SAN FRANCISCO IN TRANSITION
By the mid-fifties San Francisco had attained the dimensions of a city.
Among other changes of public interest within the brief space of two or
three years were a hospital, a library, a cemetery, several churches,
public markets, bathing establishments, public schools, two
race-courses, twelve wharves, five hundred and thirty-seven saloons, and
about eight thousand women of several classes. The population was now
about fifty thousand. The city was now of a fairly substantial
character, at least in the down-town districts. There were many
structures of brick and stone. In many directions the sand-hills had
been conveniently graded down by means of a power shovel called the
Steam Paddy in contradistinction to the hand Paddy, or Irishman with a
shovel. The streets were driven straight ahead regardless of contours.
It is related that often the inhabitants of houses perched on the sides
of the sand-hills would have to scramble to safety as their dwellings
rolled down the bank, undermined by some grading operation below. A
water system had been established, the nucleus of the present Spring
Valley Company. The streets had nearly all been planked, and private
enterprise had carried the plank toll-road even to the Mission district.
The fire department had been brought to a high state of perfection. The
shallow waters of the bay were being filled up by the rubbish from the
town and by the débris from the operations of the Steam Paddies. New
streets were formed on piles extended out into the bay. Houses were
erected, also on piles and on either side of these marine thoroughfares.
Gradually the rubbish filled the skeleton framework. Occasionally old
ships, caught by this seaward invasion, were built around, and so became
integral parts of the city itself.
The same insistent demand that led to increasing the speed of the
vessels, together with the fact that it cost any ship from one hundred
to two hundred dollars a day to lie at any of the wharves, developed an
extreme efficiency in loading and unloading cargoes. Hittell says that
probably in no port of the world could a ship be emptied as quickly as
at San Francisco. For the first and last time in the history of the
world the profession of stevedore became a distinguished one. In
addition to the overseas trade, there were now many ships, driven by
sail or steam, plying the local routes. Some of the river steamboats had
actually been brought around the Horn. Their free-board had been raised
by planking-in the lower deck, and thus these frail vessels had sailed
their long and stormy voyage--truly a notable feat.
It did not pay to hold goods very long. Eastern shippers seemed, by a
curious unanimity, to send out many consignments of the same scarcity.
The result was that the high prices of today would be utterly destroyed
by an oversupply of tomorrow. It was thus to the great advantage of
every merchant to meet his ship promptly, and to gain knowledge as soon
as possible of the cargo of the incoming vessels. For this purpose
signal stations were established, rowboat patrols were organized, and
many other ingenious schemes was applied to the secret service of the
mercantile business. Both in order to save storage and to avoid the
possibility of loss from new shipments coming in, the goods were
auctioned off as soon as they were landed.
These auctions were most elaborate institutions involving brass bands,
comfortable chairs, eloquent "spielers," and all the rest. They were a
feature of the street life, which in turn had an interest all its own.
The planking threw back a hollow reverberating sound from the various
vehicles. There seemed to be no rules of the road. Omnibuses careered
along, every window rattling loudly; drays creaked and strained;
non-descript delivery wagons tried to outrattle the omnibuses; horsemen
picked their way amid the mêlée. The din was described as something
extraordinary--hoofs drumming, wheels rumbling, oaths and shouts, and
from the sidewalk the blare and bray of brass bands before the various
auction shops. Newsboys and bootblacks darted in all directions. Cigar
boys, a peculiar product of the time, added to the hubbub. Bootblacking
stands of the most elaborate description were kept by French and
Italians. The town was full of characters who delighted in their own
eccentricities, and who were always on public view. One individual
possessed a remarkably intelligent pony who every morning, without
guidance from his master, patronized one of the shoe-blacking stands to
get his front hoofs polished. He presented each one in turn to the
foot-rest, and stood like a statue until the job was done.
Some of the numberless saloons already showed signs of real
magnificence. Mahogany bars with brass rails, huge mirrors in gilt
frames, pyramids of delicate crystal, rich hangings, oil paintings of
doubtful merit but indisputable interest, heavy chandeliers of glass
prisms, the most elaborate of free lunches, skillful barkeepers who
mixed drinks at arm's length, were common to all the better places.
These things would not be so remarkable in large cities at the present
time, but in the early Fifties, only three years after the tent stage,
and thousands of miles from the nearest civilization, the enterprise
that was displayed seemed remarkable. The question of expense did not
stop these early worthies. Of one saloonkeeper it is related that,
desiring a punch bowl and finding that the only vessel of the sort was a
soup-tureen belonging to a large and expensive dinner set, he bought the
whole set for the sake of the soup-tureen. Some of the more pretentious
places boasted of special attractions: thus one supported its ceiling on
crystal pillars; another had dashing young women to serve the drinks,
though the mixing was done by men as usual; a third possessed a large
musical-box capable of playing several very noisy tunes; a fourth had
imported a marvelous piece of mechanism run by clockwork which exhibited
the sea in motion, a ship tossing on the waves, on shore a windmill in
action, a train of cars passing over a bridge, a deer chased by hounds,
and the like.
But these bar-rooms were a totally different institution from the
gambling resorts. Although gambling was not now considered the entirely
worthy occupation of a few years previous, and although some of the
better citizens, while frequenting the gambling halls, still preferred
to do their own playing in semi-private, the picturesqueness and glory
of these places had not yet been dimmed by any general popular
disapproval. The gambling halls were not only places to risk one's
fortune, but they were also a sort of evening club. They usually
supported a raised stage with footlights, a negro minstrel troop, or a
singer or so. On one side elaborate bars of rosewood or mahogany ran the
entire length, backed by big mirrors of French plate. The whole of the
very large main floor was heavily carpeted. Down the center generally
ran two rows of gambling tables offering various games such as faro,
keeno, roulette, poker, and the dice games. Beyond these tables, on the
opposite side of the room from the bar, were the lounging quarters, with
small tables, large easy-chairs, settees, and fireplaces. Decoration was
of the most ornate. The ceilings and walls were generally white with a
great deal of gilt. All classes of people frequented these places and
were welcomed there. Some were dressed in the height of fashion, and
some wore the roughest sort of miners' clothes--floppy old slouch hats,
flannel shirts, boots to which the dried mud was clinging or from which
it fell to the rich carpet. All were considered on an equal plane. The
professional gamblers came to represent a type of their own,--weary,
indifferent, pale, cool men, who had not only to keep track of the game
and the bets, but also to assure control over the crowd about them.
Often in these places immense sums were lost or won; often in these
places occurred crimes of shooting and stabbing; but also into these
places came many men who rarely drank or gambled at all. They assembled
to enjoy each other's company, the brightness, the music, and the
sociable warmth.
On Sunday the populace generally did one of two things: either it
sallied out in small groups into the surrounding country on picnics or
celebrations at some of the numerous road-houses; or it swarmed out the
plank toll-road to the Mission. To the newcomer the latter must have
been much the more interesting. There he saw a congress of all the
nations of the earth: French, Germans, Italians, Russians, Dutchmen,
British, Turks, Arabs, Negroes, Chinese, Kanakas, Indians, the gorgeous
members of the Spanish races, and all sorts of queer people to whom no
habitat could be assigned. Most extraordinary perhaps were the men from
the gold mines of the Sierras. The miners had by now distinctly
segregated themselves from the rest of the population. They led a
hardier, more laborious life and were proud of the fact. They attempted
generally to differentiate themselves in appearance from all the rest of
the human race, and it must be confessed that they succeeded. The miners
were mostly young and wore their hair long, their beards rough; they
walked with a wide swagger; their clothes were exaggeratedly coarse, but
they ornamented themselves with bright silk handkerchiefs, feathers,
flowers, with squirrel or buck tails in their hats, with long heavy
chains of nuggets, with glittering and prominently displayed pistols,
revolvers, stilettos, knives, and dirks. Some even plaited their beards
in three tails, or tied their long hair under their chins; but no matter
how bizarre they made themselves, nobody on the streets of _blasé_ San
Francisco paid the slightest attention to them. The Mission, which they,
together with the crowd, frequented, was a primitive Coney Island. Bear
pits, cockfights, theatrical attractions, side-shows, innumerable hotels
and small restaurants, saloons, races, hammer-striking, throwing balls
at negroes' heads, and a hundred other attractions kept the crowds busy
and generally good-natured. If a fight arose, "it was," as the Irishman
says, "considered a private fight," and nobody else could get in it.
Such things were considered matters for the individuals themselves to
settle.
The great feature of the time was its extravagance. It did not matter
whether a man was a public servant, a private and respected citizen, or
from one of the semi-public professions that cater to men's greed and
dissipation, he acted as though the ground beneath his feet were solid
gold. The most extravagant public works were undertaken without thought
and without plan. The respectable women vied in the magnificence and
ostentation of their costumes with the women of the lower world.
Theatrical attractions at high prices were patronized abundantly. Balls
of great magnificence were given almost every night. Private carriages
of really excellent appointment were numerous along the disreputable
planked roads or the sandy streets strewn with cans and garbage.
The feverish life of the times reflected itself domestically. No live
red-blooded man could be expected to spend his evenings reading a book
quietly at home while all the magnificent, splendid, seething life of
down-town was roaring in his ears. All his friends would be out; all the
news of the day passed around; all the excitements of the evening
offered themselves. It was too much to expect of human nature. The
consequence was that a great many young wives were left alone, with the
ultimate result of numerous separations and divorces. The moral nucleus
of really respectable society--and there was a noticeable one even at
that time--was overshadowed and swamped for the moment. Such a social
life as this sounds decidedly immoral but it was really unmoral, with
the bright, eager, attractive unmorality of the vigorous child. In fact,
in that society, as some one has expressed it, everything was condoned
except meanness.
It was the era of the grandiose. Even conversation reflected this
characteristic. The myriad bootblacks had grand outfits and stands. The
captain of a ship offered ten dollars to a negro to act as his cook. The
negro replied, "If you will walk up to my restaurant, I'll set you to
work at twenty-five dollars immediately." From men in such humble
stations up to the very highest and most respected citizens the spirit
of gambling, of taking chances, was also in the air.
As has been pointed out, a large proportion of the city's wealth was
raised not from taxation but from the sale of its property. Under the
heedless extravagance of the first government the municipal debt rose to
over one million dollars. Since interest charged on this was thirty-six
per cent annually, it can be seen that the financial situation was
rather hopeless. As the city was even then often very short of funds, it
paid for its work and its improvements in certificates of indebtedness,
usually called "scrip." Naturally this scrip was held below par--a
condition that caused all contractors and supply merchants to charge two
or three hundred per cent over the normal prices for their work and
commodities in order to keep even. And this practice, completing the
vicious circle, increased the debt. An attempt was made to fund the city
debt by handing in the scrip in exchange for a ten per cent obligation.
This method gave promise of success; but a number of holders of scrip
refused to surrender it, and brought suit to enforce payment. One of
these, a physician named Peter Smith, was owed a considerable sum for
the care of indigent sick. He obtained a judgment against the city,
levied on some of its property, and proceeded to sell. The city
commissioners warned the public that titles under the Smith claim were
not legal, and proceeded to sell the property on their own account. The
speculators bought claims under Peter Smith amounting to over two
millions of dollars at merely nominal rates. For example, one parcel of
city lots sold at less than ten cents per lot. The prices were so absurd
that these sales were treated as a joke. The joke came in on the other
side, however, when the officials proceeded to ratify these sales. The
public then woke up to the fact that it had been fleeced. Enormous
prices were paid for unsuitable property, ostensibly for the uses of the
city. After the money had passed, these properties were often declared
unsuitable and resold at reduced prices to people already determined
upon by the ring.
Nevertheless commercially things went well for a time. The needs of
hundreds of thousands of newcomers, in a country where the manufactures
were practically nothing, were enormous. It is related that at first
laundry was sent as far as the Hawaiian Islands. Every single commodity
of civilized life, such as we understand it, had to be imported. As
there was then no remote semblance of combination, either in restraint
of or in encouragement of trade, it followed that the market must
fluctuate wildly. The local agents of eastern firms were often
embarrassed and overwhelmed by the ill-timed consignments of goods. One
Boston firm was alleged to have sent out a whole shipload of women's
bonnets--to a community where a woman was one of the rarest sights to be
found! Not many shipments were as silly as this, but the fact remains
that a rumor of a shortage in any commodity would often be followed by
rush orders on clipper ships laden to the guards with that same article.
As a consequence the bottom fell out of the market completely, and the
unfortunate consignee found himself forced to auction off the goods much
below cost.
During the year 1854, the tide of prosperity began to ebb. A dry season
caused a cessation of mining in many parts of the mountains. Of course
it can be well understood that the immense prosperity of the city, the
prosperity that allowed it to recover from severe financial disease, had
its spring in the placer mines. A constant stream of fresh gold was
needed to shore up the tottering commercial structure. With the miners
out of the diggings, matters changed. The red-shirted digger of gold had
little idea of the value of money. Many of them knew only the difference
between having money and having none. They had to have credit, which
they promptly wasted. Extending credit to the miners made it necessary
that credit should also be extended to the sellers, and so on back.
Meanwhile the eastern shippers continued to pour goods into the flooded
market. An auction brought such cheap prices that they proved a
temptation even to an overstocked public. The gold to pay for purchases
went east, draining the country of bullion. One or two of the supposedly
respectable and polished citizens such as Talbot Green and "honest Harry
Meiggs" fell by the wayside. The confidence of the new community began
to be shaken. In 1854 came the crisis. Three hundred out of about a
thousand business houses shut down. Seventy-seven filed petitions in
insolvency with liabilities for many millions of dollars. In 1855 one
hundred and ninety-seven additional firms and several banking houses
went under.
There were two immediate results of this state of affairs. In the first
place, every citizen became more intensely interested and occupied with
his own personal business than ever before; he had less time to devote
to the real causes of trouble, that is the public instability; and he
grew rather more selfish and suspicious of his neighbor than ever
before. The second result was to attract the dregs of society. The
pickings incident to demoralized conditions looked rich to these men.
Professional politicians, shyster lawyers, political gangsters, flocked
to the spoil. In 1851 the lawlessness of mere physical violence had come
to a head. By 1855 and 1856 there was added to a recrudescence of this
disorder a lawlessness of graft, of corruption, both political and
financial, and the overbearing arrogance of a self-made aristocracy.
These conditions combined to bring about a second crisis in the
precarious life of this new society.