_Thrown Into Jail at Los Angeles._
Upon seeing no one near, I lifted my grip from the car door and started
down town in search of a lodging place. I found a nice place at No. 128
E. First street, and the following day I got a job with the S. P.
Railroad Company, trucking freight at 20 cents per hour.
Los Angeles is probably the greatest fruit market in the world. Oranges,
grapes, peaches and apricots are among the principal fruits raised.
During the orange season you can buy oranges for ten cents per dozen. A
careful estimate places the number of oranges grown in California every
year at 900,000,000. All fruit is cheap. The finest kind of malaga
grapes can be purchased on the streets of Los Angeles for 2½ cents per
pound. You can live on fruit there over six months in the year.
The winters there are no ways as cold as in North Carolina.
The rainfall is scarcely ten inches a year, making it possible for the
laboring man to work out doors every working day in the year.
Laborers get $1.75 to $2.50 per day, and are always in demand.
There are numerous restaurants in Los Angeles that set out a good,
substantial meal for ten cents.
San Pedro is the port of entry for Los Angeles.
With the exception of Chicago, Los Angeles contains more employment
bureaus than any other city in the United States.
While standing in one of these labor bureaus a few days later, I learned
that a certain hotel in San Pedro wanted a hotel clerk. I gave up my job
trucking freight and took the street car for San Pedro.
After having a short talk and showing my references to Jennings and
White, proprietors of the Angelus Hotel, I was offered the place as
clerk at $15.00 per month, board and room.
I accepted the position.
The little town of San Pedro bears the distinction of being one of the
nine corners of the world.
The Pacific Ocean is in full view from the front entrance of the Angelus
Hotel.
From this point it is only a two-hours run on the steamboat Cabrillo to
the famous fishing grounds of Santa Catalina Island.
If you are a good fisherman with hook and line, two hours in these
waters will supply you with from seventy-five to one hundred and fifty
pounds of fish.
I had been clerking for Jennings & White about six weeks, when one day a
man registered in the hotel from Searchlight, Nevada.
The man praised up Searchlight in glowing terms.
"Everything in Searchlight is on a boom," said he. "Wages are good, and
it's the very place for a young man to make money."
I was not making anything and had already grown tired of the little,
sleepy town of San Pedro.
The fever of travel was once more infused within me.
I would go to Searchlight, and if I found it like the man had said, I
promised myself I would settle down there and stop traveling about.
To hold my position as clerk in the hotel I had been compelled to invest
all of my small salary in clothing.
When I resigned the job I had saved just $2.00.
Mr. Jennings said I was doing a bad thing starting to Searchlight broke,
and that he would give me a letter of reference to a Los Angeles street
car Superintendent. I reproduce his letter in this book, though I never
used it, for I was bent now upon going to Searchlight, and that
afternoon took the car for Los Angeles.
I knocked about the streets of Los Angeles three or four days trying to
get up courage to begin beating trains again.
During my six weeks of ease and contentment at the hotel I had grown
almost as timid as when I first left home.
Hardly before I knew it I was stranded in Los Angeles without a penny.
My grip had been left in charge of Jennings & White, to be forwarded to
me in case I reached Searchlight safely.
I told some kind-hearted gentleman on the street of my trouble, and he
kindly advised me to apply to the Los Angeles Chief of Police.
"He'll get you a place to sleep to-night," said the man, giving me the
street and number of the Chief's office.
I lost sight of the fact that I was again dressed for hoboing the
railroad, and that the chief might be unfavorably impressed with my
appearance.
I reached his office, which was located in a large stone building, just
after nightfall.
He listened to my story a moment or so, but instead of furnishing me
with an address and the wherewithal to obtain a night's sleep at some
lodging house, he tapped a bell on the desk.
The next moment a blue coat entered the office.
I now began to grow suspicious, but it was too late.
"Take that man around for a night's lodging," said the Chief, and before
I could gather my wits I was whisked from the Chief's presence into
another department.
"Search the prisoner," commanded the pompous looking individual
presiding in this office.
The cop searched my pockets and all my things were put in a large
envelope, sealed and locked in a large iron safe.
I now found my tongue and began using it pretty loud. The disgrace of
spending a night in jail seemed more than I could bear.
"Turn me loose, I don't want lodging. Please let me go," I cried.
But it was no go.
"Dry up there!" came the command. "If the Chief hears you, you may get
thrown in a year for vagrancy."
I could have 'phoned to Jennings & White, and no doubt they could have
gotten me out of the scrape, but I was ashamed for them to know of my
predicament, and kept quiet.
A large book was thrust at me.
"Sign your name!" came the command.
Anyone looking over the Los Angeles records for 1906 will find the name
"Robert Smith," signed for a night's lodging.
The city prison was in the back of the building, and a short time later
I was locked behind the bars in an iron-bound cell containing twenty or
more prisoners.
Within ten minutes every man of them had asked me what I had been "run
in" for.
"You're liable to be kept in here several months for vagrancy," said the
prisoners.
I'll not dwell upon the horrors of that night. I didn't sleep a wink
throughout the long night, and was wideawake next morning at six o'clock
when the prison warden approached the cage door and shouted:
"Robert Smith"--
[Illustration: "Robert Smith--is Robert Smith in there?" shouted the
prison warden.]
"Robert Smith in there?" he called to some of the prisoners a moment
later.
I sprang up. I had forgotten that I had signed Robert Smith on the
books.
"I'm the man!" I cried, and five minutes later I was a free man, again
breathing the pure, fresh air of the outside world.
With rapid footsteps I hurried from this unpleasant locality and made my
way down town.
At the time I write the railroad hadn't yet reached Searchlight.
The nearest point of construction was Manvel, Cal., twenty-three miles
away.
By mere good fortune I learned that morning that the railroad company
was shipping men through the Red Cross Employment Bureau to Manvel for
construction work.
I lost no time in visiting the Red Cross Agency, and was given a pass
over the Santa Fe Railroad to Manvel.
There were thirty-odd men in the crew I shipped with, mostly foreigners.
We rode all night, and about 12 o'clock next day we reached Manvel.
By keeping my eyes and ears open along the trip I easily spotted the men
who had shipped out of Los Angeles as a means of reaching Searchlight.
At midnight when the rest of the camp was wrapped in deep slumber six
men silently stole from the tents and struck out across the desert for
Searchlight.
The lights of the town could be plainly seen from the railroad camps,
and it hardly seemed possible that those bright looking lights were
twenty-three miles across the desert.
Footsore, thirsty and tired we reached Searchlight next morning.
Searchlight contains fifteen business houses, and eleven of them are
saloons, though its a very quiet and well-governed little town, and
about the only excitement is when some lucky prospector arrives with
rich specimens of gold ore, discovered somewhere nearby in the
surrounding desert--and this happens quite often. While I was there Mike
Walsh, a very poor man, discovered a rich gold claim three miles north
of Searchlight and sold it for $10,000.
Any one can prospect if he's able to buy a grub stake. Eighty dollars
will buy two burros and a three-months' grub stake for two men, and but
little trouble is experienced in finding some veteran prospector who'll
accompany you in search for gold on halves.
There are several good paying gold mines within a half mile of the town.
One gold mine there is in full operation within thirty feet of Main
street. It is worked by only three young men, who are the owners, and it
is supposed they are making a small fortune.
I got a job with Cook & Co. assisting to survey town lots, for which I
was paid $3.50 per day.
Later on I got a job with Mr. Fred. Ullman, proprietor of the
Searchlight Hotel. I was taken on as porter in the bar-room and hotel,
but upon learning to mix drinks, I was engaged as bartender, which job I
held until Mr. Ullman sold out a few weeks later to a firm in Los
Angeles.
This threw me out of a job, but out of my salary I had placed $50.00 in
the Searchlight Bank.
I now took a job at Doc's Kitchen washing dishes at two dollars and
seventy-five cents per day.
While engaged in this work my brother wrote me a long letter from home,
saying they were all very anxious to see me and that mother had been
taken seriously ill, worrying about me.
For the first time since leaving home I began to feel homesick, so much
so I had to give up my job.
I decided to make a short visit to San Francisco and then start home.
I bought a stage ticket to Nipton, Cal., and from that point purchased a
ticket to Los Angeles. Next day I shipped from Los Angeles to Weed, Cal.
Weed is in the Siskiyou Mountains, six hundred miles from Los Angeles. I
deserted the train at Stockton, Cal., with another young fellow, and we
took the boat from this point to 'Frisco.
By this manoeuvering I saved nearly half the fare from Searchlight to
San Francisco.
I had a hard time finding a lodging house in 'Frisco, for over
four-fifths of the hotels had gone up in the big fire. After several
hours of weary tramping about the streets, I found the St. George Hotel,
a large frame building, erected temporarily on Mission street.
Lodging in 'Frisco was high and board brought fabulous prices.
Two weeks later I awoke to the realization that my $50.00 had dwindled
to $5.00.
Part of this money had gone for a new suit of clothes, but the other had
been spent for living expenses.
I couldn't start for home with but $5.00, and only one other course was
left--I must go to work. I didn't care to work in 'Frisco, though, for
it was only skilled labor that was commanding high prices.
I met a young man in the hotel, P. A. Franck, from No. 3851 Juniata
street, St. Louis, Mo., who had left his St. Louis home to make a
fortune in San Francisco, but disappointed with the poor wages paid for
labor in 'Frisco compared with the high cost of living expenses, he
readily agreed to leave with me.
Murray & Ready's Employment Bureau, on Tenth and Market streets, shipped
us three hundred miles to the Sugar Pine Mountains, in central
California to work at a saw-mill.
We left the train at Madera, Cal., at which town was located the Sugar
Pine Company's office.
From Madera we took a sixty-mile stage ride through the Sugar Pine
Mountains to the saw-mill, arriving there late one afternoon.
That night we learned that the mill owners had decided to close down the
mill until the following spring, and that, if we went to work, in all
probability the job would give out by the time we had worked out our
fare from San Francisco.
That night we slept on the bare floor of a little log hut up the
mountain side, the man in the company store saying all his bed covering
had been sold out.
The next morning we were both frozen nearly stiff; we awoke before light
and struck the trail back to Madera.
I had a thirty-pound grip of clothing and Franck was weighted down with
a still heavier grip and an overcoat.
All day long we tramped over the mountains, and all the following night.
By morning of the second day we were making scarcely a mile an hour, and
were so near played out we were forced to rest every ten or fifteen
minutes. Once Franck's shoe became untied, and in stooping to tie it he
pitched heavily forward upon his hands and knees.
Only once did we get anything to eat, the halfway house sold us a
scanty meal for 50 cents each.
[Illustration: THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY.
Good-by, dear old Arizona.
Good-by, sunny California.
(Pro tem) to you both.]
At last, scarcely able to stand up, we reached Madera.
Afraid that the Sugar Pine Company would indict us for deserting, we
spent our last penny for a ticket to Fresno, Cal.
We got a job at Madera's planing mill in Fresno and found a lodging
house at No. 846 I street, run by a Mrs. Dora Harrell, a widow.
Two days later we were discharged, Mr. Madera saying that we were the
slowest two young men that had ever worked for him.
The fact is, the two days he paid us for was like finding money, for
after that long tramp in the Sugar Pine Mountains we were too weak to
work. It was about all we could do to stand around the mill and watch
the others work.
Franck now placed his grip in the express office and bade me good-bye,
saying he was going to hobo it to Los Angeles.
I refused to accompany him, relating my "Robert Smith" experience, but
he was bent upon going, and with tears in our eyes we parted.
Not long after I was taken ill, and for two weeks I was unable to leave
my room.
My money was all gone and I was in debt to my landlady for board.
About this time I received another long letter from my brother, offering
me a half interest in his grocery store, and advising me to come at
once if I expected to find mother alive.
I lost no time in telegraphing the following reply:
"Will come immediately if you send ticket; otherwise I can't."
Late the next day I received a telegraph order for ninety dollars.
The telegraph company wrote out a check, which I got the Principal of
the Fresno Business College to endorse.
I purchased a ticket via Denver and Chicago, and after a long and
tedious journey, I arrived in Tarboro.
My mother was sleeping and dreaming of her boy in far off sun-bathed
California, when, with a light kiss, I awoke her. I will never forget
the glad cry that escaped her lips when she saw me home once again, safe
and sound.
It was Horace Greeley, the great American author, who said: "Young men
go West."
From what little I saw of this great, grand country beyond the
Mississippi, I think it is good advice. There are more opportunities to
make money and more money to be made, and the climate is better; but
unless father and mother are dead, take the well-meant advice of a young
man who has recently been West; only to learn that there was but one
place on earth--"HOME."
THE END.
San Pedro, Cal., Aug. 8th, 1906.
M. F. Vanranker, Esq., Supt.
Dear Sir:--This will introduce Mr. John Peele, who would like to make
application with you for work. I know him personally, and can recommend
him to be an honest, sober, and energetic young man, and will make you
an A.1. conductor, for he is very bright and quick. If you can use him
you will make no mistake.
Very respectfully yours,
J. W. JENNINGS.
St. Louis, Mo., Jan. 29, 1907.
My Dear Friend Jack:
I received your letter of the 11th inst. I have also been very
busy--have been working steady since I got back home. I am very glad to
hear that you appreciate my poor efforts at letter-writing.
Too bad about your girl getting married. You are right about the girls
all wanting to marry a man with money. I guess that's the reason I'm not
married. Never mind, old chap, you will find another girl--there are
others, don't you know.
You state in your letter that since returning home you have been
troubled with the asthma, and on account of the moist air and the land
being so low and full of malaria you feared an attack of pneumonia. I
hope you are well again and are rid of the cold.
I see you are in the grocery business. That proposition is all right, if
you stay at home for a few years. Stick to it, old chap, for awhile,
anyway.
I intend to stay at home for awhile, and any time I do go away I will
let you know about it. Perhaps we may meet again out in the tall and
uncut wild and wooly.
Say, Jack, do you remember in San Francisco "Murry & Ready," the "St.
George" where we stopped, "Madera," the "Sugar Pine Co.," the sixty-mile
"stage ride," the run-away, the comfortable little cabin on the side of
the hill where we slept that night, the long tramp next day out of the
Sugar Pine Mountains, and the boss we had in Fresno at the Madera
Planing Mill? Them were some great old times.
My folks are all well, thank you. Trusting the same of yours, I will
close, with kindest regards and best wishes,
Your old side partner in California,
PHIL.
P. A. Franck, 3851 Juniata St., St. Louis, Mo.
I was never in Paris or London, and have never crossed the pond
anywhere. My only experience on the deep blue was a trip from Los
Angeles to San Francisco.
I agree with you we did a foolish stunt when we parted at Fresno, Cal.
I am getting along real nice, working hard, staying at home, and saving
my money.
Am still an advocate of Physical Culture, and take my daily exercises,
and perhaps this week will join the Central Y. M. C. A. here.
I have not been able to find anything that weighs 35 lbs., so do not
know if I can muscle it out, but will let you know as soon as I do.
Pretty good work, old man, muscling out 35 lbs. Keep up the good work.