarah Newmark, my future wife, such a mere girl that a few evenings later I found her at home playing jackstones, then a popular game, with Mrs. J. G. Downey, herself a child. But while Catholics predominated the Protestant churches had made a beginning, Reverend Adam Bland, presiding elder of the Methodists in Los Angeles in 1854, had come here a couple of years before to begin his work in the good old-fashioned way, and, having bought the bar room El Dorado and torn down Hughes's sign, he had transformed the place into a chapel. But alas for human foresight, or the lack of it, on at least a part of the new church lot the Merced Theater later stood. Two cemeteries were in existence at the time whereof I write, the Roman Catholic, abandoned a few years ago, which occupied a site on Buena Vista Street, and one now long deserted for other denominations. This cemetery, which we shall see was sadly neglected, thereby occasioning bitter criticism in the press, was on Fort Hill. Later, another burial ground was established in the neighborhood of what is now Flower and Figueroa Streets, near Ninth, many years before there was any thought of Rosedale or Evergreen. As for my co-religionists and their provision of a cemetery, when I first came to Los Angeles they were without a definite place for the internment of their dead. But in 1854 the first steps were taken to establish a Jewish cemetery here, and it was not very long before the first Jewish child to die in Los Angeles, named Mahler, was buried there. This cemetery, on land once owned and occupied by José Andrés Sepulveda's reservoir, was beautifully located in a recess, or little pocket, as it were, among the hills in the northwest section of the city, when the environment of nature was in perfect harmony with the Jewish ideal, home of peace. Mrs. Jacob Rich, by the way, had the distinction of being the first Jewess to settle in Los Angeles, and I am under the impression that Mrs. E. Greenbaum became the mother of the first Jewish child born here. Sam Prager arrived in 1854, and after clerking a while, associated himself with the Morris's, who were just getting nicely established. For a time they met with much success and were among the most important merchants of their day. Finally they dissolved, and the Morris brothers bought the large tract of land which I have elsewhere described as having been refused by Newmark, Kramer, and Company in liquidation of Major Henry Hancock's account. Here for several years in a fine old adobe lived the Morris family dispensing a bountiful hospitality quite in keeping with the open-handed manner of the times. In the seventies the Morris brothers sold this property, later known as Morris Vineyard, after they had planted it to vines for the insignificant sum of about twenty thousand dollars. Following Sam Prager came his brother Charles. For a short time they were associated, but afterward they operated independently, Charles Prager starting on Commercial Street on May 19th, 1869. Sam Prager, long known as Uncle Sam, was a good-natured and benevolent man taking a deep interest in Masonic matters, becoming master of forty-two, and a regular attendant at the annual meetings of the Grand Lodge of California. He was also chairman of the Masonic Board of Relief until the time of his death. Charles Prager and the Morris' have all gone to that undiscovered country from whose born-no-traveler returns. In the summer of 1853 a movement was inaugurated through the combined efforts of Mayors Nicolle and Coronel aided by John T. Jones to provide public schools, and three citizens, J. Lancaster Brent, Lewis Granger, and Stephen C. Foster, were appointed school commissioners. As early as 1838 Ignacio Coronel, assisted by his wife and daughter, had accepted some fifteen dollars a month from the authorities to permit the exercise of official supervision, and opened a school which, as late as 1854, he conducted in his own home, thereby doubtless inspiring his son Antonio to take market interest in the education of the Indians. From time to time private schools partly subsidized from public funds were commenced. In May, 1854, Mayor Foster pointed out that while there were fully five hundred children of school age and the Pueblo had three thousand dollars surplus, there was still no school building which the city could call its own. New trustees, Manuel Raquena, Francis Melos, and W. T. B. Sanford were elected, and then happened what perhaps has not occurred here since or ever in any other California town. Foster, still mayor, was also chosen school superintendent. The new energy put into the movement now led the board to build late in 1854 or early in 1855, a two-story brick schoolhouse known as School Number One on the northwest corner of Spring and Second Streets, on the lot later occupied, first by the old City Hall and secondly by the Bryson Block. This structure cost six thousand dollars. Strange as it now seems the location was then rather out in the country, and I dare say the selection was made in part to get the youngsters away from the residential district around the plaza.  Among her pupils were Sarah Newmark and her sisters, Mary Wheeler, who married William Pridham, and Lucinda Macy, afterwards Mrs. Foy, who recalls participating in the first public school examination in June 1856. Dr. John S. Griffin, on June 7th, 1856, was elected superintendent, having thus established a public school, the City Council voted to discontinue all subsidies to private schools. One of the early school teachers was the pioneer James F. Burns. Coming with an immigrant train in 1853, Burns arrived in Los Angeles after some adventures with the Indians near what was later the scene of the Mountain Meadow Massacre in November of the same year. Having been trained in Kalamazoo, Michigan as a teacher, Burns settled in 1854 in San Gabriel, and there with Caesar C. Twitchell, he conducted a crossroads school in a tent. Later, while still living at San Gabriel, Burns was elected county school superintendent. Before reaching here, that is at Provo, Utah, on September 25th, the young schoolmaster had married Miss Lucretia Burdick and a Fred Eaton's first wife. Burns, though small of stature, became one of the fighting sheriffs of the county. Among others who conducted schools in Los Angeles or vicinity in the early days were Mrs. Adam Bland, wife of the missionary, H. D. Barrows and the Hoyts. Mrs. Bland taught ten or twelve poor girls in 1853, for which the Common Council allowed her about thirty-five dollars. Barrows was one of several teachers employed by William Wolfskill at various times, and at Wolfskill's school not merely were his own children instructed, but those of the neighboring families of Carpenter, Rowland, and Pleasance as well. Mrs. Gertrude Lawrence Hoyt was an Episcopal clergyman's wife from New York, who, being made a widow, followed her son Albert H. Hoyt to Los Angeles in 1853. Young Hoyt, a graduate of Rutgers College and a teacher excited by the gold fever, joined a hundred and twenty men who chartered the bark Clarissa Perkins to come around the horn in 1849. But failing as a minor, he began farming near Sacramento. When Mrs. Hoyt came to Los Angeles, she conducted a private school in a rented building north of the plaza, beginning in 1854 and continuing until 1856, while her son moved south and took up seventy or eighty acres of land in the San Gabriel Valley near Almonte. In 1855, young Hoyt came into town to assist his mother in the school, and the following year, Mrs. Hoyt's daughter Mary journeyed west and also became a teacher here. Later, Ms. Hoyt kept a school on Alameda Street near the site of the Los Angeles and San Pedro Railroad Depot. Mrs. Hoyt died in Los Angeles in 1863. Other early teachers were William McKee, Mrs. Thomas Foster, and Ms. Anna MacArthur. As undeveloped as the Pueblo was, Los Angeles boasted in her very infancy a number of physicians, although there were few, if any, Spanish or Mexican practitioners. In 1850, Drs. William B. Osburn, W. W. Jones, A. W. Hope, A. P. Hodges, and a Dr. Overstreet were here. While in 1851, Drs. Thomas Foster, John Brinkerhoff, and James P. McFarland followed to be reinforced in 1852 by Dr. James B. Winston, and soon after by Drs. R. T. Hayes, T. J. White, and A. B. Hayward. Dr. John Strother Griffin, General Albert Sidney Johnston's brother-in-law and the accepted suitor of Ms. Louisa Hayes, came to Los Angeles in 1848, or rather to San Gabriel, where, according to Hugo Reed, no physician had settled, though the population took drugs by the barrel, being the ranking surgeon under Kearney and Stockton when, on January 8th, they drove back the Mexican forces. He was also one of the hosts to young W. T. Sherman. Not until 1854, however, after Griffin had returned to Washington and had resigned his commission, did he actually settle in Los Angeles? Thereafter, his participation in local affairs was such that, very properly, one of our avenues is named after him. Dr. Richard S. Denne antedated all of these gentlemen, having resided and practiced medicine in Los Angeles in 1843, 1844, and again in the early 50s, though he did not dwell in the city permanently until January 1866. Denne I knew fairly well, and Griffin was my esteemed physician and friend. Foster and Griffin were practitioners whom I best recall as being here during my first years, one or two others, as Dr. Osborne and Dr. Winston, having already begun to devote their time to other enterprises. Dr. Richard S. Denne, an Irishman of culture and refinement, having been for a while with his brother Nicholas Denne and Santa Barbara, returned to Los Angeles in 1851. I say returned because Denne had looked in on the Little Pueblo before I had even heard its name. While in the former place, in the winter of 1843 to 44, Denne received a call from Los Angeles to perform one or two surgical operations, and here he practiced until drawn to the mines by the gold excitement. He served in 1846 to 47 as Chief Physician and Surgeon of the Mexican Forces during the Mexican War, and treated, among others, the famous American consul, Larkin, who surety he became when Larkin was removed to better quarters in the home of Luis Vinyens. Denne had only indifferent luck as a minor, but was soon in such demand to relieve the sufferers from malaria that it is said he received as much as a thousand dollars in a day for his practice. In 1854 he returned to Santa Barbara County, remaining there for several years and suffering great loss on account of the drought and its effects on his cattle. Nicholas Denne, who was also known in Los Angeles and was esteemed for both his integrity and his hospitality, died at Santa Barbara in 1862. Old Dr. Denne will be remembered not only with esteem but with affection. He was seldom seen except on horseback in which fashion he visited his patients and was, all in all, somewhat a man of mystery. He rode a magnificent coal-black charger and was himself always dressed in black. He wore to a black felt hat, and beneath the hat there clustered a mass of wavy hair as white as snow.  Thus tired and seated on his ridgely, comparisoned horse, Dr. Denne appeared always dignified and even imposing. One may therefore easily picture him a friendly rival with Don Juan Bandini at the early Spanish Balls, as he was on intimate terms with the Don and Dona Abel Stearns, acknowledged social leaders. Dr. Denne was fond of horse racing and had his own favorite race horses sent here from Santa Barbara where they were bred. Dr. Osburn, the postmaster of 1853, had two years before installed a small variety of drugs on a few shelves referred to by the complementary term of drug store. Dr. Winston also kept a stock of drugs. About the same time, and before Dr. AW Hope opened the third drug store in September 1854, John Gately Downey, an Irishman by birth, who had been apprenticed to the drug trade in Maryland and Ohio, formed a partnership with James P. McFarland, a native of Tennessee, buying some of Winston's stock. Their store was a long one-story Adobe on the northwest corner of Los Angeles and commercial streets, and was known as McFarland and Downey's. The former had been a gold miner, and this experience intensified the impression of an already rugged physique as a frontier type. Entering politics as Osburn and practically every other professional man then did, doubtless as much as anything else for the assurance of some definite income, McFarland secured a seat in the Assembly in 1852 and in the Senate in 1853 to 54. About 1858 he returned to Tennessee, and in December 1860 revisited California, after which he settled permanently in the East. Downey, in 1859, having been elected Lieutenant Governor, was later made Governor, through the election of Latham to the United States Senate. But his suddenly revealed sympathies with the secessionists, together with his advocacy of a bill for the apprenticing of Indians, contributed toward killing him politically, and he retired to private life. Dr. H. R. Miles, destined to meet with a tragic death and a steamboat disaster which I shall narrate, was another drugist, with a partner, Dr. J. C. Welch, a South Carolinian dentist who came here in the early fifties and died in August 1869. Their drugstore on Main Street, nearly opposite the Bella Union, filled the prescriptions of the city's seven or eight doctors. Considerably later, but still among the pioneer drugists, was Dr. V. Galchic, who came here as surgeon to the Fourth California Infantry. Speaking of drugists, it may be interesting to add that medicines were administered in earlier days to a much greater extent than now. For every little ailment there was a pill, a powder, or some other nostrum. The early Botica, or drug store, kept only drugs and things incidental to the drug business. There was also more of home treatment than now. Every mother did more or less doctoring on her own account, and had her well stocked medicine chest. Castor oil, Ipacac, black draft, and Calamel were generally among the domestic supply. The practice of surgery was also very primitive, and he was unfortunate indeed who required such service. Operations had to be performed at home. There were few or none of the modern scientific appliances or devices for either rendering the patient immune or contending with active disease. Proceeded by a brother, Colonel James C. Foy, who visited California in 1850 and was killed in 1864 while in Sherman's army by the bursting of a shell, Samuel C. Foy started at Fridge San Francisco by way of New Orleans and the Ismus when he was but 22 years old and, allured by the gold fever, wasted a year or two in the mines. In January 1854 he made his way south to Los Angeles and seeing the prospect for trade in harness on February 19th of that year opened an American Saddlery in which business he was joined by his brother John M. Foy. Their store was on Main Street between Commercial and Rakina. The location was one of the best, and the Foy brothers offering, besides Saddlery, such necessities of the times as tents, enjoyed one of the first chances to sell to passing immigrants and neighboring rancheros as they came into town. Some spurs exhibited in the County Museum are a souvenir of Foy's Enterprise in those pioneer days. In May 1856, Sam Foy began operating in cattle and continued in that business until 1865, periodically taking Herds North and leaving his brother in charge of the store. In the course of time the Foy's moved to Los Angeles Street becoming my neighbors and while there in 1882, S. C. Foy in a quaint advertisement embellished with a blanketed horse announced his establishment as the oldest business house in Los Angeles, still at the old stand, 17 Los Angeles Street, next to H. Newmark and companies. John Foy, who later removed to San Bernardino died many years ago and Sam Foy also has long since joined the silent majority. But one of the old signs of the Saddlery is still to be seen on Los Angeles Street where the son James Calvert Foy conducts the business. The Foy's first lived on Los Angeles Street and then on Main. Some years later they moved to the corner of Seventh and Pearl Streets now called Figueroa and came to control much valuable land there still in possession of the family. A daughter of Samuel C. Foy is Miss Mary Foy, formerly a teacher and later public librarian. Another daughter married Thomas Lee Woolwine, the attorney. Wells Fargo and Company formerly always styled Wells Fargo and Company were early in the field here. On March 28, 1854 they were advertising through H. R. Miles their agent that they were a joint stock company with a capital of five hundred thousand dollars. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of 60 years in Southern California 1853 to 1913 by Harris Newmark. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kay Hand. Chapter 9 Familiar Home Scenes 1854 Many of the houses, as I have related, were clustered around and north of the Plaza Church while the hills surrounding the Pueblo to the West were almost bare. These same hills have since been subdivided and graded to accommodate the West Lake, the Wilshire, the West Temple and other sections. Main and Spring Streets were laid out beyond First, but they were very sparsely settled. Well to the East of Maine and extending up to that street there were many large vineyards without a single break as far south as the Ninth Street of today, unless we accept a narrow and short lane there. To enable the reader to form an accurate impression of the time spent in getting to a nearby point, I will add that, to reach William Wolfskin's home, which was in the neighborhood of the present arcade depot, one was obliged to travel down to Aliso Street, thence to Alameda, and then south on Alameda to Wolfskin's Orchard. From Spring Street, West and as far as the coast, there was one huge field, practically unimproved and undeveloped, the swamplands of which were covered with tools. All of this land, from the heart of the present retail district to the city limits, belonged to the municipality. I inclined to the opinion that both Ord and Hancock had already surveyed in this southwestern district, but through there nevertheless no single street has as yet been cut. Not merely at the plaza, but throughout Los Angeles most of the houses were built of adobe or mud mixed with straw and dried for months in the sun, and several fine dwellings of this kind were constructed after I came. The composition was of such a nature that unless protected by roofs and verandas, footnote, verandas, spoken of locally as corridors, from which fact I may use both terms interchangeably, and footnote, the mud would slowly wash away. The walls, however, also requiring months in which to dry were generally three or four feet thick, and this as well as to the nature of the material may be attributed the fact that the houses in the summer season were cool and comfortable, while in winter they were warm and cheerful. They were usually rectangular in shape and were invariably provided with patios and corridors. There was no such thing as a basement under a house, and floors were frequently earthen. Conventionality prescribed no limit as to the number of rooms, and adobe frequently having a sitting-room, a dining-room, a kitchen, and as many bedrooms as were required, but there were few if any frills for the mere sake of style. Most adobes were but one story in height, although there were a few two-story houses, and it is my recollection that in such cases the second story was reached from the outside. Everything about an adobe was emblematic of hospitality. The doors, heavy and often apparently homemade, were wide, and the windows were deep. In private houses the doors were locked with a key, but in some of the stores they were fastened with a bolt fitted into iron receptacles on either side. The windows swinging on hinges opened inward and were locked in the center. There were few curtains or blinds, wooden shutters, and inch-thick also fastening in the center being generally used instead. If there were such conveniences as hearths and fireplaces I cannot recollect them, although I think that here and there the bracerro, or pan and hot coals, was still employed. There were no chimneys, and the smoke as from the kitchen stove escaped through the regular stacks leading out through a pane in the window or a hole in the wall. The porches, also spoken of as verandas, and rather wide, were supported by equidistant perpendicular posts, and when in adobe had two stories, the veranda was also double storied. Few, if any, vines grew around these verandas in early days, largely because of the high cost of water. For the same reason there were almost no gardens. The roofs, which as I have intimated, proved as necessary to preserve the adobe as to afford protection from the semi-tropical sun, were generally covered with asphalt and were usually flat in order to keep the tar from running off. As well as I can recollect, Vincente Salsito, or Salsito, as his name was also written, who lived in or somewhere near Niagara Alley, was the only man then engaged in the business of mending pitch roofs. When winter approached and the first rainfall produced leaks, there was a general demand for Salsito's services and a great scramble among owners of buildings to obtain them. Such was the need, in fact, that more than one family drowned out while waiting, was compelled to move to the drier quarters of relatives or friends, there to stay until the roofer could attend to their own houses. Under a huge kettle, put up in the public street, Salsito set fire to some wood, threw in his pitch, and melted it. Then, after he or a helper had climbed onto the roof, the molten pitch was hauled up in buckets and poured over those troublesome leaks. Much of this tar was imported from the north, but some was obtained in this locality, particularly from so-called springs on the Hancock Ranch, which for a long time have furnished great quantities of the useful, if unattractive, substance. This asphalt was later used for sidewalks, and even into the 80s was employed as fuel. To return to Salsito, I might add that in summer, the pitch roofer had no work at all. Besides the adobes with their asphalt roofs, some houses erected within the first quarter of the 19th century were covered with tiles. The most notable tiled building was the Old Church, whose roof was unfortunately removed when the edifice was so extensively renovated. The Carrillo Home was topped with these ancient tiles, as were also Jose Maria Abila's residence. Vincente Sanchez's two-story adobe south of the plaza, and the Alvarado House on 1st Street, between Main and Los Angeles streets. It was my impression that there were no bricks in Los Angeles when I first came, although about 1854 or 1855 Jacob Weichsel had the first regular brickyard. In conversation with old-timers, however, many years ago, I was assured that Captain Jesse Hunter, whom I recall, had built a kiln not far from the later site of the Potomac Block on Fort Street between 2nd and 3rd. And that, as early as 1853, he had put up a brick building on the west side of Main Street, about 150 feet south of the present site of the Bullard Block. This was for Mayor Nichols, who paid $130 a thousand for the new and more attractive kind of building material. This pioneer brick building has long since disappeared. Hunter seems to have come to Los Angeles alone, and to have been followed across the plains by his wife, two sons, and three daughters, taking up his permanent residence here in 1856. One of the daughters married a man named Burke, who conducted a blacksmith and wagon shop in Hunter's building on Main Street. Hunter died in 1874. Dr. William A. Hamill, father of Sheriff William Hamill, who came to California during the Gold Excitement of 49, had one of the first red brick houses in Los Angeles on San Pedro Street between 2nd and 3rd. Sometime in 1853, or perhaps in 1854, the first building erected by the public in Los Angeles County was put together here, a brick baked in the second kiln ever fired in the city. It was the town jail on the site of the present Phillips Block, footnote, recently raised, and footnote, at the northwest corner of Spring and Franklin Streets. This building took the place of the first county jail, a rude adobe that stood on the hill back of the present national government building. In that jail, I have understood there were no cells and prisoners were fastened by chains to logs outside. Zanja Water was being used for irrigation when I arrived. A system of seven or eight Zanjas or open ditches originated, I have no doubt, by the Catholic Fathers, was then in operation, although it was not placed under the supervision of a Zanjero or water commissioner until 1854. These small surface canals connected at the source with the Zanja Madre or Mother Ditch on the north side of the town from which they received their supply. The Zanja Madre itself being fed from the river at a point a long way from the town. The Zanjero issued permits for which application had to be made some days in advance, authorizing the use of the water for irrigation purposes. A certain amount was paid for the use of this water during a period of twelve hours, without any limit as to the quantity consumed, and the purchaser was permitted to draw his supply both day and night. Water for domestic uses was a still more expensive luxury. Inhabitants living in the immediate neighborhood of Zanjas or near the river helped themselves, but their less fortunate brethren were served by a carrier who charged fifty cents a week for one bucket a day while he did not deliver on Sunday at all. Extra requirements were met on the same basis, and in order to avoid an interruption in the supply, prompt settlement of the charge had to be made every Saturday evening. This character was known as Bill the Waterman. He was a tall American about thirty or thirty five years old. He had a mustache, wore long rubber boots coming nearly to his waist, and presented the general appearance of a laboring man, and his somewhat rickety vehicle, drawn by two superannuated horses, slowly conveyed the man in his barrel of about sixty gallons capacity from house to house. He was a wise dispenser and quite alert to each household's needs. Bill obtained his supply from the Los Angeles River, where at best it was none too clean, in part owing to the frequent passage of the river by man and beast. Animals of all kinds, including cattle, horses, sheeps, pigs, mules, and donkeys crossed and recrossed the stream continually, so that the mud was incessantly stirred up and the polluted product proved unpalatable and even undoubtedly unhelpful. To make matters worse, the river and the Zanjas were the favorite bathing places, all the urchins of the Hamlet desporting themselves there daily, while most of the adults also frequently immersed themselves. Both the yet unbridged stream and the Zanjas, therefore, were repeatedly contaminated, although common sense should have protected the former to a greater or less extent. While as to the latter there were ordinances drawn up by the common council of eighteen fifty, which prohibited the throwing of filth into fresh water designed for common use, and also forbade the washing of clothes on the Zanja banks. This latter regulation was disobeyed by the native women, who continued to gather there, dip their soiled garments in the water, place them on stones, and beat them with sticks, a method then popular for the extraction of dirt. Besides Bill the Waterman, Dan Sheik was a water vendor, but at a somewhat later date. Proceeding to the Zanja in a curious old cart, he would draw the water he needed, fresh every morning, and make deliveries at customers' houses for a couple of dollars a month. Sheik forsook this business, however, and went into drying, as making a specialty of meeting bannings, coaches, and transferring the passengers to their several destinations. He was a frugal man, and accumulated enough to buy the southwest corner of Franklin and Spring Streets. As a result, he left property of considerable value. He died about twenty-five years ago. Mrs. Sheik, who was a sister of John Frohling, died in 1874. Just one more reference to the drinking water of that period. When delivered to the customer, it was emptied into oljas, or urn-shaped vessels, made from burned clay or terracotta. Every family in every store was provided with at least one of these containers, which, being slightly porous, possessed the virtue, of particular value at a time when there was no ice, of keeping the water cool and refreshing. The olja commonly in use had a capacity of four or five gallons, and was usually suspended from the ceiling of a porch or other convenient place. While attached to this domestic reservoir, as a rule, was a long-handled dipper, generally made from a gourd. Filters were not in use. In consequence of wish, fastidious people washed out their oljas very frequently. These wide-mouthed pots recall to me an appetizing Spanish dish known as olja podrita, a stew consisting of various spice meats, chopped fine, and an equally varied assortment of vegetables, partaken of separately, all bringing to mind, perhaps, Thackeray's sentimental ballad of bouillabaisse. Considering these inconveniences, how surprising it is that the Common Council, in 1853, should have frowned upon Judge William G. Dryden's proposition to distribute, in pipes, all the water needed for domestic use. On May 16, 1854, the first Masonic Lodge, then and now known as 42, received its charter, having worked under special dispensation since the preceding December. The first officers chosen were H. P. Dorsey, Master, J. Elias, Senior Warden, Thomas Foster, Junior Warden, James R. Barton, Treasurer, Timothy Foster, Secretary, Jacob Rich, Senior Deegan, and W. A. Smith, Tyler. For about three decades after my arrival, smallpox epidemics visited us somewhat regularly every other year, and the effect on the town was exceedingly bad. The whole population was on such a friendly footing that every death made a very great impression. The native element was always averse to vaccination and other sanitary measures. Everybody objected to isolation, and disinfecting was unknown. In more than one familiar case, the surviving members of a stricken family went into the homes of their kinsmen, notwithstanding the danger of contagion. Is it any wonder therefore, when such ignorance was universal, that the pest spread alarmingly and that the death rate was high? The smallpox wagon, dubbed the Black Maria, was a frequent sight on the streets of Los Angeles during these seizures. There was a nice lady to pest house near the Chavez ravine, but the patients of the better class were always treated at home, where the sanitation was never good, and at best the community was seriously exposed. Consternation seized the public mind, communication with the outside world was disturbed, and these epidemics were the invariable signal for business, disorder, and crises. This matter of primitive sanitation reminds me of an experience. To accommodate an old iron bathtub that I wished to set up in my main street home in the late sixties, I was obliged to select one of the bedrooms, since when my adobe was built the idea of having a separate bathroom and a house had never occurred to any owner. I connected it with the zanja at the rear of my lot by means of a wooden conduit, which, although it did not join very closely, entered all purposes for the discharge of wastewater. One of my children for several years slept in this combination bath and bedroom, and although the plumbing was as old-fashioned as it well could be, yet during all that time there was no sickness in our family. It was fortunate, indeed, that the adobe construction of the fifties rendered houses practically fire-proof. Since in the absence of a water system, a bucket brigade was all there was to fight a fire with, and this rendered but poor service. I remember such a brigade at work some years after I came, in the vicinity of the bell block, when a chain of helpers formed a relay from the nearest zanja to the blazing structure. Buckets were passed briskly along from person to person, as in the animated scene described by Schiller and the well-known lines of Das Lied von der Glocke. Durst der Hand lang Kette um der Wette fliegt der Eimer. Footnote, translated by Perry Warden for the centenary of the Song of the Bell. Through each hand, close joined and waiting, emulating, flies the pale. And footnote. A process, which was continued until the fire had exhausted itself. Francis Melis had used a little hand cart, but for lack of water it was generally useless. Instead of firebells announcing to the people that a conflagration was in progress, the discharging of pistols and rapid succession gave the alarm, and was the signal for a general fuusalad through the neighboring streets. Indeed, this method of sounding a fire alarm was used as late as the 80s. On the breaking out of fires, neighbors and friends rushed to assist the victim in saving what they could of his property. On account of the inadequate facilities for extinguishing anything like a conflagration, it transpired that insurance companies would not for some time accept risks in Los Angeles. If I am not mistaken, S. Lazard obtained the first protection late in the 50s and paid a premium of four percent. The policy was issued by the Hamburg Bremen Company through Aseldorfer Brothers of San Francisco, who also imported foreign merchandise, and Lazard thereafter as a Los Angeles agent for the Hamburg Bremen Company was the first insurance underwriter here of whom I have any knowledge. Aseldorfer Brothers, it is also interesting to note, imported the first Swedish matches brought into California. Perhaps having in mind caused an effect with profit at both ends. They put them on the retail market in Los Angeles at twenty-five cents a package. This matter of fires calls to mind an interesting feature of the city when I first saw it. When Henry or Enrique Dalton sailed from England, he shipped a couple of corrugated iron buildings, taking them to South America where he used them for several years. On coming to Los Angeles, he brought the buildings with him and they were set up at the site of the present corner of Spring and Court Streets. In a sense, therefore, these much transported iron structures, one of which in 1858 I rented as a storeroom for wool, came to be among the earliest fireproof buildings here. As early as 1854, the need of better communication between Los Angeles and the outside world was beginning to be felt, and in the summer of that year, the supervisors, D. W. Alexander, S. C. Foster, J. Sepulveda, C. Aguilar, and S. S. Thompson voted to spend one thousand dollars to open a wagon road over the mountains between the San Fernando Mission and the San Francisco Rancho. A rather broad trail already existed there, but such was its grade that many a pioneer compelled to use a windlass or other contrivance to let down his wagon in safety will never forget the real perils of the descent. For years it was a familiar experience with stages on which I sometimes traveled to attach chains or boards to retard their downward movement, nor were passengers even then without anxiety until the hill or mountainside had been passed. During 1854, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Newmark and family, whom I had met the year before, for a few hours in San Francisco, arrived here and located in the one-story adobe owned by John Goeller and adjoining his blacksmith shop. There were six children Matilda, Meyer J., Sarah, Edward, Caroline, and Harriet, all of whom had been born in New York City. With their advent my personal environment immediately changed. They provided me with a congenial home and as they at once began to take part in local social activities I soon became well acquainted. My aunt took charge of my English education and taught me to spell, read, and write in that language, and I have always held her efforts in my behalf in grateful appreciation. As a matter of fact, having so early been thrown into contact with Spanish-speaking neighbors and patrons, I learned Spanish before I acquired English. The Newmarks had left New York on December 15th, 1852 on the ship Carrington, TV French commanding, to make the trip around the horn, San Francisco being their destination. After a voyage for the most part pleasant, although not altogether free from disagreeable features and marked by much rough weather, they reached the Golden Gate, having been four months and five days on the ocean. One of the enjoyable incidents en route was an old-fashioned celebration in which Neptune took part when they crossed the equator. In a diary of that voyage kept by Meyer J. Newmark, mention is made that, quote, our Democratic President Franklin Pierce and Vice President William R. King were inaugurated March 4th, 1853, end, quote, which reminds me that some forty years later, Judge H. A. Pierce, the President's cousin, and his wife, who was of literary clivities, came to be my neighbor in Los Angeles. Mr. and Mrs. Newmark and their family remained in San Francisco until 1854. Joseph Newmark, formerly Newmark, born June 15th, 1799, was, I assume, the first to adopt the English form of the name. He was generally religious and exalted in character. His wife Rosa, whom he married in New York in 1835, was born in London on March 17th, 1808. He came to America in 1824, spent a few years in New York, and resided for a while in Somerset, Connecticut, where, on January 21st, 1831, he joined the Masonic Fraternity. During his first residence in New York, he started the Elm Street synagogue, one of the earliest in America. In 1840, we find him in St. Louis, a pioneer indeed. Five years later, he was in Dubuque, Iowa, then a frontier village. In 1846, he once more pitched his tent in New York, and during this sojourn, he organized the Worcester Street congregation. Immediately after reaching Los Angeles, he brought into existence the Los Angeles Hebrew Benevolent Society, which met for some time at his home on Sunday evenings, and which, I think, was the first charitable institution in the city. Its principal objects were to care for the sick, to pay proper respect according to Jewish ritual to the dead, and to look after the Jewish cemetery, which was laid out about that time, so that the society at once became a real spiritual force and continued so for several years. The first president was Jacob Elias. Although Mr. Newmark had never served as a salaried rabbi, he had been ordained and was permitted to officiate, and one of the immediate results of his influence was the establishment of worship on Jewish holidays under the auspices of the society named. The first service was held in the rear room of an adobe owned by John Temple. Joseph Newmark also inspired the purchase of land for the Jewish cemetery. After Rabbi Edelman came, my uncle continued on various occasions to assist him. When, in course of time, the population of Los Angeles increased, the responsibilities of a Hebrew Benevolent Society were extended. Although a Jewish organization and none but Jews could become members of it or receive burial in the Jewish cemetery, its aim was to give relief as long as its financial condition would permit to every worthy person that appeared, whoever he was or whatever his creed. Recalling this efficient organization, I may say that I believe myself to be one of but two survivors among the Charter members, Es Lazard being the other. Kiln Messer was another pioneer who came around the horn about that time, although he arrived here from Germany a year later than I did, and during his voyage he had a trying experience in a shipwreck off Cape Verde, where with his comrades he had to wait a couple of months before another vessel could be signaled. Even then he could get no farther toward his destination, the Golden Gate, than Rio de Janeiro, where he was delayed five or six months more. Finally reaching San Francisco, he took to mining, but weakened by fever, an experience common among the gold seekers, he made his way to Los Angeles. After brewing beer for a while at the corner of Third and Main Streets, Messer bought a 20 acre vineyard, which, in 1857, he increased by another purchase to 45 or 50 acres, and it was his good fortune that this property was so located as to be needed by the Santa Fe Railroad in 1888 as a terminal. Toward the end of the 70s, Messer, moderately well to do, was a grocer on the corner of Rose and First Street, and about 1885 he retired. Joseph Newmark brought with him to Los Angeles a Chinese servant to whom he paid $100 a month, and as far as I know this Mongolian was the first to come to our city. This domestic item has additional interest perhaps because it was but five or six years before that the first Chinese to emigrate from the celestial kingdom to California, two men and a lone woman, had come to San Francisco in the ship Eagle from Hong Kong. A year later there were half a hundred China men in the territory, while at the end of still another year, during the gold excitement, nearly a thousand Chinese entered the Golden Gate. The housekeeping experiences of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Newmark remind me that it was not easy in the early days to get satisfactory domestic service. Indians, Negroes, and sometimes Mexicans were employed until the arrival of more Chinese and the coming of white girls. Joseph Newmark, when I lived with his family, employed, in addition to the Chinaman, an Indian named Pedro who had come with his wife from Temecula and whose renumeration was fifty cents a day, and these servants attended to most of the household duties. The annual fiesta at Temecula used to attract Pedro and his better half, and while they were absent, the Newmark girls did the work. My new home was very congenial, not the least of its attractions being the family associations at mealtime. The opportunities for obtaining a variety of food were not as good perhaps as they are today, and yet some delicacies were more in evidence. Among these I might mention wild game and chickens. Turkeys of all poultry were the scarcest and most prized. All in all, our ordinary fair has not changed so much except in the use of mutton, certain vegetables, ice, and a few dainties. There was no extravagance in the furnishing of pioneer homes. Few people coming to Los Angeles expected to locate permanently. They usually planned to accumulate a small competency and then return to their native heaths. In consequence, little attention was paid to quality or styles, and it is hard to convey a comprehensive ideal of the prevailing lack of ordinary comforts. For many years the inner walls of adobes were whitewashed, a method of mural finish not the most agreeable since the coating so easily came off, and only in the later periods of framehouses did we have calcimined and hard finished wall surfaces. Just when papered and tinted walls came in, I do not remember, but they were long delayed. Furniture was plain and none too plentiful, and glassware and tableware were of an inferior grade. Certain vegetables were abundant, truck gardening having been introduced here in the early fifties by Andrew Brisswalter, an Alsatian by birth, and an original character. He first operated on San Pedro Street where he rented a tract of land and peddled his vegetables in a wheelbarrow, charging big prices. So quickly did he prosper that he was soon able to buy a piece of land as well as a horse and wagon. When he died in the eighties he bequeathed a large estate consisting of city and county acreage and lots in the disposition of which he unrighteously cut off his only niece. Playa del Rey was later built on some of his land. Acres of fruit trees fronting on main in the neighborhood of the present ninth and tenth streets and extending far in an easterly direction formed another part of his holding. It was on this land that Brisswalter lived until his last illness. He bought this tract from O.W. Childs, it having originally belonged to H.C. Cardwell, a son-in-law of William Wolfskill, the same Cardwell who introduced here on January 7th, 1856, the here to four unknown seedling strawberries. One mummus was in the field nearly as soon as Brisswalter. A few years later Chinese vegetable men came to monopolize this trade. Most of their gardens neighbor on what is now Figueroa Street, north of Pico, and then as now they pedaled their wares from wagons. Wild celery grew in quantities around the Zanjas but was not much liked. Cultivated celery, on the other hand, was in demand and was brought from the north once we also imported most of our cabbage, cauliflower and asparagus. But after a while the Chinese also cultivated celery and when in the 90s E.A. Curtis, D.E. Smelter and others failed in an effort to grow celery, Curtis fell back on the Chinese gardeners. The orientals, though pestered by envious workmen, finally made a success of the industry helping to establish what is now a most important local agricultural activity. These Chinese vegetable gardeners, by the way, came to practice a trick. Footnote. History repeats itself. In 1915, ranchers at Zelza were accused of appropriating water from the new aqueduct under cover of night without paying for it. End footnote. Designed to reduce their expenses and at which they were sometimes caught. Having bargained with the authorities for a small quantity of water they would cut the Zonges while the Zongero or his assistants slept, steal the additional water needed and before the arrival of the Zongero at daybreak close the openings. Jay Wesley Potts was an early arrival having tramped across the plains all the way from Texas in 1852 reaching Los Angeles in September. At first he could obtain nothing to do but haul dirt and a hand cart for the spasmodic patching up of the streets. But when he had earned five or six dollars in that way he took to peddling fruit first carrying it around in a basket. Then he had a fruit stand. Getting the gold fever however Potts went to the mines. But despairing at last of realizing anything there he returned to Los Angeles and raised vegetables introducing, among other things, the first locally grown sweet potatoes put on the market. A stroke of enterprise recalling J.E. Pleasant's early venture and cultivating garden peas. Later he was widely known as a weather prophet with predictions quite as likely to be worthless as to come true. The prickly pear, the fruit of the cactus, was common in early Los Angeles. It grew in profusion over all this southern country but particularly so around San Gabriel at which place it was found in almost obstructing quantities. And prickly pears boarded the gardens of the round house where they were plucked by visitors.  Pomegranates and kinses were also numerous but they were not cultivated for that trade. Sycamore and oak trees were seen here and there while the willow was evident in almost jungle profuseness especially around river banks and along the borders of the lanes. Wild mustard charmingly variegated the landscape and chaparral obscured many of the hills and rising ground. In winter the ground was thickly covered with burr clover and the poetically named alfilaria. Writing of vegetables and fruit I naturally think of one of California's most popular products the sandia or watermelon and of its plenteousness in those more monotonous days when many and many a careta load was brought to the indulging town. The melons were sold direct from the vehicles as well as in stores and the street seemed to be the principal place for the consumption of the luscious fruit. It was a very common sight to see Indians and others sitting along the roads their faces buried in the green pink depths. Some old timers troubled with the diseases of the kidney believing that there was virtue in watermelon seeds boiled them and used the tea medicinally. Fish caught at San Pedro and paddled around town was a favorite item of food during the cooler months of the year. The pescadero or vendor used a loud fish horn whose deep but not melodious tones announced to the expectant housewife that he was at hand with a load of seafood. Owing to the poorer facilities for catching them only a few varieties of deep water fish such as barracuda, yellowtail, and rockfish were sold. Somewhere I have seen it stated that in 1854 O. W. Childs brought the first hive of bees from San Francisco at a cost of $150. But as nearly as I can recollect a man named Logan owned the first beehives and was therefore the pioneer honey producer. I remember paying him $3 for a three pound box of comb honey but I forgotten the date of this transaction. In 1860 Cyrus Burdick purchased several swarms of bees and had no difficulty in selling the honey at $1 a pound. By the fall of 1861 the bee industry had so expanded that Perry and Woodworth as I have stated devoted part of their time to the making of beehives. J. E. Pleasants of Santiago Canyon known also for his cashmere goats was another pioneer bee man and received a gold medal for his exhibit at the New Orleans exposition. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of 60 years in Southern California 1853 to 1913 by Harris Newmark This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kay Hand Chapter 10 Early Social Life 1854 In June 1854 my brother sold out and I determined to establish myself in business and thus become my own master. My lack of knowledge of English was somewhat of a handicap but youth and energy were in my favor and an eager desire to succeed overcame all obstacles. Upon computing my worldly possessions I found that I had saved nearly $240 the sum total of my eight months wages and this sum I invested into my first venture. My brother J. P. Newmark opened a credit for me which contributed materially to my success and I rented the store on the north side of Commercial Street about 100 feet west of Los Angeles owned by Mateo Keller and just vacated by Prudent Bodri. Little did I think in so doing that 12 years later some nemesis would cause Bodri to sell out to me. I fully realized the importance of succeeding in my initial effort and this required me for seven months of sacrifices until January 1st 1855 when I took an inventory and found a net profit of $1,500. To give some idea of what was then required to attain such success I may say that having no assistance at all I was absolutely a prisoner from early morning until late in the evening the usual hour of closing as I have elsewhere explained being eight o'clock. From sweeping out to keeping books I attended to all my own work and since I neither wished to go out and lock up nor leave my stock long unprotected I remained on guard all day giving the closest possible attention to my little store. Business conditions in the 50s were necessarily very different from what they are today. There was no bank in Los Angeles for some years although Downey and one or two others may have had some kind of a safe. People generally hoarded their cash in deep narrow buckskin bags hiding it behind merchandise on the shelves until the departure of a steamer for San Francisco or turning it into such vouchers as were negotiable and could be obtained here. John Temple who had a ranch or two in the North from which he sent cattle to his agent in San Francisco generally had a large reserve of cash to his credit with butchers or bankers in the northern city and he was thus able to issue drafts against his balances there being glad enough to make the exchange free of cost. When however Temple had exhausted his cash the would be remitter was compelled to send the coin itself by express. He would then take the species to the company's agent and the latter in his presence would do it up in a sealed package and charge one dollar a hundred for safe transmission. No wonder therefore that people found expressing coins somewhat expensive and were more partial to the other method. In the beginning of the fifties too silver was irregular in supply. Nevada's treasures still lay undiscovered within the bowels of the earth and much foreign coin was in use here leading the shrewdest operators to import silver money from France, Spain, Mexico and other countries. The size of coins rather than their intrinsic value was then the standard. For example a five Frank piece a Mexican dollar or coin of similar size from any other country passed for a dollar here. While a Mexican 25 piece worth but 14 cents was accepted for an American quarter so that these importers did a land office business. Half dollars and their equivalents were very scarce and these coins being in great demand among gamblers it often happened that they would absorb the supply. This forced such a premium that $18 in silver would commonly bring $20 in gold. Most of the output of the minds of Southern California then rated as the best dust went to San Francisco essayers who minted it into octagonal and round pieces known as slugs. Among those issuing privately stamped coins were J.S. Ormsby whose mark J.S.O. became familiar and Augustus Humbert both of whom circulated eight cornered ingots and Wassamoliter & Company whose slugs were always round. Pieces of the value of from $1 to $25 and even miniature coins for fractional parts of a dollar were also minted while F.D. Kohler the state assayer made an oblong ingot worth about $50. Some of the other important assaying concerns were Moffitt & Company Kellogg & Company and Templeton Reed. Baldwin & Company was another firm which issued coins of smaller denomination and to this firm belonged David Colbert Broderick who was killed by Terry. Users were here from the beginning and their tax was often ruinously exorbitant. So much did they charge for money in fact that from 2 to 12.5% a week was paid and this brought about the loss of many early estates. I recollect for example that the owner of several thousand acres of land borrowed $200 at an interest charge of 12.5% for each week from a resident of Los Angeles whose family is still prominent in California and that when principal and interest amounted to $22,000 the lender foreclosed and thus ingloriously came into possession of a magnificent property. For at least 20 years after I arrived in Los Angeles the credit system was so irregular as to be no system at all. Land and other values were exceedingly low there was not much ready money and while the credit of a large rancher was small compared with what his rating would be today because of the tremendous advances in land and stock much longer time was then given on running accounts than would be allowed now. Bills were generally settled after the harvest. The wine grower would pay his score when the grape crop was sold and the cattleman would liquidate what he could when he sold his cattle. In other words there was no credit foundation whatever. Indeed I have known accounts to be carried through three and four dry seasons. It is true also that many a fine property was lost through the mania of the Californian for gambling and it might be just as well to add that the loose credit system ruined many. I believe in fact it is generally recognized in certain lines of business that the two flexible local fiscal practice of today is the descendant of the careless methods of the past. My early experiences as a merchant afforded me a good opportunity to observe the character and peculiarities of the people with whom I had to deal. In those days a disposition to steal was a common weakness on the part of many especially Indians and merchants generally suffered so much from the evil that a sharp lookout had to be kept. On one occasion I saw a native woman definitely abstract a pair of shoes and cleverly secreted them on her person and at the conclusion of her purchases as she was about to leave the store I stepped up to her and with a dispens a may instead quietly recovered the sabbatos. The woman smiled each of us bowed and the pilfering patron departed and nothing further was ever said of the affair. This proneness to steal was frequently utilized by early and astute traders who kept on hand a stock of very cheap but gaudy jewelry which was placed on the counter within easy reach a device which prevented the filtering of more valuable articles while it attracted at the same time this class of customers and as soon as the esteemed customers ceased to buy the trays of tempting trinkets were removed shyness of the truth was another characteristic of many a native that often had to be reckoned with by merchants wishing to accommodate as far as possible while avoiding loss one day in 1854 a middle-aged Indian related to me that his mother who was living half a block north on main street and was between 80 and 90 years of age had suddenly died and that he would like some candles for which he was unable to pay to place around the bed holding the remains of the departed I could not refuse this filial request and straight away gave him the wax tapers which were to be used for so wholly a purpose the following day however I met the old woman on the street and she was as lively a corpse as one might ever expect to see leaving me to conclude that she was lighted to her room the previous night by one of the very candles supposed to be then lighting her to eternity the fact that I used to order straw hat which came telescoped in dozens and were of the same pattern in the crown of one which at the top I found one morning a litter of kittens tenderly deposited there by the store cat recalls an amusing incident showing the modesty of the times at least in the style of ladies bonnets S. Lazard and Company once made an importation of leghorn hats which when they arrived were found to be all trimmed alike a bit of ribbon and a little bunch of artificial flowers in front being their only ornamentation practically all the fair damsels and matrons of the town were limited for the season to this supply a fact that was patent enough a few days later at a picnic held at San Savane's favorite vineyard and well patronized by the feminine leaders in our little world but to return to one or two pioneers David Workman died soon after he came here in 1854 with his wife whose maiden name was Nancy Hook he was a brother of William Workman and followed him to Los Angeles bringing his three sons Thomas H killed in the explosion of the Ada Hancock Elijah H and William H who was for a while a printer and later in partnership with his brother in the saddlery business Elijah once owned a tract of land stretching from what is now Maine to Hill Street and around 12th Workman Street is named after this family Henry Mellis brother of Francis Mellis to whom I elsewhere more fully refer who had returned to New England was among us again in 1854 whether this was the occasion of Mellis's unfortunate investment or not I cannot say but on one of his trips to the east he lost a quarter of a million through an unlucky investment in iron Jean B. Trudell a nephew of Damien March Assault and a cousin of P. Baldry for a short time in partnership with S. Lazard was an old timer who married Anita the widow of Henry Mellis and through this union a large family resulted he conducted saltworks from which she supplied the town with all grades of cheap salt and he stood well in the community Mrs. Trudell took care of her aunt Mrs. Bell during her later years with the growth of our little town newspapers increased even though they did not exactly prosper on the 20th of July 1854 C. N. Richards and company started the Southern Californian and name no doubt suggested by that of the San Francisco Journal with William Butts as editor and on November 2nd Colonel John O. Wheeler joined Butts and bought out Richards and company their paper was printed on one of Dalton's corrugated iron houses the Southern Californian was a four page weekly on one side of which was news editorials and advertisements often mere translations of matter and the other columns were published in Spanish one result of the appearance of this paper was that wait and company a month or so later reduced the subscription price of the star their new rate being nine dollars a year or six dollars in advance in 1853 a number of Spanish American restaurant keepers plied their vocation so that Mexican and Spanish cooking were always obtainable then came the cafeteria but the term was used with a different significance from that now in vogue it was rather a place for drinking than for eating and in this respect the name had little of the meaning current in parts of Mexico today where a cafeteria is a small restaurant serving ordinary alcoholic drinks and plain meals nor was the institution the same as that familiarly known in the pacific coast towns and particularly in los angeles one of the first american cities to experiment with this departure where a considerable variety of food mostly cooked and warm is displayed to view and then the perspective diner having secured his tray and napkin knife fork and spoons indicates his choice as he passes by the steam heated tables and is helped to whatever he selects and then carries both service and vions to a small table the native population followed their own cuisine and the visitor to spanish-american homes usually partook of a native food all the mexican dishes that are common now such as tamales and chiladas and frijoles were favorite dishes then there were many saloons in sonora town and elsewhere and mezcal and aguardiente popular drinks with the mexicans were also indulged in by the first white settlers although there were imported wines the wine drinkers generally patronized the local product this was a very cheap article costing about 15 cents a gallon and was usually supplied with meals without extra charge tamales in particular were very popular with the californians but it took some time for the incoming epicure to appreciate all that was claimed for them and other masterpieces of mexican cooking the tortilla was another favorite to being a generous sized maize cake round and rather thin in the early preparation of which the grain was softened cleaned and parboiled after which it was rolled and crushed between two pieces of flat stone deft hands then worked the product into a pancake which was placed sometimes on a piece of stoneware sometimes on a plate of iron and baked first on one side and then on the other a part of the trick in tortilla baking consisted in its delicate toasting and when just the right degree of perching had been reached the crisp tasty tortilla was ready to maintain its position even against more pretentious members of the pancake family pan de huevos or bread of eggs was pedaled around town on little trays by mexican women and when well prepared was very palatable panoccia a dark mexican sugar made into cakes was also vended by native women pinole was brought in by indians and as far as i can remember it could not have had a very exact meaning since i have heard the term applied both to ground pine nuts and ground corn and it may also have been used to mean other food prepared in the same manner be this as it may the value to the indian came from the fact that when mixed with water pinole proved a cheap but nutritious article of diet i've told of the old fashioned comfortable adobes broad and liberal whose halls rooms verandas and patios bespoke at least comfort if not elaborateness among the old california families dwelling within these houses there was much visiting and entertainment and i often part took of this proverbial and princely hospitality there was also much merry making the firing of crackers bell ringing and dancing the fandango yota and kachuca marking their jolly and whole sold fiestas only for the first few years after i came was the real fandango so popular when dana visited los angeles and first saw da juan bandini execute the dance witnessed here little by little it went out of fashion perhaps in part because of the skill required for its performance balls and hops however for a long time were carelessly called by that name when the fandango really was in vogue bandini antonio cornell andres picot the lugos and other native californians were among its most noted exponents they often hired a hall gave a fandango in which they did not hesitate to take the leading parts and turned the whole proceeds over to some church or charity on such occasions not merely the plain people always so responsive to music and its accompanying pleasures were the fandango eros but the flower of our local society turned out en masse adding to the affair of a high degree of a claw there was no end too of good things to eat and drink which people managed somehow to pass around and the enjoyment was not lessened by the fact that every such dance hall was crowded to the walls and that the atmosphere relieved by but a narrow door and a window or two was literally thick with both dust and smoke still living are some who have memories of these old fandango days and the journeys taken from suburb to town in order to participate in them Doña Petra Pilar Lanfranco used to tell me how as a young girl she came up from the old Palos Verdes ranch house in a careta and was always shaperoned by a lady relative on such occasions the careta would be provided with mattresses pillows and covers while at the end while strapped was the trunk containing the finery to be worn at the ball to reach town even from a point that would now be regarded as near a start was generally made by four o'clock in the morning and it often took until late the same evening to arrive at the Bella Union where final preparations were made one of the pleasant features of a fandango or hop was the use of cascarones or eggshells filled with one thing or another agreeable when scattered and for the time being sealed up these shells were generally painted and most often they contain many colored pieces of paper where the tinsel or opel cut up very fine not infrequently the shell of the egg was filled with perfume and in the days when Californians were flush gold leaf or even gold dust was sometimes thus enclosed with a wafer and kept for the casamiento when it would be showered upon the fortunate bride the greatest compliment that a gentleman could pay a lady was to break one of these cascarones over her head and often the compliment would be returned the floor at the termination of such festivities being literally covered with bits of paper and eggshell when the fundango was on in all its mad delight a gentleman would approach a lady to salute her upon which she would bow her head slightly and permit him while he gently squeezed the eggshell to let its contents fall gracefully over her head neck and shoulders and very often she would cleverly choose the right moment perhaps when he was not looking to politely reciprocate the courtesy under which circumstances he was in duty bound to detect if he could among the smiling blushing ladies the one who had ventured so agreeably to offend such was courtliness in fact among the native population that even at fundangles in which the public participated and the compliment of the cascaron was almost universally observed there was seldom a violation of regard for another's feelings when such rowdyism did occur however prompted perhaps by jealousy and bad eggs or that which was even less aromatic or substituted serious trouble ensued and one or two fatalities are on record as growing out of such senseless acts speaking of fundangles it may be added that in January 1861 the Common Council of Los Angeles passed an ordinance requiring the payment in advance of ten dollars for a one night license to hold any public dance within the city limits the Pueblo was so small in the fifties and the number of white people so limited that whenever a newcomer arrived it caused considerable general excitement and when it infrequently happened that persons of note came for even a single night a deputation of prominent citizens made their short stay both noisy with cannonading and tiresome with spread eagle oratory a very important individual in early days was Peter Biggs or nigger peat a pioneer barber who came here in 1852 having previously been sold as a slave to an officer at Fort Leavenworth and freed in California at the close of the Mexican war he was a black haired good-natured man then about 40 years of age and had a shop on Main Street near the Bella Union he was indeed the only barber in town who catered to Americans and while by no means of the highest tonsorial capacity was sufficiently appreciative of his monopoly to charge 50 cents for shaving and 75 cents for haircutting when however a Frenchman named Felix Signorette whose daughter married Ed McGinnis the high toned saloon keeper appeared some years later a barber by trade of whom we shall hear more later it was not long before peat was seriously embarrassed being compelled first to reduce his prices and then to look for more humble work in the early 60s peat was advertising as follows New Orleans shaving saloon opposite Melises store on Main Street prices reduced to keep pace with the times shaving 12.5 cents haircutting 25 cents shampooing 25 cents Peter Biggs will always be on hand and ready to attend to all business in his line such as cleaning and polishing the understanding together with an intelligence office in city express also washing and ironing done with all neatness and dispatch at reasonable rates Recalling Biggs and his barbershop I may say that in fitting up his place he made little or no pretension he had an old fashioned highbacked chair but otherwise operated much as barbers do today people sat around waiting their turn and as Biggs called next he sprinkled the last victim with Florida water applying to the hair at the same time his bare oil sure to leave its mark on walls and pillows after which with a soiled towel he put on the finishing touch for one towel in those days served many customers but few patrons had their private cups Biggs served only men and boys as ladies dressed their own hair to some extent Biggs was a maker or at least a purveyor of wigs besides Peter Biggs a number of colored people lived in Los Angeles at an early date five of whom belonged to the Mexican veterans Bob Owens and his wife being among the most prominent Owens who came here from Texas in December 1853 was known to his friend as Uncle Bob while Mrs. Owens was called Aunt Winnie the former at first did all kinds of odd jobs later profiting through dealings with the government while his good wife washed clothes in which capacity she worked from time to time for my family they lived in San Pedro Street and invested their savings in a lot extending from Spring to Fort Streets between 3rd and 4th Owens died in 1865 their heirs are wealthy as a result of this investment in fact I should not be surprised if they are among the most prosperous Negroes in America another colored man of the 60s was named Barry though he was popularly known as Uncle George he was indeed a local character a kind of pop and jay and when not busy with janitor or other all-around scrub work sported among the Negroes as an ultra fashionable elsewhere I have spoken of the versatility of Dr. William B. Osburn who showed no little commendable enterprise in October 1854 he shipped to an agricultural convention in Albany, New York the first Los Angeles grapes ever sent to the east and the next year he imported roses shrubbery and fruit trees from Rochester on October 13th 1854 a good for nothing gambler Dave Brown who had planned to rob John Temple on one of his business trips but was thwarted because Temple changed his route murdered a companion Pinkney Clifford in a livery stable at what was later to become the corner of Maine and Court Streets and the next day the Lawless Act created such general indignation that vengeance on Brown would undoubtedly then and there have been wreaked had not Stephen C. Foster who was mayor met the crowd of citizens and persuaded them quietly to disperse in order to modify the would be vigilantes Foster promised that if the case miscarried in the courts and Brown was not given his due he would resign his office and would himself lead those who favored taking the law into their own hands and as Foster had been a lieutenant in the Rangers under Dr. Hope showing himself to be a man of nerve the crowd had confidence in him and went its way on November 30th Brown was tried in the district court and Judge Benjamin Hayes sentenced him to hang on January 12th 1855 the same date on which Felipe Alvitre a half breed Indian was to pay the penalty for killing James Ellington at El Monte Brown's council were J.R. Scott Cameron E. Tom and J.A. Watson and these attorneys worked so hard and so effectively for their client that on January 10th or two days before the date set for the execution Judge Murray of the Supreme Court granted Brown a stay although apparently no relief was provided for Alvitre the latter was hanged in the Calaboose or jailyard in the presence of a vast number of people at the time appointed Alvitre having been strong up by Sheriff Barton and his assistants the rope broke letting the wretch fall to the ground more dead than alive this bungling so infuriated the crowd that the cries of Arriba Arriba up with him up with him rent the air the executioners sprang forward lifted the body nodded the rope together and once more drew aloft the writhing form then the Caloose was dismantled and the guards dismissed the news that one execution had taken place while the court in the other case had interfered was speedily known by the crowds and the streets improved too much for the patients of the populace and only a leader or two were required to focus the indignation of the masses that leader appeared in foster who true to his word resigned from the office of mayor and put himself at the head of the mob appeals of hoaking loud applause were made by one speaker after another each in turn being lifted to the top of a barrel and then the crowd began to surge toward the jail Poles and crowbars were brought and a blacksmith called for and the prison doors which had been locked, bolted and barred were broken in very soon convincing the sheriff and his assistants if any such conviction were needed that it was useless to resist in a few minutes Brown was reached dragged out and across Spring Street and there hanged to the crossbeam of a corral gateway opposite the old jail the news being drawn tight while he was still attempting to address the crowd when Brown was about to be disposed of he was asked if he had anything to say to which he replied that he had no objections to paying the penalty of his crime but that he did take an exception to a lot of greasers shuffling him off Brown referred to the fact that Mexicans especially were conspicuous among those who had hold of the rope and his coarsely expressed objection striking a humorous vein amongst the auditors the order was given to indulge his fancy and accommodate him whereupon Americans strung him up of those who had previously volunteered to act as hangman for Brown was Juan Gonzalez but within four months that is in May 1855 Gonzalez himself was sent to the penitentiary by Judge Myron Norton convicted of horse stealing a rather amusing feature of this hanging was the manner in which the report of it was served up to the public the lynching bee seemed likely to come off about three o'clock in the afternoon while the steamer for San Francisco was to leave it ten o'clock on the same morning so that the schedules did not agree a closer connection was undoubtedly possible at least so thought Billy Workman then a typo on the Southern Californian who planned to print a full account of the execution in time to reach the steamer so Billy sat down and wrote out every detail even to the confession of the murderer on the improvised gallows and several hours before the tragic event actually took place a wet news sheet was aboard the vessel and on its way north a few surplus copies gave the lynchers the unique opportunity while watching the stringing up of comparing the written story with the affair as it actually occurred while upon the subject of lynching I wished to observe that I have witnessed many such distressing affairs in Los Angeles and that though the penalty of hanging was sometimes too severe for the crime and I have always deplored as much as any of us ever did the administration of mob justice yet the safety of the better classes in those troublesome times often demanded quick and determined action and stern necessity knew no law and what is more others besides myself who have also repeatedly faced dangers no longer common agree with me in declaring after half a century of observation and reflection that milder courses than those of the vigilance committees of our young community could hardly have been followed with wisdom and safety wood was the only regular fuel for many years and people were accustomed to buy it in quantities and to pile it carefully in their yards when it was more or less of a drug on the market I paid as little as three dollars and a half a cord in winter I had to pay more but the price was never high no tree was spared and I have known my magnificent oaks to be wantonly felled and used for fuel valuable timber was often destroyed by squatters guilty of a form of trespassing that gave much trouble as I can testify from my own experience Henry Dwight Barrows who had been educated as a Yankee school master arrived in Los Angeles in December 1854 as private tutor to William Wolfskill other parts of Barrows career were common to many pioneers he was in business for a while in New York caught the gold fever gave up everything to make the journey across the isthmus of Panama on which drippy was herded as one of 1700 passengers on a rickety coast vessel and finally after some unsuccessful experiences as a minor in northern California he made his way to the Southland to accept the proffered tutorship hoping to be cured of the malarial fever which he had contracted during his adventure Barrows taught here three years returned east by steamer for a brief trip in 1857 and in 1859 to 60 tried his hand at cultivating grapes in a vineyard owned by prudent Bodry on November 14th 1860 Barrows was married to Wolfskills daughter Senorita Juana and later he was county school superintendent in 1861 Lincoln appointed Barrows United States Marshal the duties of which office he performed for four years in 1864 having lost his wife he married the widow formerly Ms. Alice Woodworth of Thomas Workman the same year he formed a partnership with JD Hicks under the firm name of JD Hicks and Company and sold tin and hardware for 12 or 15 years in 1868 bereaved of his second wife Barrows married Miss Bessie Ann Green a native of New York that year too he was joined by his brother James Arnold Barrows footnote died June 9th 1914 and footnote who came by way of Panama and bought 35 acres of land afterward obtained by the University of Southern California about 1874 Barrows was manufacturing pipe for years he dwelt with his daughter Mrs. R. G. Weiss contributing now and then to the activities of the historical society and taking a keen interest footnote died August 7th 1914 and footnote in Los Angeles affairs about 1854 or 1855 I am Samuel and Herman who must not be confused with H. W. Helman arrived here I am preceding his brothers by a short period in time I am Helman in San Francisco married Miss Caroline Adler and in 1862 her sister Miss Adelaide came south on a visit and married Samuel Helman one of the children of this union is Maurice S. Helman who for many years associated with Joseph F. Sartori has occupied an important position in banking and financial circles in 1854 or 1855 Bishop and Beale a firm consisting of Samuel A. Bishop and E. F. Beale became owners of an immense tract of Kern County land consisting of between two and three hundred thousand acres this vast territory was given to them in payment for the work which they had done in surveying the Butterfield route later incorporated in a stage road connecting San Francisco with St. Louis recently I read an account of Beals having been an Indian agent at the reservation but if he was I have forgotten it I remember Colonel James F. Vineyard an Indian agent and later Senator from Los Angeles one of whose daughters was married in 1862 to Congressman Charles DeLong of Nevada City and afterward United States Minister to Japan and another daughter to Dr. Hayes of Los Angeles Bishop after a while sold out his interest in the land and moved to San Jose where he engaged in streetcar operations he was married near San Gabriel to Miss Frances Young and I officiated as one of the groomsmen at the wedding after Bishop disposed of his share Colonel R. S. Baker became interested but whether or not he bought Bishop's interest at once is not clear in my memory it was worth noting that Bakersfield which was part of this great ranch took its name from Colonel Baker sometime later Baker sold out to Beale and then came south and purchased the San Vicente Ranch this rancho comprised of the whole Santa Monica district and consisted of 30,000 acres which Baker stocked with sheep on a part of this land the soldiers home now stands Hilliard P. Dorsey another typical Western character was register of the land office and a leading mason of early days he lived in Los Angeles in 1853 and I met him on the Goliath in October of that year on the way south after a brief visit in San Francisco and while I was bound for my new home we saw each other frequently after my arrival here and I was soon on good terms with him when I embarked in business on my own account therefore I solicited Dorsey's patronage one day Dorsey bought a suit of clothes from me on credit a couple of months passed by however without any indication on his part that he intended to pay and as the some involved meant much to me at the time I was on the lookout for my somewhat careless debtor in due season catching sight of him on the other side of the street I approached in genuine American fashion and unceremoniously asked him to liquidate his account I had not then heard of the notches in friend Dorsey's pistol and was so unconscious of danger that my temerity seemed to impress him I believe in fact that he must have found the experience novel however that may be the next day he called and paid his bill in relating the circumstance to friends I was enlightened as to Dorsey's peculiar propensities and convinced that youth and ignorance alone had saved me from disaster in other words he let me go as it were on probation Dorsey himself was killed some time later by his father-in-law William Rubottom who had come to El Monte with Ezequiel Rubottom in 1852 or 1853 after quarreling with Rubottom Dorsey who was not a bad fellow but of a fiery temper had entered the yard with a knife in his hand and Rubottom had threatened to shoot him if he came any nearer the sudden law continued to advance and Rubottom shot him dead MJ Newmark Rubottom's attorney who had been summoned to El Monte for consultation as to Dorsey's treatment of Rubottom's daughter was present at the fatal moment and witnessed the shooting affray Uncle Billy Rubottom as he was familiarly called came to Los Angeles County after losing heavily through the bursting of Yuba Dam and was one of the founders of Spadra he named the settlement laid out on a part of the San Jose Rancho after his hometown Spadra Bluffs in Arkansas and opened a hotel which he made locally famous during a decade and a half for barbecue and similar events giving personal attention usually while in shirt sleeves to his many guests in his declining years Uncle Billy lived with Kevin H. Dorsey his grandson who was also prominent in Masonic circles End of chapter 10