During the last year of his life, 1957-58, Ferdinando started suffering from small strokes. At the time he was living in Sawtelle, the Veterans Home, in Los Angeles.
Daddy was very concerned that because Carol and I did not live with him all our lives we would not know his history, his family's history, the foundation of our own histories. So he wrote this, his final gift to his daughters.
Thanks, Daddy.
This account is of his early years which I think all of you will love to read, as it is about the early days in San Francisco and Sonoma. It also gives a little history of Grannie and Grandpa when they were in Italy.
I hope you enjoy this.
My father, Eugene Marzo, was born on October 28, 1854, and Mama, Rosa Marzo, was born on May Day (May 1), 1857. Both families raised cattle in the Italian Alps in Piedmont, province of Novara, which makes me a full blooded Roman. Piedmont is near Switzerland. The people did their shopping in Varzo but the big town was Domodossola, which had an elevation of 10,645 ft. above sea level. Varzo was a still higher elevation. My parents had known each other since childhood as this section was thinly populated in as much as most of the land was unsuited for farming due to the long cold season. They were not far from the Simpleon Pass, a winter pass into France or Switzerland. The cattle were housed in stone barns all winter and in spring when the snow and ice would begin to melt on the higher levels of the mountains, the entire family would leave the stone houses and barns and herd the cattle to the new fresh grass only to return again when the snows came.
My parents believed these stone houses and barns were built by Romans. This region was known by the Romans as Cisalpine. In early Rome, various sections of the empire were awarded, usually to a general. Cisalpine was awarded to the then general, Julius Caesar. In several instances when warring, and defeat was eminent, Rome would call upon Julius Caesar and his Cisalpine army. In every instance defeat was turned to victory. Upon Caesar's death, Mark Anthony reserved the Cisalpine army for his own use.
This section of Italy must have been populated with a very intelligent class of people as it was they who introduced tableware into France, where the people were then eating with their fingers. Their homes were made of stone, not mud and straw. The bridges and retaining walls were of stone as well. This was all built by the Romans as there are no records showing other inhabitants. The Romans used this section for their invasions into northern France, Belgium, Switzerland and Germany. It was the Romans who invented cement.
On my father's side there was another son, Antone, who studied art and confined himself to painting fruit and flowers. He settled in Lyons, France at 28 Rue de la Republique. His work was exhibited in most art galleries in France, making a good living for his family of two children. This was all confirmed by my brother, Camillo, when he visited them. The daughter married well and lives in Nice, France. However, the son was a true French sport and got into trouble with the law. It must have been serious as Uncle Antone never mentioned him again.
My mother had a sister. During her late teens she visited a nearby neighbor on foot. On her return home an avalanche started and swept her down to the canyon below under tons of snow, never to be found. This horror would bring tears to my mother's eyes until her end days.
My father had an uncle whom they called "Ping", a watchmaker, who no doubt learned his trade in Switzerland. However, he sailed for America in about 1880 and made his way to San Francisco. From there he wrote home about the wild, fantastic and preposterous conditions. Chinatown and the Chinamen were the most outstanding stories. These stories set my parents thinking. They already had two children, my brothers Camillo and Adolph. The latter must have been less than one year of age.
After much planning, my parents finally decided to pack up and leave for the land of fantasy. They went to Lyon, France by horse drawn means and after a stay with Antone they went to Harve where they sailed on the steamer "La Amerique". This was to be the La Amerique's last voyage. The boat was very crowded. Also aboard was a family by the name of Costa who were also going to San Francisco. This family had a small breast feeding baby about the same age as my brother Dolph. Due to the excitement, Mrs. Costa's milk failed her, but on board there was an angel by the name of Rose who volunteered to share her milk between her baby and the Costa baby. It was a success and from then on, the two families were friends. They arrived in San Francisco in December 1883. On the way to San Francisco, the train from New York only went as far as Chicago. The passengers had to live in a hotel while waiting for the train to come from the West. While at Chicago they were robbed of some cash, however, they still had sufficient to pay their way to San Francisco.
The first thing they did when they arrived in San Francisco was look up Uncle Ping. To their surprise they found out that he had left some months before to go back home. Now what were they to do? They rented rooms in a hotel that catered to new arrivals. My dad found a job cleaning up the San Francisco morgue, but not for long. The next thing he found was a job as a painter and then they finally found a house to live in.
Their next move was a flat upstairs from a kindergarten on Union Street between Stockton and Dupont Streets and it was there that I was born on August 19, 1888. Whether my sister Tillie was born there I do not know. They were now settled but the whole thing was like a dream. From a far off home at an altitude of about 12,000 ft. above sea level to San Francisco, only a few feet above sea level. From clean white snow to the filthy streets, from old friends and relatives to the most immoral people in the country - gamblers of every type, playing every kind of game in the open. The lowest type of women by the score, everywhere. High prices for everything.
The next move was to a home of our own, 324 Green Street. It was one of a few homes of only one story. The others went from two to three story flats. This home had a back yard where we put in many days making wagons, building a dog house, etc. Dad had a section of his own where he kept his paints. This paint was not locked up nor were we ever warned to leave it alone. From time to time one of us would take a brush and paint the lower boards in the rear of the house in every color, however, I had a tendency to paint some designs and finally paint letters. Inasmuch as every color of paint was at hand, we would also try our skill in mixing and discovered the mystery of adding a little color to white we would produce a beautiful pastel shade. It is here where my experience in paint had its start. We never feared our parents nor did we ever lie to them.
The people in the neighborhood consisted of German, Irish, Spanish and a few Italians from Piedmont and Genoa. Two groceries were operated by Germans, a Mr. Bodecker and Mr. Will and one store by a Mr. Malatesta from Genoa. Our doctor was Dr. Vacari, a very high type man who wore a double breasted black suit with coat tails, a silk stove pipe hat and a fancy cane. This man respected and demanded respect. His skill and knowledge was far ahead of his time. He proved it to us a hundred times. For instance, I broke my thigh and he set it perfectly. I had rheumatic fever, where your body swells up and there is terrible pain in every joint. I came out of it in fine shape. My brother Dolph had yellow jaundice very badly and Dr. Vacari pulled him out of it O.K.
Then Dolph had pleurisy, which necessitated operating between the ribs and inserting two rubber tubes to let the fluid drain in a pan. All this was done in our home with complete success and little fuss. Hospitals in those days were looked down upon and were closely connected with death. This HERO was a man through and through even in making his calls he had his own two passenger cab with a cabman and a beautiful horse. My Dad took a bad fall while at work. He was brought home on a stretcher, but they could not make the turn from the hall into the bedroom so they took him out again and passed him through the front window. This I have never forgotten. Dr. Vacari was called and in several weeks Dad was back to work.
Just about that time Mama started teaching Italian in the Public schools. As I was quite young I attended kindergarten in the morning and went to her class in the afternoon. I was too young to be left at home. I remember it very well. It was a happy classroom. Many years after when people would hear my name, they would ask if I was related to a Mrs. Marzo, teacher of Italian. On answering yes, they would smile, saying she was a good storyteller. She was very witty. Many of these boys and girls became important figures in San Francisco life.
During this period Dad found a job with G. Orsi Company, a large painting contractor. Together with his education and his will to work he became foreman for the outside, which meant handling 20 to 40 men on as many as 15 different jobs. Also, they had to plan for big jobs where the boss would figure at so much a square yard and Dad would figure by practical experience, so many gallons of paint and so many hours and then they would compare figures.
The tenants in the Orsi building did special hand work, however, their income was not too large so they would fall behind in their rent. Mrs. Orsi had me collect the rent every month.
As I grew older the wharf, ships and bay would take up my time as it was only about four blocks to the wharf where sailing ships from all over the world would dock. Everything was free and easy. Walk aboard ship, ride behind a wagon while traveling over those rough stone paved streets was yours. Fisherman unloading fresh fish would dump them into large boxes on the dock. If fish should spill over and fall on the dock it was your privilege to pick it up and walk away with it. One of the most beautiful sights I ever saw was a full rigged ship with every sail up, sail through the Golden Gate Straits without assistance. In most cases a tug would meet the ship out in the ocean and tow it in. This tug business was controlled by the Red Stack Tow Boat Company. I don't know how many tugs they had, as they had different types for various jobs. Some were over 100 feet long and maybe a 25 ft. beam. They were operated by expert seamen as they answered all calls of distress, such as a ship being blown towards shore in a gale or a break down at sea, even a fire at sea. They would answer the call regardless of the weather or time of night. They were our HEROS.
The docks were not too far from our home. It was close for those young boys who jumped ship. Boys from the Atlantic coast, who heard the fantastic stories about San Francisco, would sign-up aboard a sailing ship, sail around the Horn and then desert the ship at San Francisco. They would have no clothes or money. They would then walk to the nearest residential section and beg for food. At some homes they were handed food at the front door. But at 324 Green Street, Mama would invite them in, sit them at the kitchen table, furnish them with tableware and a dinner fit for the family.
Also about this time my brother had the habit of attending the plunges or swimming pools that were housed in elaborate buildings. The dressing rooms were built around the plunge, leaving a four or five ft. passage way around the edge of the pool. One day Camillo was roughhousing with another boy, in this space around the pool. I was an onlooker, however this other boy backed away from Camillo and bumped into me and knocked me, splash into the water with all my clothes on. Camillo took me home where we all sat around a table as it was mealtime. Camillo and Dolph sat on a bench between the table and the wall. However, this day Camillo pushed me in the center of the bench. My mother noticed this and reached out to grab me and pull me out, but her hand felt my wet shoulder and she exclaimed "you're wet". Camillo explained it and I was not scolded but given dry clothes instead. You would think mama was a softy but she wasn't.
There were many children in our neighborhood and many rocks in the streets, so putting the two together it caused trouble at times. Once a big Irish policeman chased me while I yelled and ran toward home. He caught me, but Mama arrived at the front door just about the same time. Mama got hold of me and yanked me away from the policeman, calling him a big lummox and why didn't he arrest men his own size. He let me go.
I am not exaggerating, my parents were unusual as they feared no one and would undertake any problem. My Dad made a lot of money for his boss due to his active mind and powerful body, a true Roman.
My folks had a friend in Los Gatos, not far from San Jose, CA, who must have been highly educated. Their place consisted of 20 acres or more of almost everything, grapes, apples, peaches, apricots, etc. They were very old and according to the ranch hands they must have arrived in California about 1848 or earlier. They did a lot of experimenting by grafting, etc. They had orange trees, in fact they had 2 12 x 12 photographs of the trees loaded with oranges and had the photos colored and framed. We were given both pictures, which hung on our living room wall for years. We would all go down to their ranch for vacation. They were excellent people who also had a nephew named Leo who was also a high class man. They went by the name of Iocco, pronounced Yocco or Eocco. They lived a very carefree happy life. Their ranch was like a Garden of Eden and their behavior likewise.
The Iocco's had a huge hay wagon they kept in the barn. All hay wagons had very high seats. One day I went to the barn and climbed up to the seat and with my foot I released the brake and the wagon began to roll backward until it hit a rut and threw me to the ground. Everyone ran to me. I had hurt myself, but no broken bones.
Also in the high mountains outside of Santa Cruz my parents had a friend named Casella, also of very high character and very friendly. The Casella's grew fancy grapes and shipped them East in thin wooden baskets with a piece of metal around the edge. These baskets were made by hand but young Secondo Casella was educated at the Van Derlyn School of Engineering in San Francisco and invented a machine to make these baskets. It is still in use as of 1956 and may be seen in any market selling tomatoes or other fruit. The grapes they grew were something remarkable in shape and flavor but you could not buy them on the West Coast. While Secundo attended engineering school in San Francisco, he lived with us. The Casella's also had a daughter: Her name was Tessie. Who their people were I do not know. They must have been Roman descendants as they were hard workers and very progressive.
The first school I attended was the Garfield Grammar School and went through the 5th grade. Finally I was promoted to the Hancock School 6th grade. I did well but my sinus trouble caused me to blow my nose and when I did I used all my strength, which caused the kids to giggle and finally burst out in boisterous laughter. I made it ok, but when the teacher saw me reaching for my handkerchief she called "Fernando, you may leave the room". I did, but never went back. I went home and told Mama about it, she spoke to me sweetly and calmly asking me to forget it and return, but I held out, never to return to Hancock. Mama thought she could frighten me by saying, "all right, you don't have to go to school, but you will have to go to work." I immediately said I would go to work and attend Washington High at night. This stunned her as Washington was still further away and I would have to cross the "red light" district and Chinatown at night. Days went by as Mama and Papa talked it over until I settled it by packing my books and off I went to Washington Night School. For some reason my nose did not bother me so much after this.
In the seat behind me was one Vincent Quartararo. The most beautiful boy in town. He wore a big bow tie, had huge eyes, broad smile, and curly hair. He would poke my back with his pencil, for answers. I became so fed up with the pokes that I quickly turned and said "you make me sick". Inasmuch as Vince was teacher's pet, she called to me, "stop that", but in an undertone I again said to Vince "you make me sick". The teacher must have understood this for something else and ordered me to leave the room, I did, but never returned. Again I explained to Mama what happened. She tried hard to have me forget it, but I could not face that teacher again. Mama and Papa continually brought it up as days and weeks went by. Finally dad asked me if I would work in the paint store of his boss. I immediately said yes and the next morning I went along. However they kept after me to return to school. This I did, but I first went to the principal, Miss Nolan, and before I could say a word she put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Fernando you may go back to your room". I did, but as soon as I entered, the teacher ordered me out. When I replied that Miss Nolan said I could return, she came to the door and ordered me out. I went home to again upset the family.
I had nothing to do but loaf around until about 1905. During this period Camillo became acquainted with Dr. Attilio Gianinni, brother of the president of the Bank of Italy. Attilio was very progressive and had an Oldsmobile, the song of which (In My Merry Oldsmobile) was written after this auto. There were no more than 20 cars in San Francisco at the time and no garages. This car was the first model that looked like an auto, but mechanically it was a flop. It had a long one-cylinder engine underneath the body with a chain to drive the back axle. The doctor was disgusted with it as it would break down every time he went out. On meeting Camillo he thought he found someone to keep it in shape. Camillo would take me along to help push. On two occasions the thing broke down so Camillo would go and get his employers horse while I watched the car. Then we hitched the horse to the front end and while I sat and steered the car, Camillo walked alongside driving the horse. At one time the axle broke so Camillo went and got a 2 x 4 about 10 ft. long and his bosses horse. We put the 2 x 4 under the rear axle and hitched the horse to the front axle and while I sat in the driver's seat to steer the car, Camillo walked alongside the horse, driving with the lines in his hands. People on the sidewalk would yell annoying things at us. The horse had a terrible time, as the load was very heavy. We finally gave it up and the doctor actually junked it.
The paint store I worked in was one block long with a basement just as long filled with barrels of linseed oil and white lead. The store was also 16 ft. high, loaded with wallpaper. We also did glazing, especially along Montgomery St., which is the Wall St. of the West. We had a large Chinese trade as Chinatown was only a block away.
Getting back to the paint store, my duties were sweeping the huge floor and dusting every morning. I decorated four front windows every two weeks. I waited on customers, filled bottles with linseed oil or turpentine for the retail trade. I unloaded the cars of oil and wallpaper and made rush deliveries to men on various jobs. I was an expert glasscutter and glazer at 15 years of age.
Mr. and Mrs. Orsi were high flyers and attended many parties, wild one. It was in this way that they got the business they had. It also brought them in contact with the French Restaurants and also houses of very low character, but finished in the most artistic style. Our line of wallpaper was something extraordinary, consisting of Japanese heavy embossed, tough paper and the figures were hand painted. At that time it sold from $2.00 to 3.00 per yard at 30 inches wide. We had a large stock of ingrain paper 30" wide. This paper came in all bright colors. No tints. The method of hanging was not to lap the edges but to butt them without a seam showing. A Mr. Lindburg was our expert paperhanger on this particular item. Also, Lincrusta Walton was very popular for bases in dining rooms or kitchens. This material was almost 3/16" thick but plyable and 28" wide. It was applied by using strong flour paste with molasses and finally given a coat or two of a light colored paint and finally a finish coat of a darker shade of the same paint was applied, however, before this coat dried it was gently wiped off from the high spots. In other words this lincrusta had various designs or figures deeply pressed into it. This material or finish would last for years and years.
I was introduced to the Orsi bookkeeper, Renee Stark. Renee had charge of the whole building. Upstairs were two floors of elaborate apartments for the Orsi's and a flock of tailors and boot makers. The Orsi's had a team and a wagon, to haul rope and ladders. This team was driven by Mr. Gianpolini. Next door was Mr. Carl Lorenzen, of French decent, in charge of the sign shop. The boss had a flashy horse and buggy. He used it for business purposes. When some workman needed a little material to finish the job, they would drop in and it was up to me to set up the rig and make the rush delivery.
Another finish was the cove ceiling, which means there were no corners where the ceiling meets the wall. This cove or curve had about a 12" radius which removed any division line like a corner has. In this case the room would be finished in a pure red, green or yellow and as this color reached the cove the paint was let down some with white and blended until it reached the ceiling where the final color would be a very light pink, that is if the wall were a bright red to start with.
In the most sporting places the ceilings were elaborately decorated so much so that nowhere, Paris included, did they surpass the work of Charles Dorhinz, our artist. The mysterious part is that the more vulgar the business, the more angels were painted on the ceilings. Not only that but they did "relief work" which means that they would make circular lines or borders with colored plaster of Paris squeezed through a tube as a baker would decorate a cake. Everything was perfect, no amateur work. Can you imagine one of these women picking me up and kissing me?<
One day while returning from a delivery I drove through the center of Chinatown which is always busy like those pictures you see of China, very crowded. Chinamen are on and off the sidewalks with poles on their shoulders with a basket on each end. As I drove along I struck a Chinese girl of about 7 years of age. A man yelled and they came from every direction yelling in Chinese, when a big Irish policeman, Mr. Kohearn, showed up.
They took the girl away and Mr. Kohearn got into the buggy with me and had me drive him to the jail at Kearney and Washington Sts. where they entered a charge against me and was told to return at a certain day for trial. The store was only a block away so when I told the boss what happened he became very angry and said I was a bad boy and no good. I walked out and went home telling the family all about it. I was scared stiff. My brother Camillo said for me not to worry as they could not do anything to me. I appeared for trial before Superior Court Judge Morgan without a lawyer and with no one to represent my employer while the Chinaman had Attorney Mack to press charges. While waiting for the trial to start a friend of Camillo's went and whispered to the judge. This friend was Mr. Fitzpatrick a member of the Olympic Club to which Camillo belonged. The trial was called. I sat in the witness chair and told my story. The judge asked me if I ran over the girl. I said no, only the horses forwarding foot struck her and knocked her to the ground, then I stopped immediately. All the time Attorney Mack would pound the table objecting and claiming I was too young to drive such a horse. There was a long closing argument by Attorney Mack and finally Judge Morgan said "I find the defendant not guilty".
I got down from the witness chair and walked out all alone and felt miserable. No job. No school. Mama took advantage of this and spoke to me strongly about going back to school. "Now you can go back to school and play". This went on for several days and then I finally gave in. She cautioned me not to be angry, that sometimes other people make mistakes too. She said she would come along with me to school. This I would not permit! I would go back the following night. She also used the argument that graduation was only two months away. The time came. I packed my books and off I went again. I first went to the principal's office, but Miss Knoll was not in so I went directly to the classroom where I was greeted by hatchet face. She asked what I wanted. I said I came back to school. Her old mug started to show fight and she demanded that I leave. I did. At home my poor Mama was speechless, but she was very gentle and kind as she understood how I felt.
We lived on Green St. between Kearney and Montgomery Sts. The Barbary Coast was located on Pacific St. between Kearney and Montgomery Sts., just 3 blocks south of our home. This was the lowest spot in San Francisco as it was lined with saloons on both sides of the street and blaring music everywhere. These saloons had a dance floor and men (mostly strangers and sailors) would go in for the music and dance with the professional bar girls briefly dressed in fancy colored clothing. These girls would dance and then ask the man to buy them a drink. By prearrangement the bartender would give the customer a regular mixed drink or whiskey and the girls would get tea poured from a whiskey bottle. The men would get drunk while the girls remained sober and finally they would rob the man of everything he had - money, watch, jewelry and then push him out through the small swinging doors on to the sidewalk. At this point the police patrol wagon would come by and haul him off to jail where they had tanks or large cells for this purpose. This condition was well known and quite ordinary. It was known by everyone.
The above behavior was bad but the the "Hypos" were more terrifying as they used morphine by injecting it into their arms below the elbow. In this district it was common to see a sickly frail man walk into a doorway or alley, raise his coat sleeve and take a shot. As long as he had a supply he behaved, but without it he became dangerous as he would do anything to gain cash for more dope when he was out of it.
Chinatown was very interesting, the most important stores were Sing Fat and Hang Far Low. Sing Fat catered to wealthy white visitors to San Francisco. They had the most elaborate gowns with gold embroidered dragons on black silk, also hand carved imported Chinese furniture of every style. However, Chinatown was also a hellhole. All buildings were of red brick of one or two stories with a basement. Steps went from the sidewalk to the basement. Down there everything was sold or made. When the business expanded so they needed more room, they would rent the basement next door, then knock a hole through the brick wall for an entrance. When this became too small they would rent perhaps the adjoining basement and knock a hole or entrance in this wall. This condition would finally enable a person to enter the first basement and zig zag his way through to another street from which he entered. In other words one could get lost down there as you loose all sense of direction.
Inasmuch as these basements had no windows and free from outside noise it was an ideal place to smoke opium. These opium dens were semi dark and along the walls they had bunks three high where a person could lie down and smoke until he fell asleep. This also was very common knowledge as I myself went through them with C.O.D. deliveries without any trouble. So common and popular was this habit that Chinese repairmen would repair the opium pipes in the open on the sidewalk stands made for this purpose. Our most popular customer there was a Chinamen named Mong Tong. The Chinese were great users of gold leaf. We carried it in stock. Mong Tong became very friendly with me, in fact, every Chinese New Year he would present me with ten to fifteen pounds of Chinese candies and nuts from China.
With all this temptation, luxury and gaiety and loose money why was it that I never took just one chance, not once. Not only that but the idea never entered my mind. Now that I look back I ask myself why was it that I never stole at the store where I worked? The store was a block long and the cash register was at the office end. Many sales were made on the Washington St. end, away from the office and cash register. The sales were high - say from 25 cents to $50. Why did I not pocket half of it and then walk to the other end of the store and ring up the other half? No doubt an angel was praying for me as she knew very well what was going on in San Francisco.
Once I did take merchandise from the store on the sneak. We had a large supply of colors in oil in one-pound cans, among these were several cans labeled in German which never sold. They bothered me so that one night I took one home with me. However, Mr. Gianpolini saw me. This rat, had a daughter by the name of Minnie and wanted me to meet her, told the boss. The boss jumped me and wanted to know why I took it and how much I had been taking. I told him the truth and when Dad came I told him what happened. He went directly to the boss and gave him a tongue lashing while I stood there dumbfounded. Nothing was further said, but when I got home that night Dad and I opened the can and found it contained Venetian Red in oil, the cheapest kind of color.
I have mentioned that the paint store had two upper floors. On part of the second floor is where the Orsi's lived in very elaborate quarters and the rest of this floor and the one above was occupied by tailors and boot makers. These tenants manufactured for down town stores, but their income was not too great, so they often fell behind on their rent. Mrs. Orsi was German Swiss and very friendly with me as she called me Ferdinant as this is the German pronunciation, also I later found out that Fernando is neither Spanish nor Italian as it originated in Germany as Ferdinant. Mrs. Orsi was a poor rent collector so every month I made my trip upstairs to collect and believe it or not as long as I was there they paid me without delay.
As I was now out of work since my arrest and trial, 1904 came along with the news that my brother Dolph who was also working at Orsi's took on a large painting contract at Martinez, CA, about 30 miles from San Francisco. This job was a huge hotel, made from all wood. It was two stories high with shingle roof and all inside finished in wood. A friend of Dolph's and I went along and the first thing we did was to rent an empty store for our paints and headquarters. I wish I knew how many gallons of paint were consumed on this job as never before have I seen so much new wood. They made good on the job so they thought to remain in Martinez, but the town was too small to support two painting contractors. The other outfit was run by the Ware Brothers who were old timers.
Dolph and I finally went to Sonoma, CA where my parents moved to while we were in Martinez. My parents bought a hotel right in town, with a saloon on the ground floor and a huge garden in the rear. ; Here is where my sister enters the picture as she met a young man by the name of Joseph L. Enfield, who lived next door from the hotel. Joe did carpenter work as he followed his Dad who was a very fine cabinetmaker doing everything by hand.
I slept on the second floor and in April 1906 I found myself running downstairs and out into the garden. When I gained my senses, I found myself together with the guests in deep fright. It was an earthquake and what woke me up was a crucifix of some 12 inches high fell and hit me on my head from where it hung on the wall above my pillow. We were all dressed in our nightclothes and afraid to go back in for fear of another quake. ; Finally news came through that San Francisco was destroyed. Papa and Mama were worried as Camillo was still living in San Francisco, but no news from him, however, he did show up the next day. He gave us the news that our home at 324 Green St. was burnt to the ground. The damage in Sonoma was bad, but no one killed. After five days I got through to San Francisco by going through El Verano to Oakland and finally across the bay to San Francisco. I had a big 5 x 7 plate camera with which I took pictures and returned to Sonoma the same night. Camillo and Dolph went back sometime later.
My folks finally sold the hotel and bought 7 acres of fine land beside the Sonoma Creek. Joe Enfield built our home there together with a huge barn and 2 stables. Then they put in about 500 chickens, bought a horse, buggy and small wagon, also a Jersey cow. Here my parents enjoyed themselves, not with the chickens, horse or buggy, but with the cow. This animal brought them back to their childhood and like at home this cow was something special. They kept her clean and well fed and every time before milking my mother would have a little conversation with her, running her hand over her, singing some Alpine tune. Years, many years later I read where a professor at California Davis School said music and singing before milking was profitable as the cows would let down more milk.
The folks did not take to chickens so Dad went back to house painting and I became his paperhanger as I was now 19 years of age. In between jobs I would do some signs and paint busses or buggies in the big barn. This work kept me busy as all around us were small towns such as Sonoma, El Verano, Glen Ellen and many summer resorts, which needed signs all the time. I liked papering and I became quite speedy. I did a 10 x 12 room in a half day and ceiling in 2 hours, which was the time figured by the boss in San Francisco.
It was about this time that Tillie and Joe Enfield got married.
Joe Ryan, the department sheriff at Sonoma ran a stage between Sonoma and El Verano to bring in the mail. This stage passed our home and was driven by Emil Cornelius, a young man with huge forearms and fists, known as the lightweight champ of Sonoma, Napa and Petaluma. I became very friendly with him as I rode the stage free of charge to town. Inasmuch as Sonoma was only a mile away, I opened a sign and buggy paint shop there and became one of the town. The boys I went with were James Modini, Fet Keiser, Neil Trudgen, Cal Emparan, Bill Chase, George Gages and George Lowell. George was a cherry grower and owned a high powered locomoblie, 5 passenger, on which we would take in surrounding towns. It was here that I had my best times, they were all good boys full of the good devil.
Papa and Mama seemed to be content, but Sonoma Valley to me was growing smaller. On one of his visits home, Dolph said he and another party were going into the mail order business in San Francisco and asked if I would like to go along. This was a little too sudden for me so I stayed put with my buggies and signs.
All during this period I became very well acquainted with one Mr. Weber, the owner of the largest butcher shop and slaughterhouse in the valley. Very prosperous, but he drank. He used to come to our saloon and buy drinks for everybody as we were good meat buyers. In time I became acquainted with Mrs. Weber, their three daughters, and Henry, the young son. As time went by Weber became a confirmed drunk, leaving the business at times to be guided by Louise the oldest daughter, but with continual interference from her father. Everybody in town saw the business and family slowly sinking, such as no meat stock in the store, the help frequently leaving and Louise standing outside of the shop, which was next door to Martin Muldry's saloon, with tears in her eyes waiting go grab her father and take him home. It became so that no other saloon in town would sell Weber a drink, but Martin continued on.
We had an expert carriage builder in Sonoma by the name of J. Fochetti & Son, who employed a young man whom we called Paul. Paul was well built and very strong and of my age. It was his duty to swing a heavy sledge hammer in welding the steel tires on wooden wheels, as power hammers were not known then. One afternoon while I was walking on the sidewalk and approaching the Weber market there stood Louise with handkerchief in hand. Our eyes met and something fired something within me. I approached her asking if her father was in Martins and she said he had been in there since morning. Another glance and there was Paul walking toward me. I left Louise and turned to Paul inviting him in to Martins for a drink as none of our group ever went in there. I finally got him to go in the place. It was crowded with bums and just as if Henry Weber was guided he asked me to join him in a drink. As always there was a little argument over who should buy. I let him have his way, asking Paul to join us. We three drank whiskey all from the same bottle. When this was over I returned the treat. We spoke for a while and then walked out.
There must have been something, a guiding hand over Louise for she was right outside of the saloon door when we walked out. She said, "Did you see my father take a drink?" In unison Paul and I said "yes, whiskey".
Sonoma, a very, very old town was up on its laws which included one that could revoke the license of any saloon which sold alcoholic beverages to an intoxicated person. Louise know this law by heart, but how was she to find some one to swear to this offense. She couldn't. But as I have said, something like mental telepathy took place between Louise and I for we had a complete understanding without a word being said about the plan.
Several days after, Louise filed with the city Fathers, who notified Paul and I to appear at the City Hall. On the appointed date we were all there, Paul also. Martin Mulberry had attorney Frank Sprague to defend him. During the time that we waited for the hearing, I was on pins and needles as I feared someone would buy off Paul or send him on a trip so you could imagine how relieved I was to see the confirming witness present.
The case was called. I took the stand first in relating what happened. Attorney Sprague tried to discredit us in trying to prove we did not pay attention to what Martin poured into Weber's glass. The idea was that Martin always had a special bottle of a non-alcoholic beverage but Paul and I stuck to our story. What made a good case was that we both drank 3 times and we naturally noticed the liquor poured 3 times from the same bottle. After being in business for 40 years or more, Martin Muldry's saloon doors were closed forever.
Now a very shameful condition presented itself. A condition that existed before Christ and that is the snubbing by certain people who put us down as squealers, stool pigeons, etc. However, the majority were for us as we were complimented by many. Not one dime or favor was received by Paul or I.
It is humiliating how things happen, as now we may turn to my sporting events. As you have read, Mr. Emil Cornelius, the stage driver was a prize fighter on the side. Also you will remember my riding his stage from home to town. On one of these trips he said that there was a prize fight coming up soon where he would meet some fighter from the outside in the ring at the Sonoma Pavilion in the Plaza and asked if I would partake in one of the 4 round preliminaries. I assured him that I would, but can you guess who my opponent would be - Paul. This was quite a joke, but they were serious and Paul thought nothing of it.
The night of the fight came along. Paul was on the spot with one fight ahead of us. Our turn came and we both stripped to the waist, removing our shirts and shoes, but leaving our pants on. The bell sounded and we sparred for a while and then we went to it. I did not train and my breathing burnt like fire while Paul worked very hard every day he seemed to get along better, but in the 3rd round I caught him with all the power in my right hand, square on his left eye. It puffed up and closed immediately. We went through the 4th round at a milder pace and at the end I was awarded the fight. Paul, whose family name was never known, packed up and left town never to be seen again.
While we were still at the hotel, I spent a lot of time in the hills or mountains north of town. I would say that the very beginnings of these hills were about 3 blocks north of town. Back perhaps 5 miles you would find wood choppers cutting oak trees and block makers, who cut square stones for San Francisco streets.
I had the whole country to myself and where it ended no one knew, perhaps the Oregon line. The wood and stone cutters were queer people, that is, they ran away from civilization. They lived alone in one room shacks with no one to talk to, not even a neighbor cutter. This group would come to town and buy their provisions, also taking a drink or two, which brought them to the Hotel where I would meet them. I had a 16-guage double barrel shotgun which I would use to hunt quail in the hills and when noon time came along I would drop in and visit these woodsmen. Without any formalities they would invite me to lunch and at one time a gallon jug of wine was put on the table. As we ate Rochin would pour the wine and finally I was under the influence of Claret. I got up, said farewell, and made my way down the mountain, fumbling and stumbling, with a string of robing hanging from my side and the gun over my shoulder. (It was against the law to shoot robins.)
I made it to the hotel where my mother greeted me with a smile and put me to bed. I must have been about 17 years of age. Sonoma, as you may know, was under the rule of Spain, like the rest of the state, that is, in early history. Spain never did a thing to rebuild, so Mexico took it over. My friend's (Dal Emparan) great grandfather, General Don Vallejo was in command of the entire state, with headquarters at Sonoma, for Mexico. One day a band of about 20 armed Americans showed up in Sonoma where they met the general who willingly turned the whole state over to them and proclaimed it a new nation free from all connection with Spain or Mexico. The Republic of California. They made a flag, white with a big bear in the center, a star in one corner and a red stripe along the bottom. This took place in the town Plaza in front of our hotel in 1848. The same flag pole still stands there at this time (1957). Also, my friend Dal Emparan still lives there as I received a long letter from him last Christmas 1956 and 1957.
Going back to the ranch home where I had my sign and buggy paint shop, the creek alongside was about 75 feet wide and 20 feet deep. In the summer time there was always a flow of clear fresh water of about 100 gallons a minute, but in winter the water would fill up to the top. In the summer time the Sonoma Creek produced a swimming pool about 5 feet deep and 20 feet wide and about 50 feet long. On one side there was a hard clay bank from which you could jump or dive. A perfect swimming pool. Many winter nights we sat up late checking the height of the water so as to be ready to leave in case it went over, but it never did. The creek had large trees on each side. A most beautiful place.
Time was marching on and the idea of going back to San Francisco was growing stronger. Finally I left and joined Dolph in the mail order business, known as the "Socita Coporativa Italiana", on Commercial St. between Landsome and Montgomery Sts. They were doing pretty well, but inasmuch as the catalog mentioned Legal and Medical Service, the farmers outside thought we furnished it free. This caused a lot of unnecessary correspondence and sick people were coming to the office.
Also, this partner took money from some people and pretended to sell stock or shares in the corporation to others. This was illegal and before it got too far Dolph sold out and I went to Carl Lorenzen who gave me work immediately.
While I was working for Carl, I was told that W.P. Fuller and Co. was looking for a sign painter. I applied at the mail office where I was told the job was at their plant at South San Francisco, where I met Fred Levey, in charge of the plant and 500 workers. My job was to do the sign work and test every batch of paint they made before canning it. Also, pass on competitive samples sent in by the stores.
San Francisco was too far away so I moved to the Hotel Linden in South San Francisco. It was run by Charles Hoffelburger. This was a wild place. No dancing, but open gambling, music and a bar. The guests were all working people. I couldn't stand it so I commuted back and forth to San Francisco. The only person in the entire plant to do so. I arrived at work at 8:30 a.m. and left at 4:30 p.m.
Before going to the mail order business, Dolph was the outside salesman for A. Giurlani Bro., where Camillo kept the books. Dolph's territory covered San Diego, Los Angeles, Portland and Seattle. He discovered that the wholesaling of imported food stuffs was done by local retail stores such as Piuma, Vignolo and Gracomini. He took the matter up with Camillo and in a short time Dolph and I were on our way to Los Angeles by train to open up a strictly wholesale house. We opened in Davies Warehouse at 2nd and Central in the year 1913, with goods shipped from Giurlani's in San Francisco and in the meantime orders were placed in France and Italy for direct shipments by water to Los Angeles. The business had a healthy growth and we moved into a larger place (50 x 150) on 6th St., 3 doors east of Alameda St. where the wholesale market was located. Here we processed Greek olives, a ripe olive with the bitter juice removed. They looked like big black raisins. Dolph stayed inside and I went out looking for ripe olives. Small shipments came in from all over Southern California, but Dolph ran across a huge grove of over 100 acres at El Toro. We bought the olives on the trees at so much a ton and it was up to me to find pickers, which I did, in Santa Ana, 8 miles away.
Someone had to manage the job, so I went down to El Toro and stayed until the picking was over. The owner of the grove suggested that I live with Mrs. Munger who had a room for me. I called on her and she took me in immediately. She had a little girl, Marie, about 7 years and a boy, Boyd, about 8 years. We got along well for a few days until Friday night when Cynthia, Ester, Edith and Ruth came home from teaching. All swell happy girls. I was dumbfounded. It was a madhouse as they were all single. The trouble was that I had their room as they all came home on weekends. After several weeks I fell for Ester, but I was too late as Gilbert Kramer of Placentia, son of the most wealthy man in Orange County already had her. They married and had 2 children, but Gilbert passed away in 1956.
We needed more help in the wholesale business, so Joe and Tillie came down from Sonoma with Leo, Adele and Betty. We all lived together on Thomas St. Joe was a very fun type of guy. He could do almost anything and do it well. Personally, we never had any trouble. Macaroni was being shipped to us from the San Diego Macaroni Co. in carloads. The time was now about 1915 and war broke out in Europe. All future shipments of food items were stopped. This condition brought our import business to almost a standstill when Dolph met a Mr. Stevenson who had a tomato cannery at Placentia, California. Word was passed on to the Giurlani's and they purchased it, land and buildings.
We moved to Placentia, all of us, and put the plant in order for the coming canning season. New machinery, boilers, etc., was purchased. We did can and ship many cars of canned tomatoes but the type of tomato was the stone variety. This was an excellent fresh shipping tomato but went to pieces in the heat of canning. This meant that our entire pack was of the standard grade, which brought less money than the solid pack grade. The farmers were not interested in planting canning tomatoes as they received much more money for the fresh shipping type.
We thought it over and decided that we should keep the cannery going. Santa Ana had a large cannery, but it was for fruit only. I was to go to San Jose, the heart of the tomato canning industry, and get acquainted with the equipment and methods used. This was late in 1915. When I arrived in San Jose, I stopped at a hotel between the Depot and the Hunt Bros. Cannery. I got a room on the third floor. At Hunt Bros. they were overhauling the machinery and they put me to work right away. I worked there for several months until one morning at about 4 a.m. I was awakened by horrible pains in my tummy. I partly dressed and made for the door. I couldn't wait for the elevator so I rushed down the stairs. No one was at the night clerk's desk, so I kept on running and I slipped and fell on the sidewalk. I must have remained there for a few moments when a taxi cab driver came along and picked me up and put me on the floor of his cab. Not a word did he ask nor was I in any condition to ask any questions. He drove like mad, as my body was ill placed on the floor and rolled from side to side as he drove around corners. The cab stopped and I heard a women's voice say "No, we can't take him here as we need an order from his doctor". The cabbie put up good arguments but he could not put them over. Finally the woman's voice said "Why don't you take him to the Sister's Hospital". The cabbie said it was too far away. I finally found out that I was at the Santa Clara County Hospital.
Nothing could be done for me at the County Hospital. I didn't say a single word nor was I spoken to. Finally the cab started and again I rolled back and forth as we turned corners. We arrived at a place where another woman's voice began to ask questions. "What's his name, where does he live, has he a doctor." The poor cabbie must have looked dumb for all his answers were "I don't know I picked him up on the sidewalk". The door opened and there stood a sister in the dim morning light. She looked at me saying "How do you feel?" I replied that I had pain in my abdomen and told her I was from Southern California. She ordered a stretcher on rollers and had me placed in bed. She never asked if I was Catholic, Protestant or Jew nor if I was in a position to pay. After taking my history at about 8 a.m. a doctor F.C.Gerlac came to my bed and made or gave me an examination. He made it known to me right then that it was my appendix and that it should come out now, without delay. I gave him my consent and was then rolled into surgery without the time to notify anyone. The next thing I knew when I was back in my bed was that a nun was on one side holding my arm while a male nurse was on the other side holding my other arm. I had been fighting the I.W.W., a radical organization that went by the name of Independent Workers of the World.
After two weeks or so, I was able to leave the hospital. I paid my hospital bill, then went to Dr. Gerlac and paid him. I finally went to the Taxi Co., located my hero and made good with him. Lastly I went to the hotel, packed my clothes and returned to Placentia, Ma and Pa and Joe.
Everybody concerned with the cannery was down hearted as the end was in sight. We never operated it again. In the meantime I helped Dad at painting and papering when the U.S.A. finally got into World War I. I was 29 years of age and subject to the draft. I signed up on June 5, 1917 and waited and waited for a call until I went to the enlistment office and signed for immediate duty. They placed me in the U.S. Air Service, which was a branch of the Signal Corp as they had a terrific campaign for this new service.& My folks took it well, but my Dad put his hand on my shoulder and grasping my right hand said, "I am proud to have a son in the army." Those who are old enough to remember this moment realize the licking the French and British were taking. The speed in which the U.S.A. acted saved both countries and the world.
It took about a week before my orders came to leave. I was to go to Kelley Field at San Antonio, Texas. Dolph drove me to Los Angeles after a warm farewell from Pa and Ma. There was such a mob at the Southern Pacific Depot at 5th and Central Ave. in Los Angeles. All young men, mostly younger than I, full of the devil, with parents weeping and kissing them goodbye. The train finally began to roll and a Brass Band started playing. Tears came to my eyes, why, I did not know. We made friends easily. One was Sam Griffiths of Bishop, California, also Ralph McGee, an Inglewood realtor. We soon found out that things would not be too rosy. For one thing, the government put such force and action to get started that it caused trouble. The rails were so crowded that we were always held up on a sidetrack to permit Western or Eastern trains to pass with loads of field artillery, food and everything pertaining to the army. Our sleeping was done in our seats. Meals were cooked in the baggage cars and served at a side track. We had water in the cars when we started but soon ran dry. One of the cars had a hot box so we had to wait for another car to arrive. The cars were all very old and from parts of the country we never heard of. We were dirty and hot, traveling through the desert country and finally coughing and sneezing began to show up. This was a mess and it seemed that we would never reach San Antonio. By the time we got to the siding at Kelly field, fully 50% of the boys were very sick with fever or coughing. What a surprise. There were ambulances at the siding to pick up the sick and I was one of them. They crowded us in and started off with a bang. We went over unpaved roads cut with hard dry ruts, no pavement which caused us to be thrown from side to side. We finally reached the hospital which consisted of a temporarily built, one story wooden building. This was something for our eyes to see. There were plenty of light, long rows of cots neatly covered with white sheets. Floors were spick and span and there was a group of sweet nurses. We undressed right there and went to bed extremely happy. The the nurses fitted us with cheesecloth masks to prevent our coughing and sneezing from spreading germs. We were also told that a great part of the Atlantic States was suffering from this disease. It was like heaven compared with the train trip as everything necessary was here. We even had entertainers come in and sing and play.
I finally went into a coma for several days and during this period they packed our clothes and sent them to our homes. When Mama received them she went into a panic. They were loaded with sand and dust. I had not been able to write to her yet and she had no idea where I was. She finally got in touch with the Army Headquarters but they could not tell her where I was. She wrote Headquarters in San Francisco and finally Washington D.C. No one could tell her where I was. It was some two weeks after my arrival at San Antonio when the nurse brought me my first mail and now it was the first time I knew what was going on. I immediately wrote Mama and told her what had happened, then about a month later she received from San Francisco Army Headquarters my correct address.
When I was in shape, I was turned back over to the army and allotted my sleeping quarters, etc. I was sent to aviation school. This consisted of about 200 boys with about 30 to an instructor. My instructor was named Lt. Delano, a very fine type of man conscripted from some machine manufacturing company in Cincinnati, Ohio. We were taught why an aeroplane flew, why we should be extra cautious in our work. This lasted two months and then we received orders to pack and entrain for the West Coast. We were of the opinion that we were to be shipped from some Pacific Port as the submarine sinkings by the Germans in the Atlantic reached an alarming point. Where did we end up going? Back to San Diego, California where a new advanced flying field known as Rockwell Field, was being promoted for combat service. This meant that this new field would be for those who already had their cadet training and were not commissioned officers. In other words the men who passed their training here were given a Lieutenants rating and were shipped overseas to do battle in wire, wood, and cloth machines. My duties were to give the ships the last inspection on the field before its first flight. This meant checking wing angle, vertical and horizontal stabilizers, rudder, rudder bar and joy stick. During this time, I met many fine men who were a credit to our Air Force and among those fine men was Roy Teernistra, chief test pilot who rated only sergeant. It was he who took the plane from me and gave it its first test, which meant putting it through every known flight maneuver. He would go up yonder with an enemy ship in mind and then go all through the battle motions to down the enemy. I would become very familiar with these maneuvers as he would take me up with him. Although Roy was a very fine man, he always was sort of moody due to the fact that the Air Service would not grant him a Commission and the reason for this was that he had hardly any schooling, was a native of Holland, spoke poor English and was only 5'4" tall. Roy was one of the original firsts in flying and was connected with the Christoferson Brothers and Art Smith who would use fire and sparks in his loops and dives at various flying shows.
Some months before victory a plane came down straight as an arrow from the heavens and crashed head on in the center of the flying field. The sirens sounded, the warning flags went up, ambulances dashed out and who did they find crushed to a pulp among twisted wire, wood and cloth, my friend, Roy Teernistra.
No plane could have caused this without some management from the pilot. A plane correctly rigged almost flies itself. In other words, if a plane came straight dow it would have to be put in this position. It was my opinion that Roy took his own life. A hearing was always held after every crash, inasmuch as I had the final say on every ship that went up after assembly, I was not called to testify, which confirms my opinion.
The Air Force was connected with the Army Signal Corp, however, there was jealousy between the boys that served with the flying side and those who followed signaling. In my case, I never served KP, latrine duty, guard duty, or Company Police nor did I stand retreat. I did have to stand reveille as we had to be checked for anyone going A.W.O.L. This put me in a class of my own which caused some noses to turn up although I only rated a Corporal. The Air Force was a good experience for me as it was really the birth of aviation. The speed of flight was about 45 mph with the early Curtis NJ type. The De Haviland went about 100 mph. We also had an English type of ship and French Fighting Squads of higher speeds. All these ships were equipped with machine guns mounted over the hood and the mode of firing was to turn the ship in the direction of the enemy, but the trick was to get behind and above him and then open fire. The boys had to go through long training. This aerial fighting was a treat for those on the ground as the stunts pulled off by the firing planes were extremely graceful. It was not long after my enlistment that our country surpassed France in the air as our planes were now equipped with 2 machine guns and a gunner, larger motors, more speed and more ships.
As I was only a hundred miles from home, I went home every Saturday afternoon until Monday morning. This was a break as I lived in tents all my army life.
Victory in Europe came with a bang and the whole Field went wild over the news. The band came out playing and the boys got behind it singing and marching in disorder all over the flying field. A week or so later the boys began asking for their discharge papers but the commanding officer (Burwell) delayed it as they wanted as many men as they could get to remain in the new branch. General Doolittle and General Spartz received their training at Rockwell Field.
Home in Placentia, what was I to do as the whole country was in a peculiar frame of mind. Boys coming home didn't have jobs or pay checks. While waiting for something to happen, I went to the ear, nose and eye hospital as my nose was bothering me. Dr. Jesberg examined me and told me I was born with a partly closed right nostril. An operation, cutting some of the bone away freed my breathing. After all these years I now found out what caused my trouble in school.
Conditions finally adjusted and I went back to Davies Warehouse representing R.J. Ronan Co. of Brooklyn, New York, who manufactured colors in oil. My office was on the Central Avenue side, 3 doors from the corner of Second St. At the corner was Knech Co., a coffee and tea agent who employed a young lady by the name of Athleen Hoskins.