AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A CALIFORNIAN
By Charles R. Lyser
In December 1906, eight months after the Earthquake, at Children's Hospital in San Francisco it seems a squalling newly born male baby was keeping his fellow sojourners from enjoying their customary peace and quiet. Right outside the room of a pretty, brown-eyed just become mother of 19, two nurses were discussing with vehemence the nerve-wracking noise coming from that certain crib in the nursery, ''and do you know who the little brat is?" the gentle mother overheard. Derisively came the answer "It's that Treasure."
Fortunately for me "'Treasure" was only a temporary name until it was decided that I was to take my father's first name and Ralph after my mother's brother for my second. Mother shared her room with a Mrs. Furlong, wife of a U.C. specialist in paleontology. She just had her first, a baby girl named Edna and their friendship lasted many years. Mr. Furlong was bright and conscientious but sadly for an intellectual he had allowed responsibilities such as caring for his sister Madeline to get in the way of attaining a college degree. Such would not be the case for Edna who was given every encouragement and became an honor botany graduate. They seemed a happy family. They had another daughter Dorothy and on a small income the Furlongs with Aunt Madeline were up the street neighbors during the early years in Berkeley.
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"3018 Fulton" was a pretty large house even in those days. The 100 x 50 ft. lot was fenced on the 2 sides and back with various nondescript boards and in front with pickets. As you opened the gate a wide date palm tree greeted you on the left while on your right 2 snowball trees were set precisely in the center of each half of the lawn. I forgot to mention the acacia tree set in the gutterboard area between the sidewalk and street. In the spring it dropped zillions of little yellow balls which I had to sweep off the sidewalk.
A full-sized concrete-floored basement made it necessary to climb 20 or so stairs to reach the main floor. The front door had a large oval plate glass window with a curtain and then when you were admitted you hung your hat and overcoat on a combination rack and mirrors on your left. All floors were tongue and groove - pine not hardwood - and most rooms had a large rug. You gained entrance to the dining room at your left by sliding the huge redwood door that hid in the partition wall. A chandelier was suspended from the ceiling and this supplied the light for meals and studying or reading. A medium-sized fireplace supplied the only heat in that large house except for the kitchen where we would sometimes light the oven winter mornings. A heavy swinging door (I think now what a hazard!) let you into the kitchen-pantry complex. We never had a refrigerator or ice box and a cupboard with screened vents to the outside kept food "cool" until it was consumed in the immediate future.
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In those days food made up a much larger portion of the family budget than is the case today and I well remember mother making her selections with care and then the grocery clerk would make up her order. We had no automobile until I was 18 so streetcars were used except when "bikes" or wagons did the job. Downtown Oakland was a great place for bargains and sometimes mother would take me on one of her frenetic forays to the Oakland "Free Market". I well remember a time when mother ordered some meat and then after it was wrapped she sensed she wasn't quite the bargainer she thought and walked away to my extreme discomfiture. Another time she and I walked into a used furniture store which had an entrance on each of two streets. Mother found a chest of drawers and began a furious bargaining session with the clerk. He would not accept her offer so we left. After trying a few more stores we rounded the corner and unwittingly entered the first store by another entrance. She found a chest of drawers and sought a clerk with whom to do battle over the price when the amused clerk said: "Madam you were just here a few minutes ago trying to buy this same chest!"
Dad used to go bargain hunting on his own and I can remember the well-done figbar ends in huge bags he would bring home.
Getting back to "3018" and if you turned right instead of left as you came through the front door you could open two large sliding doors and enter the living room. Here also a chandelier
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early teens I raised rabbits although before that time Mother had a few chickens. Mr Schlusser, across the street had a livery stable uptown on Shattuck Avenue and Dwight Way and I have a hazy recollection of his having a horse in a small stable in his back yard. A horse would draw the milk wagon and I well remember the milkman calling "whoa" and "giddap" as he went from door to door not once getting into the driver's seat down the whole block.
Automobiles were not numerous in those days and summer evenings we would play in the street such games as Prisoners' Base, Kick the Can and Run Sheep Run. A vacant lot was our playground for years. We played baseball and once dug a 6 foot square hole for a "fort", which we had to cover up soon after. There were seasons for this and seasons for that. During top season we acquired a skill that enabled us to win an opponent's top by knocking it out of a ring with your own top which had to keep on spinning in the process.
Dad was a mining engineer and as gold mines were not prevalent in the Berkeley hills in those days Dad was obliged to leave his little family consisting in those early years of Mother, Ruth 2 years my junior, Herbert 5 years younger than I and myself. When practical he would send for us and we would spend a summer or an indefinite 6 or 8 months in the oddest places imaginable. Our family meals of breakfast and lunch were usually eaten in the little shack where we lived. Dinner we enjoyed at our own table at the mining camp "cookhouse". I must have been 4 or 5 when we joined Dad at a little mining camp near Georgetown in the Sierras. One incident stands out above all others here and that was the camp coming down with ptomaine poisoning. Mother was highly imaginative but what
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follows is pretty close to facts. In telling about this later Mother related that Dad had to exercize his authority in no squezy [sic] manner’ to prevent the miners from lynching the cook! Mother herself became extremely ill and I remember distinctly how she called me to her bedside and had me promise always to be a good boy if she died. In latter years I used to "kid" her about this all of which goes to show how despicable children are. Another forgettable memory was being ravenously hungry and feasting on a huge bowl of cornflakes, canned milk and sugar all made into atmosphere and class by being served on light colored oilcloth of interesting, distinctive aroma.
When I was 7 plus Dad had been away for almost a year superintending a gold mine in Southern Nevada not too distant from the present Hoover Dam. One fine day in late spring Mother leased "3O18", rounded up her brood of 3 and started an intrepid journey to the Techatticup Mine in the desolate Colorado Desert. We took the big S.P. electric train to Oakland where we boarded the romantic steam train. We had a Victor phonograph which had a large horn (detachable) and of course played the old 78s. It had to be handcranked for each record. Mother shipped the body or carriage of the phonograph on ahead and I was delegated to take charge of the horn! Even in 1913 this must have been an odd picture of a little mother boarding a train with 3 little children the oldest of which carrying a phonograph horn. But I remember no incidents to show that this was not the customary thing to do.
Thrills beyond worlds, we were to sleep that first night on the train! Ruth, my 5˝ year old sister had never seen negroes. As the big, jovial negro porter made up our berths we all watched fascinated. When he was about to lift Ruth to the upper she screamed "Mama-a-a don't let that dirty man touch me!!" Mother's extreme embarrassment was
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assuaged partially by the porter's hearty laugh.
My attention span must have been close to a moron's because as the scenery became one of cacti, mesquite brush and to me utter desolation I began to pester Mother with "When are we goin'ta get there" "Ma when are we goin'ta get there?" (This repeated every minute on the minute). We arrived at Needles where we rested and refreshed in a tiny hotel, an oasis with a green lawn out in back and habitat of a pet desert turtle, my first sight of this interesting and fairly numerous denizen of the desert. Here we changed from the regular train to the narrow gauge which was to carry us from Needles to Searchlight. This line was nicknamed the "Slim Princess" and its employees were jovial and unworried about life in general or schedules in particular. Dad had written Mother that the train crew had been known to stop the train and go out to shoot a jackrabbit or two if the train was too early. About half way to Searchlight I made the sad discovery that the phonograph horn had been left behind at Needles. Then as Mother was in sort of a trance from worry over the horn, Herbert found a $10.00 bill in Mother's purse and putting it carefully in Ruth's hat he threw both out the window just before Mother was able to retrieve same! Frantically she called the conductor. "Stop the train; oh please stop the train", she pleaded "my baby just threw out sister's only hat and a $10.00 bill!" The conductor took out his watch and after studying it carefully he answered in a kindly, understanding tone; "Lady, we’re 15 minutes late today so I had better let her go on; but we we’ll stop on the return trip and pickup your hat and the money. Three days after we arrived at
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the mine the U.S. Mail included one phonograph horn in which was stuffed one baby's or rather one little girl's hat. The $10 bill was not included and Mother figured it had been blown far away to be found years later by some grizzled old prospector who would make good use of it for what was in those days a pretty fair "grubstake".
We arrived at Searchlight, a small mining camp town in the middle of desert desolation and we rode in our first automobile a touring car, the make I did not know, with no top that I can remember. From Searchlight we arrived at Nelson which was no more than a tiny shack consisting of the post office and store, two other shacks we could call "saloons" and a few miscellaneous living quarter shacks here and there. There was no road yet between Nelson and the mine (except for a long back route on which our baggage was being taken) so we hiked from Nelson over a mile or longer trail to the mine. Wild flowers and flowering cacti were rampant and I flitted around elated at the beauty and variety - until I got some painful choya needles in my hand.
For 15 months we lived in this fascinatingly desolate valley. Maybe it was a half mile wide from north to south. Our family living was done in a tiny shack-tent complex set on a raise on the north side. Across the valley from us was the mine part way up the hillside with its tunnel and ore dump. Below was the camp cookhouse, miners' shacks and cabins scattered here and there and a barn of sorts for old Dick the big, white gentle gelding that was used for getting the mail from Nelson and occasionally to fetch water from neighboring mining camps. Water was a precious commodity
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and how Mother ever got enough for keeping us and our clothes clean, I shall never know. From our campsite set on the north side of the valley on a gently sloping hill we could gaze south across the "wash" and note beehive activity at the mine and cookhouse. To the east the terrain gradually lowered for 6 or 8 miles to the Colorado River and then gradually a broad mass of rough, rugged treeless hills and mountains presented a never-to-be-forgotten panorama of fascinating, stark desolation. To our west were huge jagged crags and hillocks of exciting browns and reds.
Between the tent where Dad and Mother slept with the tiny children, and the little cabin where we ate there was a space of 6 feet. A mattress on the ground here constituted my boudoir for most of the time. One morning early I was awakened by the whimpering of two puppies in the cabin. Ruth was overjoyed with hers and named it "Star" and mine, part collie and shepherd, I called "Gypsy" after a book I had just read and borrowed from a neighboring camp, entitled Gypsy The Talking Dog. Herbert was not old enough to consider pets but a kitten was obtained for him, just in case.
We were extremely happy with our puppies and then came sadness. Star was bitten by a poisonous creature, probably a snake and got so bad Dad felt he must put him out of his misery so he put him in the cabin (of all places) and with a canvas over him so he would not see the poor puppy he put him to sleep with a bullet. One night I was awakened by pitiful mewing from Herbert's kitten. It had wandered into a mess of choya burrs and was so frightfully enmeshed that it was put to sleep also.
School was out of the question for me as there was no school. Mother had occasional lesson periods for me but as she was not too proficient in arithmetic this part of my education was
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somewhat neglected. What I lost in formal education I gained in experience and youthful adventures. Gypsy and I would set out and explore the valley and even visit a mining camp over the hill. One distasteful duty I did have though was to sit and read to my little brother each day at noon until he fell asleep when I could go hiking off with Gypsy to my joy and relief. As I remember now Herbert wasn't all bad; he just enjoyed my discomfiture at having to be an unwilling baby sitter. To me he was the devil incarnate for invariably when I believed him to be in the embrace of Morpheus and gingerly started to take leave I would be jolted into reality by a raucus "Ya-a-a; where you goin'. Come back!"
I was no angel either. Ruth was my "fall guy''. I used to concoct highly imaginative stories and told her in all seriousness that on the preceeding night she and I had visited Heaven. We had talked to God and he had given us all kinds of delicious things to eat. But the catch was that God didn't want people remembering all of this but somehow I had the inner track with him so I could tell exactly the next day all that transpired! Ruth was all in favor of these nightly excursions and [tried] mightily but ineffectually to relive the experience.
Ike was a big, wizened, tough and gentle sheriff of the county. He had married an Indian woman and along with the children they had he found himself chief of a small tribe of relations who had come to live with him. I remember hiking to Nelson, buying some candy at the little store and then taking it over to the Indian children. I thought I might have found some playmates but somehow
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I didn't "relate" and after a few glances and somewhat astonished at seeing two old squaws smoking clay pipes in the back of the huts I hiked on. Some of the old Indians had some eye disease and were going blind and Mother was very sad about this but Dad said nothing could be done.
The teamster who with about 6 or 8 if I remember correctly sturdy horses used to bring in food, supplies and equipment from Searchlight. His name was Mr. Cox and he was a jovial, red bearded bachelor of 30 odd years who referred to himself as the Mormon Prince. I was crazy about him. He would let me climb up on the high driver's seat alongside him when he drove into camp. One day I found out from Dad that Mr. Cox would be arriving next morning. I asked if I might get up early and go and meet him. The answer was affirmative and next morning, so early one could barely make out the road Gypsy and I started out to meet Mr. Cox. It was probably a good 8 or so miles that we hiked and I can never forget the silent wonder and aroma of clean rocks and sage brush. We dropped in on a surprised Mr. Cox and an invitation to breakfast. Later I told Mother I had eaten the best breakfast in all my life. Her query concerning the unbelievable menu was answered: "Ma, we had beans; and Mr. Cox can cook beans better than anybody I know! I rode happily on the high driver's seat back to the mine and Mr. Cox went about unloading the wagon. I found out that he was tracking some heavy equipment from the river that afternoon and would spend the night there. To my intense delight I was given permission to go along and man, boy, team and dogs set off for "the river". Here was a fantastic place for a boy and a dog. A
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mill, probably gold, now deserted and crumbling looked down on the muddy Colorado River. Down from the mill but higher than the river was a sand bar where we made camp. Across the space from the old mill on a sort of promontory there were old crumbling bunkhouses and mining camp structures. I remember vaguely a small open structure containing some partly made Indian baskets and some minor personal effects. Mr. Cox suggested we leave everything intact as it most likely had belonged to a deceased Indian. After supper (you guessed it, more beans) we sloshed around in the river and slept happily under the bright desert sky of sparkling stars and a full moon giving light as only a desert moon can - with an abundance of soft radiance. Two events stand out on the trip back. At one stop when we were resting the horses I noticed a little shack not far off the road. We went to explore it and Mr. Cox figured it was just the sort of place some prospector might have set up to shelter hin from the elements while he worked a claim. I found a flask of mercury but Mr. Cox suggested I leave it. He explained how the prospectors purified their gold by letting the gold and mercury unite chemically and then putting the amalgam in a raw potato and when heated over the fire the poisonous fumes of mercury are emitted and pure gold remains. "Some old prospector will be making good use of it" he said. The other event on the homeward trip featured the small boy riding on the high wagon seat and facing a hot, glaring sun suddenly becoming ill and having an upheaval of embarrassing proportions. Mr. Cox laughed off the whole episode and after an hour or so we rode into camp in the best of spirits.
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At night coyotes yipped and howled and of course we had to be on our guard continually for rattle snakes, tarantulas and an occasional gila monster. One evening Dad noticed a large tarantulla near the cabin and promptly liquidated it. We were warned, with this as an example, to come and tell Mother when we saw potentially dangerous creatures whether or not we knew what they were. Ruth, age 4 at the time thereupon got a stick and brought forth another tarantuila which, that morning she had killed and buried!
One fine day Dad and Mother ordered some toys from Montgomery Ward for us. It seemed years before they arrived and I remember clearing rocks and making a speedway down the hill for my new little wagon. Drinking water was kept in an earthernware "oyya" which was wrapped in burlap and hung in the shade where evaporation kept it cool. Dad sent for some soda water and it came in individually wrapped bottles packed in a barrel. I remember drinking it when it was in a likewarm state - not particularly tasty or refreshing.
Mr, Graves was a quiet, intelligent mechanically minded batchelor of 30 odd years who ran the hoist at a neighboring mine. Dad and Mother thought highly of Mr. Graves and at times when he would pay us a visit we would wind up our phonograph and play the old "78" records for him and show our pet horned toads and turtles. His abode when I paid him a visit was a tunnel or hole in the hill. I do not know if he lived there the year aroud or merely in the very hot weather but it was neat, clean and orderly. He played his mandolin and demonstrated how one of his inventions worked – a fish hook that would not catch on weeds.
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Modern man with his long playing high fidelity stereo would most likely regard "misic" [sic] from the old phonographs as primitive and crude as could be, but for us they supplied song and melody never to be forgotten. There were excerpts from The Chocolate Soldier, Pinafore, and The Mikado; there were fantastically beautiful negro spirituals and descriptive numbers such as "A negro wedding in Southern Georgia"; there were records in the lighter vein such as "Steamboat Bill" and "The Girl That Married Dear Old Dad". One song (oh I do hope some old timer will support me on this) started out "To have, to hold, to love you dear, o forever and a day" to the tune of what now is the theme song for "Around the World in 80 Days". However, and I wouldn't mind if they had borrowed the tune intact, but after that first measure "Around the World" slips down a couple of notes and the effect drives me nuts.
Christmas at Techatticup Mine can be remembered as not being an outstanding religous or festive occassion. Except for willow trees down by the muddy Colorado River a regular tree was not to be seen anywhere. So for a Christmas tree Mother got an old broomhandle and baling wire and green crepe paper and lo and behold there was the camp’s Christmas tree.
The Lobbies were a French couple. He was the mine mechanic and she and Mother enjoyed each other's company. Her English was not easy to understand and Mother one day was asking her what she used to get her washing so clean and white. Mrs. Lobble kept repeating what to Mother sounded like "Eye Dropper-r-r". Mother never did get the message until Mrs. Lobble brought over a box of
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Hydro Pura! After 15 months the time came to return to Berkeley and as "Gypsy would be happier in the desert" I gave him to Mr. Cox.
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Comment:
I scanned the text above from a copy of a typewritten document I inherited from my father Herbert, Charles’ younger brother.
Chris Lyser 3/2001.
Further research:
I put "Techatticup Mine" into an Internet search engine and found many references. Here are two:
Copy of a 1917 Techatticup Mine business ledger:
http://library.nevada.edu/speccol/ledger.htmland here are modern photos of Nelson and the Techatticup Mine vicinity:
http://www.coloradorivertour.com/Enjoy!
Chris