miles was built at a cost of twenty-five million dollars. There are
four trans-continental railways that enter the city of Los Angeles,
and probably a dozen other smaller lines. They have more than twelve
hundred miles of improved streets and more than nine miles of sewer.
There are twenty-five public parks. I visited a number of them. They
have more than five hundred miles of electrical car lines and more
than a thousand miles of electrical lines running to all parts of the
county. Their schools are the best in the whole country. They have
hundreds of churches that are well attended.
I took daily tours to many of the suburban towns in twenty and thirty
miles radius. Culver City, Santa Monica, Venice, Beverly, Hollywood,
Long Beach, Redondo, Pasadena, Pomona, Claremont, Ontario, San Gabriel,
Burbank, etc. These are all beautiful spots. Some of them are real
little cities with every modern facility. I thought at the time of
my visit that if people who live under such an environment as I saw
were not happy, they have no need to go to heaven when they die. They
told me that I ought to have made my trip in the summer when I could
see the country in its glory. I went in an auto bus to San Bernardino
seventy miles through the country to the orange show. It is called the
Gate City to Southern California. The county itself is a wonder in
its output of fruits and walnuts, oranges especially. I saw millions
of bushels of the yellow fruit everywhere for miles and miles till
the eye tired of seeing what I called an awful waste of nature’s
products. The city is called the commercial center of the orange belt.
It is a beautifully laid out city with semi-tropical plants growing
everywhere, luxuriantly beautiful. The show takes up more than an
acre of ground, and oranges were blended in the most gorgeous display
in every conceivable figure. Oranges, lemons, grape fruit and their
by-products by the millions.
The trip through the valley took me over the finest roads in the world.
They could not be finer. I was more than interested to pass “Garrett
and Company’s” vineyards, one of the homes of the Virginia Dare
products. Mr. Garrett himself is an Enfield, N. C., man. The extracts
are bound to be right if it is “Virginia Dare.”
What is said of any one of the southern counties may be well said of
any other, except perhaps the “Imperial Valley County.” I did not go to
that county, but from what I heard about the county it looks as if a
special edict was issued from the maker of all the counties to do some
special work on that county alone. It was the last county formed in the
state, and its area is more than four thousand square miles. It is in
the extreme southwest part of the state. The lay of the land, the soil
itself, the climate, location, altitude make it the best place in the
world for stock raising and fruit production. There are more turkeys
grown in this one county than in other similar sections in the world.
I was very much impressed with the fine school houses and churches.
No money or care seemed to be lacking in the construction of these
important centers. Every one I saw in the country or city was decked
with profusive growths of shrubbery and flowers. While I was in
Spokane, the city claimed the lowest death rate per thousand of its
populations. When I was in Seattle that city claimed the same thing.
When I was in Tacoma they claimed they had the lowest death rate;
when in Sacramento they claimed to have the lowest death rate. In San
Francisco they claimed the lowest death rate; Oakland claimed the
same; Los Angeles claimed the lowest also. When we were crossing the
Tehachapi Mountains ten thousand feet elevation I saw a fine graveyard
up further on the side of the hill, and I was surprised. They might
have been soldiers killed in the war. One almost wonders why folks
should ever die in such a beautiful country. Conditions are so good for
living right along. Good churches, excellent schools, clean cities,
perfect climate, all must contribute greatly to long life. They
ought to be happy, but happiness cannot be bought with luxuries; it
contributes more than anything else to long life when other conditions
are good.
The city of Los Angeles is twenty miles from the Pacific Ocean, and I
venture to predict that in less than twenty years the city will extend
and include Venice, Santa Monica, Long Beach and all the little coast
towns along the water front, and the largest ocean vessels will be
doing business in the heart of the business section as they are in
Seattle, Tacoma, Portland, San Francisco, Oakland. Their population
will soon be in the millions. It is growing by leaps and bounds every
day, every week and every month. Fourteen thousand people come there
every year. The people are busy everywhere. They have the secret of
getting a larger population. Create industrial interests and the folks
follow. Good schools and good churches; a community in which there is
compatibility between all classes and not hatred. These are the best
drawing cards.
One does not travel many miles in California without asking questions.
Many of the questions will have to be answered by history. Cortez, Juan
Rodriguez, Cabrillo, Don Gasper de Portola, Fray Junipero Serre are
familiar names in its early history. The country was known as Alta and
Baja, which was upper and lower California. It began in the extreme
southern part of the state and went as far north as the foot of man
could tread. The old maps show the southern part of the state as being
a part of Mexico. It was sometimes called the land of the Heart’s
Desire. To use the words of another it was in 1769, “That destiny
marked Southern California for its own, ordering the fig and the vine
to make soft the dessert wastes, lemon and orange bloom for the upland
slopes, herds for a thousand hills, living water to make green the
sun-browned land; and, last, not the dream of seven mythical cities of
gold, but the bright reality of thrice seven times seven golden cities
that now throb with the tides of commerce and the tread of countless
feet.”
At the beginning of its history the King of Spain ordered that in order
to make the country safe for Spain and its religion, that missions
should be established. Under the orders of the great Catholic church
fifteen or more missions were established—fifteen of them along the
coast. My trip back to San Francisco, five hundred miles north, took me
along the Pacific Coast in sight of many of these missions. We follow
what was called the “Highway of the King.” Those we passed were San
Buenaventura, Santa Barbara, San Miguel, and Santa Clara. The southern
part of the state especially owes a lot to these early missionaries.
They gave harbor to the traveler, irrigated the land and started the
early settlers and Indians to farming.
From San Francisco to Los Angeles along the coast is a country backed
by mountains of great height and beauty with slopes and valleys
surpassing any description. For hundreds of miles our train slipped
right along the edge of the Pacific waters, sometimes forty or a
hundred feet above these waters, sometimes nearer, then off on a hill
top, then across an arm of the sea, then headlong toward the water as
if to go right into it, only to swerve around some high hill and then
out into some beautiful valley. You have to see it to appreciate it.
Passing San Fernando, Oxnard, Ventura, we come to Santa Barbara in
Santa Barbara County. The county is mountainous and has four large
valleys. The valleys are the Santa Ynez, Los Alamos, Lompoc, and Santa
Maria. The last named valley is said to have four hundred square miles,
and can support ten times its population. Mustard seed is the leading
agricultural product in the county. The whole county is well adapted
to all vegetables and fruits that are common to that part of the
state. I saw many orchards of great size. It is said that three-fifths
of the prunes and three-fourths of the apples grown in the state
grow in these valleys adjacent to the coast. This is due to the fact
that perhaps the rainfalls is greater than further inland. Printed
matter on this section tell us that the products of this coast range
are the following: beet sugar, wheat, barley, hay, garden seed, oil,
coal, asphaltum, cement, lime, live stock, butter and cheese, fruits,
berries, vegetables, olive oil, walnuts.
I saw great flocks of sheep, cattle and horses. Millions of wild ducks,
and we were never out of sight of sea gulls. They are the scavengers on
land and water. I was fortunate in meeting people here and there who
could give me lots of the sort of information I wanted.
As our train rounded the coast of Santa Barbara we caught sight of
the Islands of Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, San Miguel. They may have been
thirty miles to our left.
Passing Point Conception, a lighthouse here and there, a large open
field in the actual making, or a sandhill thrown up in the past few
months, crossing Santa Maria River, leaving Lompoc and Ynez Valleys
behind, we came to San Louis Obispo. Great quantities of oil are
delivered to this port for shipment. It is also the seat of the state
polytechnic school. The rainfall here is very light, so that farming
is not profitable. The western slopes of the mountains for nearly a
hundred miles afford good grazing for cattle and sheep. The water
is largely mist from the Pacific Ocean with a very low rainfall. At
this point our train leaves the sight of the coast and we climb the
Coastal Range, being pulled by three powerful steam engines up an
elevation of great height, more than seven thousand feet, and head
into the Salinas and Santa Clara Valley. Salinas Valley has an area of
500,000 acres and the two valleys are almost 150 miles in length and
fifty miles wide. We head toward “Bishop Peak” no less than four times
climbing this mountain. We go down into Monterey County and follow the
Salina River till we get to Monterey Bay near Del Monte. Santa Cruz
is our next stop. We pass the Lick Observatory. We enter Santa Clara
Valley crossing the mountains by the same name. We also pass Stanford
University. We leave San Mateo County on the left and we speed along.
We pass San Jose. Dark covers us, but at Redwood City we come into
sight of San Francisco Bay and thirty miles further we are in San
Francisco again.
Five hundred miles are covered in about fourteen hours. The mountain
ranges on both sides for several hundred miles, and the mountain on
one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other for several more hundred
miles with an ever changing view of mountain inclines, rivers, valleys,
irrigation projects here and there, the excitement of high elevation,
crossing some divide, farming operations throughout the entire course,
fruit orchards, vineyards, gardens, great flocks of sheep, cattle,
etc., chateaux, villages, mining operations and oil wells. This is the
panorama that simply bewitches the brain. It was such as this that the
old colored preacher saw when he could no longer contain his emotions
when he said, “My God, look at that Glory.” It is glory, and the man
whose soul does not feel it is dead. Add to this the ocean scene with
every angle the train makes, the steamers away out, the sunset behind
these beautiful waters, and do you wonder that I have been dreaming
this thing every night since I had the experience of it. It gets into
your soul in some way. Some one has said, “Its all California from east
to west, from north to south.” I traveled two thousand miles in the
state alone in every direction. The inspiration is the same.
I spoke in one of the largest churches out there, heard some of the
finest speakers in the world, saw some of the best shows, tramped over
some of the orange, apple, fig, prune and berry orchards, bee and
poultry yards. I visited soldiers’ homes, city parks, city museums and
farms in the country. I visited some of the best schools in the West
and Northwest, including the state universities where they are really
doing things.
Our eyes are now set toward the east and home. We are at San Francisco.
Before we leave here we must revert to the lower part of the state
again. The city of Los Angeles gets its water from a distance of more
than two hundred miles from the snow-capped slope of Mount Whitney.
They are the highest mountains in the United States, except in Alaska.
The aqueduct is the largest in the world. The reservoirs are located in
the San Fernando Valley. The pipes taking this water from its source to
its outlet are eight to ten feet in diameter. Forty miles of this water
is run in open lined canals. The line was pointed out to me many miles
out of Los Angeles by a fellow traveler who knew the history of its
construction.
As one travels from north to south in this state and from east to west
he is very much impressed with the great network of wires stretched
everywhere, apparently reaching every farmhouse and factory. These are
high-powered electric wires carrying power to the industrial centers
and to the farms for light and power—for power more than light. Water
has to be supplied to all the farms by irrigation. Where gravity does
not do the work they must depend on pumps. The electric power is used
to run the pumps. This power is generated by the mountain streams
hundreds of miles away. The great power plants are largely owned by
companies in the East. The irrigation projects, I presume, are the most
wonderful in the world. I was advised that it cost about eight dollars
an acre to get the canals into operation.
Another interest of great importance in the growth of a country is
the public roads. The roads were universally good. I traveled several
hundred miles over the public roads in Los Angeles and San Bernardino
counties, and for the long stretches I never saw better roads.
Hollywood, which is really a part of the larger city, is a very pretty
place. The streets are paved and there was not a shoddy nor a cheaply
constructed house to be seen. I counted seven moving picture studios.
I had no idea that these studios were built on so vast a scale. It
seems that all the stars in the moving picture world have their studios
here, and their fine homes—Charlie Chaplin, Douglass Fairbanks, Mary
Pickford, and others. Many of the great meat packers of Chicago, Omaha
and Denver have million-dollar homes in or near this little suburb. The
south side of Beverly Hills is covered with these expensive homes.
There are a number of these studios in Culver City. This is a small
place about fifteen miles toward the Pacific from Los Angeles. The
dominating genius of it is Mr. Harry Culver. Ten years ago it was not
born, and today it has a population of about two thousand people. The
little railroad station, the little homes, the well paved streets and
business houses, all show signs of taste and industry. Here is where
“Fatty Arbuckle” got his start, and his studio is still there as a
reminder. Several boulevards and electric lines pass through the town
from Los Angeles to the Pacific Ocean, which is only five miles away.
Venice, with a dozen other settlements along the coast for ten or more
miles, is the Coney Island of Southern California. Street cars and
boulevards give one ready access to every part of the beach. They have
all the eating houses, cheap shows, swindling games and junk shops for
the attractions.
The building lots in some of these little villages are sold under
restrictions. I was curious to know the restrictions. Houses that are
put on them must not cost less than twenty-five hundred dollars,
and no lot shall be sold to any one except purely Anglo-Saxon—a fine
opportunity for unanimity of spirit and exclusiveness if not tested
under the state law by some ubiquitous spirit.
The problem of racial identity is a complex one in that country. I saw
Mexicans who looked all the world like Negroes, and Negroes who looked
all the world like Mexicans. Their language was the only distinguishing
features, and in many cases the Negroes were better clad and better
groomed. Negroes spoke the unadulterated English language. Their
Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, Louisiana or Texas previous environment
may have given them more of the Southern brogue. The Mexicans have
clung to their Spanish tongue or some broken dialect. Japanese,
Chinese, Filipinos, Porto Ricans and others form another group. Then
there is another group from northern Europe and southern Europe
belonging to the white races, and all these units speak a language of
their own and follow largely the customs of their country. I wondered
who was _fit_ and who could _qualify_ under “The Restrictions.”
I will say nothing about Chicago, but let me start at Butte, Montana.
From Butte, Montana, to Spokane, Seattle, Portland, Sacramento, San
Francisco, Oakland, Fresno, Los Angeles to the least city in the West
there are all sorts of secret organizations and labor unions, selfish
and otherwise, cliques and clans, to whom you must pay obeisance. Add
to this the rankest Bolsheviki spirit, from the four ends of the earth,
and you have a problem worth the attention of our best statesmen.
I have been trying to get away from San Francisco, but it is hard to
leave a community of so inviting environment. I can only name a few
places now that are strikingly full of interest. Here is the Golden
Gate Park, over yonder a short distance the Presidio, a little further
around on the bay the Art Palace. Here is where the exposition was
held. Down on the beach are the Sutro baths and cliff houses. From this
fine eminence I saw seven seals, some sleeping, some bathing, some
growling. They were on the rock a few hundred feet off the beach. Rural
paintings in the museums, depicting wild animal life in their natural
setting with the mountain background, etc., were very real.
The Southern Pacific station, located between Third and Fourth streets,
and the ferry at the foot of Market Street, or at the head possibly,
are works of art. They are the last word on station building. Market
Street has four electric lines, and it is the leading thoroughfare of
the city. Practically all the other streets of the city run into it at
some angle. Sixteen blocks from the ferry is the civic center. Here are
located the city auditorium, which seats ten or twelve thousand people,
the courthouse, one of the finest buildings in the state next to the
capitol itself, the city library, and one of the high schools. These
are circled about a square which has a large fountain of flowing water.
A very large area of the city was burned when the earthquake was some
years ago, but this has been rebuilt so well and completely that one
would never know it. I went over most of this area.
I visited the University of California, which is located in Berkley,
and had only time to go through the library and agricultural building.
They have a campus of 264 acres and an enrollment of ten thousand
students. They have a theater that seats ten thousand people. They
have a tower 302 feet high built of white granite. In this tower is
located the clock and chimes. They have in mind a large project for an
athletic field and stadium. This will be located back of the college
in the hills, which is the property of the college. Oakland is the San
Francisco terminal of three trans-continental railroads. They are the
Southern Pacific, the Western Pacific, and the Santa Fe.
We take the Western Pacific for Sacramento at 9 o’clock in the morning.
At 2 o’clock in the afternoon we have made the trip of more than a
hundred miles through the San Joaquin Valley and again into Sacramento
Valley. We spend a part of two days here. The state capitol is a very
fine building. The ground adjoining the building forms the finest park
in the world. They have searched all the world to find trees and rare
plants for this wonderful park. They have them from every known country
and from every accessible community. Many of these trees were in full
bloom the 28th of February when I was there. An officer of the grounds
told me to find the keeper and he would give me all the cuttings I
wanted, but unfortunately I could not find him.
The city is located in rather a flat country. It has not been a great
many years, geologically, since this was all under water and a part
of San Francisco Bay. The two large rivers intersecting this valley
have done their work in transporting silt, sand and debris from
the mountains so well that most of the community is inhabited. The
periodical overflow of these rivers still gives the traveler an idea
that it is a part of the bay. I saw nearly a hundred miles of it under
water, when I wondered how the farmers got from the house to the barn.
We leave Sacramento at midnight on the Western Pacific Railroad for
Salt Lake City, Utah. We pass Marysville, which we have already seen on
our southern journey, Oroville a little further north, and we follow
the Feather River and the Feather River Canyon. At daylight we find
ourselves climbing the mountains again in snow several feet deep. The
canyons are narrow and deep. The mountains above are beautiful, rugged.
Vegetation and all sorts of timber come into sight again. The mountain
streams are beautiful and clear. We arrive at Reno Junction about 10
o’clock in the morning. At Paxton we pass the little narrow gauge road
leading into Indian Valley. The canyons look too narrow for another
railroad, but just below us clinging to the rocks and the mountains the
little road leads off into another mining section and through gorges
that look impassable.
Of the more than two hundred stations along the way a great many of
them are scarcely stopping places. A few are only places for the train
crew to examine the cars. At Reno Junction, Nevada, we come into a
country that is more open, and where the population is larger.
We cross Honey Valley, Winnemucca Valley, scale the Virginia Range, and
come into Smoke Creek Desert, pass to the right of Granite Peak, and we
come into Black Rock Desert. We pass what is called the Alkali Flats.
This is a vast area of country with no vegetable growth of any sort.
Nothing can grow on it. This reminds one of a very large bowl. We are
moving along with great speed through the valley with the side of the
bowl towering up at a tremendous height. We cross the Antelope Range
in the northern part of Granite Spring Valley. A few miles further we
come into the little town of Winnemucca. This is a railroad center and
a cattle country.
We are in Humboldt County and follow Humbolt River. We have passed
Winnemucca Peak, Black Butte, the Eugene Mountains, and other points
of interest and beauty. It would tire the reader to follow us for the
next several hundred miles through this tortuous river course, through
large and small valleys, through mountain gorges, up the side of
mountain ranges, over some of the highest peaks, under the tunnels and
through great banks of snow. At Sulphur we passed several men and their
horses with a big mountain lion they had just killed. The government
pays twenty-five dollars for each lion killed. They are destructive
to sheep. The Denver Sunday papers had the incident written up in the
papers Sunday following the killing.
We cross the Desert Range at Wendover, Utah, and strike out for
forty-eight miles through the Great Salt Lake Desert, leaving Grass
Mountain Summit to our left, we enter another range of mountains to
emerge near the south end of Salt Lake. I do not know the area of the
Great Salt Lake Desert, but it is a very large area numbering perhaps
several thousand square miles of country. Water and irrigation would do
it no good. It looks like desolation carried to the nth degree. It must
have been at some time a part of the Salt Lake. It supports absolutely
no vegetation of any sort. It is a barren waste.
There is no other place in the world exactly like Salt Lake and Salt
Lake City. The city is eighteen miles from the Lake. One cannot drown
in the water of this lake because of the density of the water.