INCIDENTS IN PUBLIC SERVICE
At twenty-two I found myself Register of the Humboldt Land Office, with
offices on the first floor of a building at Eureka, the second story of
which was occupied by a school. An open veranda extended across the
front. When I first let myself into the office, I carelessly left the
key in the lock. A mischievous girl simply gave it a turn and I was a
prisoner, with a plain but painful way of escape--not physically
painful, but humiliating to my official pride. There was nothing for it
but ignominiously to crawl out of the window onto the veranda and
recover the key--and that I forthwith did.
The archives of the office proved interesting. The original Register was
a Missouri Congressman, who had been instructed to proceed to Humboldt
City and open the office. Humboldt City was on the map and seemed the
logical location. But it had "died aborning" and as a city did not
exist. So the Register took the responsibility of locating the office at
Eureka, and in explanation addressed to the President, whom he
denominated "Buckhannan," a letter in which he went at length into the
"hole" subject. The original draft was on file.
I was authorized to receive homestead applications, to locate land
warrants, to hear contests, and to sell "offered land." The latter was
government land that had been offered for sale at $1.25 an acre and had
not been taken. Strangely enough, it embraced a portion of the redwood
belt along Mad River, near Arcata.
But one man seemed aware of the opportunity. John Preston, a tanner of
Arcata, would accumulate thirty dollars in gold and with it buy fifty
dollars in legal-tender notes. Then he would call and ask for the plat,
and, after considerable pawing, he would say, "Well, Charlie, I guess
I'll take that forty." Whereupon the transaction would be completed by
my taking his greenbacks and giving him a certificate of purchase for
the forty acres of timber-land that had cost him seventy-five cents an
acre, and later probably netted him not less than three hundred dollars
an acre for stumpage alone. Today it would be worth twice that. The
opportunity was open to all who had a few cents and a little sense.
Sales of land were few and locations infrequent, consequently
commissions were inconsiderable. Now and then I would hold a trial
between conflicting claimants, some of them quite important. It was
natural that the respective attorneys should take advantage of my youth
and inexperience, for they had known me in my verdant boyhood and
seemed to rejoice in my discomfiture. I had hard work to keep them in
order. They threatened one another with ink-bottles and treated me with
contempt. They would lure me on when I rejected evidence as
inadmissible, offering slightly changed forms, until I was forced to
reverse myself. When I was uncertain I would adjourn court and think it
over. These were trying experiences, but I felt sure that the claimants'
rights would be protected on appeal to the Commissioner of the General
Land Office and finally to the Secretary of the Interior. I was glad
that in the biggest case I guessed right.
One occurrence made a strong impression on me. It was war-time, and
loyalty was an issue. A rancher from Mendocino County came to Eureka to
prove up on his land and get a patent. He seemed to me a fine man, but
when he was asked to take the oath of allegiance he balked. I tried my
best to persuade him that it was harmless and reasonable, but he simply
wouldn't take it, and went back home without his patent.
My experiences while chief clerk in the office of the Superintendent of
Indian Affairs are too valuable to be overlooked. I traveled quite
freely and saw unfamiliar life. I had a very interesting trip in 1865,
to inspect the Round Valley Indian Reservation and to distribute
clothing to the Indians. It was before the days of railroads in that
part of California. Two of us drove a light wagon from Petaluma to
Ukiah, and then put saddles on our horses and started over the mountains
to the valley. We took a cold lunch, planning to stay overnight at a
stockman's ranch. When we reached the place we found a notice that he
had gone to a rodeo. We broke into his barn to feed our horses, but we
spared his house. Failing to catch fish in the stream near by, we made
our dinner of its good water, and after a troubled night had the same
fare for breakfast. For once in my life I knew hunger. To the nearest
ranch was half a day's journey, and we lost no time in heading for it.
On the way I had an encounter with a vicious rattlesnake. The outcome
was more satisfactory than it might have been. At noon, when we found a
cattleman whose Indian mate served venison and hot bread of good quality
and abundant quantity, we were appreciative and happy. The remainder of
the trip was uneventful.
The equal division of clothing or supplies among a lot of Indians throws
helpful light on the causes of inequality. A very few days suffice to
upset all efforts at impartiality. A few, the best gamblers, soon have
more than they need, while the many have little or nothing.
The valleys of Mendocino County are fascinatingly beautiful, and a trip
direct to the coast, with a spin along ten miles of perfect beach as we
returned, was a fine contrast to hungry climbing over rugged heights.
Another memorable trip was with two Indians from the mouth of the
Klamath River to its junction with the Trinity at Weitchpec. The whole
course of the stream is between lofty peaks and is a continuous series
of sharp turns. After threading its winding way, it is easy to
understand what an almost solid resistance would be presented to a
rapidly rising river. With such a watershed as is drained by the two
rivers, the run-off in a storm would be so impeded as to be very slow.
The actual result was demonstrated in 1861. In August of that year, A.S.
Hallidie built a wire bridge at Weitchpec. He made the closest possible
examination as to the highest point the river had reached. In an Indian
rancheria he found a stone door-sill that had been hollowed by constant
use for ages. This was then ninety-eight feet above the level of the
flowing river. He accepted it as absolutely safe. In December, 1861, the
river rose thirty feet above the bridge and carried away the structure.
The Indians living on lower Mad River had been removed for safety to the
Smith River Indian Reservation. They were not happy and felt they might
safely return, now that the Indian war was over. The white men who were
friendly believed that if one of the trusted Indians could be brought
down to talk with his friends he could satisfy the others that it would
be better to remain on the reservation. It was my job to go up and bring
him down. We came down the beach past the mouth of the Klamath, Gold
Bluff, and Trinidad, to Fort Humboldt, and interviewed many white
settlers friendly to the Indians until the representative was satisfied
as to the proper course to follow.
In 1851 "Gold Bluff" was the first great mining excitement. The Klamath
River enters the ocean just above the bluff that had been made by the
deposit of sand, gravel, and boulders to the height of a hundred feet or
more. The waves, beating against the bluff for ages, have doubtless
washed gold into the ocean's bed. In 1851 it was discovered that at
certain tides or seasons there were deposited on the beach quantities of
black sand, mingled with which were particles of gold. Nineteen men
formed a company to take up a claim and work the supposedly exhaustless
deposit. An expert report declared that the sand measured would yield
each of the men the modest sum of $43,000,000. Great excitement stirred
San Francisco and eight vessels left with adventurers. But it soon was
found that black sand was scarce and gold much more so. For some time it
paid something, but as a lure it soon failed.
When I was first there I was tremendously impressed when shown at the
level of the beach, beneath the bluff and its growing trees, an embedded
redwood log. It started the imagination on conjectures of when and where
it had been clad in beauty as part of a living landscape.
An interesting conclusion to this experience was traveling over the
state with Charles Maltby, appointed to succeed my friend, to turn over
the property of the department. He was a personal friend of President
Lincoln, and he bore a striking resemblance to him and seemed like him
in character.
In 1883 a nominee for the Assembly from San Francisco declined the
honor, and it devolved on a group of delegates to select a candidate in
his place. They asked me to run, and on the condition that I should
solicit no votes and spend no money I consented. I was one of four
Republicans elected from San Francisco. In the entire state we were
outnumbered about four to one. But politics ordinarily cuts little
figure. The only measure I introduced provided for the probationary
treatment of juvenile delinquents through commitment to an unsectarian
organization that would seek to provide homes. I found no opposition in
committee or on the floor. When it was reached I would not endanger its
passage by saying anything for it. It passed unanimously and was
concurred in by the Senate. My general conclusion is that the average
legislator is ready to support a measure that he feels is meritorious
and has no other motive than the general good.
We were summoned in extra session to act on matters affecting the
railroads. It was at a time when they were decidedly in politics. The
Central Pacific was generally credited with controlling the legislative
body of the state. A powerful lobby was maintained, and the company was
usually able to thwart the passage of any legislation the political
manager considered detrimental to its interests. The farmers and country
representatives did all in their power to correct abuses and protect the
interests of the people of the state, but the city representatives, in
many instances not men of character, were usually controlled by some
boss ready to do the bidding of the railroad's chief lobbyist. The hope
for decency is always in free men, and they generally are from the
country.
It was pathetic at times to watch proceedings. I recall one instance,
where a young associate from San Francisco had cast a vote that was
discreditable and pretty plainly indicated corrupt influence. The
measure he supported won a passage, but a motion for reconsideration
carried, and when it came up the following day the father of the young
man was seated by his side as the vote was taken. He was a
much-respected plasterer, and he came from his home on a hurried call to
save his son from disgrace. It was a great relief when on recall the son
reversed his vote and the measure was lost.
Of course, there were punitive measures, unreasonable and unjust, and
some men were afraid to be just if the railroad would in any way be
benefited. I tried to be discriminating and impartial, judging each
measure on its merits. I found it was a thankless task and bred
suspicion. An independent man is usually distrusted. At the end of the
session a fine old farmer, consistently against the railroad, said to
me: "I couldn't make you out for a long time. Some days I gave you a
white mark, and some days a black one. I finally give you a white
mark--but it was a close shave."
I was impressed with the power of the Speaker to favor or thwart
legislation. At the regular session some Senator had introduced a bill
favoring the needs of the University of California. He wanted it
concurred in by the Assembly, and as the leading Democrats were pretty
busy with their own affairs he entrusted it to me. The Speaker favored
it, and he did not favor a bill in the hands of a leader of the house
involving an appropriation. He called me to his seat and suggested that
at the reassembling of the Assembly after luncheon I should take the
floor to move that the bill be placed on the first-reading file. He knew
that the leader would be ready with his pet bill, but he would recognize
me. When the gavel fell after luncheon three men leaped for the floor. I
arose well at the side of the chamber, while the leader stood directly
in front, but the Speaker happened (?) to see me first, and the
entrusted bill started for speedy success.
It is always pleasant to discover unsuspected humor. There was a very
serious-appearing country member who, with the others of a committee,
visited the State Prison at San Quentin. We were there at the midday
meal and saw the prisoners file in to a substantially laden table. He
watched them enjoy the spread, and quietly remarked, "A man who wouldn't
be satisfied with such food as that deserves to be turned out of the
State Prison."
Some reformer had introduced a bill providing for a complete new code of
criminal procedure. It had been referred to the appropriate committee
and in due time it made its report. I still can see the committee
chairman, a country doctor, as he stood and shook a long finger at the
members before him, saying: "Mr. Speaker, we ask that this measure be
read in full to the Assembly. I want you to know that I have been
obliged to hear it, and I am bound that every member of the house shall
hear it."
My conclusion at the end of the session was that the people of the state
were fortunate in faring no worse. The many had little fitness; a few
had large responsibility. Doubtful and useless measures predominate, but
they are mostly quietly smothered. The country members are watchful and
discriminating and a few leaders exercise great power. To me it was a
fine experience, and I made good friends. I was interested in proposed
measures, and would have willingly gone back the next term. Some of my
friends sounded the political boss of the period and asked if I could be
given a place on the ticket. He smiled and said, "We have no use for
him." When the nominating convention was held he sent in by a messenger
a folded piece of paper upon which was inscribed the name of the man for
whom they had use--and my legislative career was at an end.
I went back to my printing business, which never should have been
neglected, and stayed mildly by it for eleven years. Then, there being a
vacancy on the Board of Education, I responded to the wish of friends
and accepted the appointment to help them in their endeavor to better
our schools.
John Swett, an experienced educator, was superintendent. The majority of
the board was composed of high-minded and able men. They had turned over
the selection of teachers to the best-fitted professors of the
university and were giving an economical and creditable administration.
If a principalship was vacant, applications were apt to be disregarded,
and the person in the department considered most capable and deserving
was notified of election. There were, however, some loose methods. All
graduates of the high schools were privileged to attend a normal class
for a year and then were eligible without any examination to be
appointed teachers. The board was not popular with the teachers, many of
whom seemed to consider that the department was mainly for their
benefit. At the end of the unexpired term I was elected a member of the
succeeding board, and this was continued for five years.
When the first elected board held a preliminary canvass I naturally felt
much interest as to my associates, some of whom were entire strangers.
Among them was Henry T. Scott, of the firm of shipbuilders who had built
the "Oregon." Some one remarked that a prominent politician (naming him)
would like to know what patronage would be accorded him. Mr. Scott very
forcibly and promptly replied: "So far as I am concerned, not a damned
bit. I want none for myself, and I will oppose giving any to him or
anyone else." I learned later that he had been elected without being
consulted, while absent in the East. Upon his return a somewhat
notorious woman principal called on him and informed him that she was
responsible for his election--at least, his name had been submitted to
her and received her approval. He replied that he felt she deserved no
thanks for that, as he had no desire to serve. She said she had but one
request to make; her janitress must not be removed. He gave her no
assurances. Soon afterward the matter of appointments came up. Mr. Scott
was asked what he wanted, and he replied: "I want but one thing. It
involves the janitress of Mrs. ----'s school. I want her to be removed
immediately."
"All right," replied the questioner. "Whom shall we name?"
"Whomever you please," rejoined Scott. "I have no candidate; but no one
can tell me what I must or must not do."
Substitution followed at once.
Later Mr. Scott played the star part in the most interesting political
struggle I ever knew. A Democratic victory placed in the
superintendent's office a man whose Christian name was appropriately
Andrew Jackson. He had the naming of his secretary, who was ex-officio
clerk of the board, which confirmed the appointment. One George Beanston
had grown to manhood in the office and filled it most satisfactorily.
The superintendent nominated a man with no experience, whom I shall call
Wells, for the reason that it was not his name. Mr. Scott, a Democratic
member, and I were asked to report on the nomination. The superintendent
and the committee discussed the matter at a pleasant dinner at the
Pacific-Union Club, given by Chairman Scott. At its conclusion the
majority conceded that usage and courtesy entitled the superintendent to
the appointment. Feeling that civil service and the interest of the
school department were opposed to removal from position for mere
political differences, I demurred and brought in a minority report.
There were twelve members, and when the vote to concur in the
appointment came up there was a tie, and the matter went over for a
week. During the week one of the Beanston supporters was given the
privilege of naming a janitor, and the suspicion that a trade had been
made was justified when on roll-call he hung his head and murmured
"Wells." The cause seemed lost; but when later in the alphabetical roll
Scott's name was reached, he threw up his head and almost shouted
"Beanston," offsetting the loss of the turncoat and leaving the vote
still a tie. It was never called up again, and Beanston retained the
place for another two years.
Early in 1901 I was called up on the telephone and asked to come to
Mayor Phelan's office at once. I found there some of the most ardent
civil service supporters in the city. Richard J. Freud, a member of the
Civil Service Commission, had suddenly died the night before. The
vacancy was filled by the mayor's appointment. Eugene Schmitz had been
elected mayor and would take his seat the following day, and the friends
of civil service distrusted his integrity. They did not dare to allow
him to act. Haste seemed discourteous to the memory of Freud, but he
would want the best for the service. Persuaded of the gravity of the
matter, I accepted the appointment for a year and filed my commission
before returning to my place of business. I enjoyed the work and its
obvious advantage to the departments under its operation. The Police
Department especially was given an intelligent and well-equipped force.
An amusing incident of an examination for promotion to the position of
corporal concerned the hopes we entertained for the success of a popular
patrolman. But he did not apply. One day one of the board met him and
asked him if he was not to try for it. "I think not," he replied. "My
early education was very unlimited. What I know, I know; but I'll be
damned if I'm going to give you fellows a chance to find out what I
don't know!"
I chanced to visit Washington during my term as commissioner, and
through the courtesy of Senator Perkins had a pleasant call on President
Roosevelt. A Senator seems to have ready access to the ordinary
President, and almost before I realized it we were in the strenuous
presence. A cordial hand-clasp and a genial smile followed my
introduction, and as the Senator remarked that I was a Civil Service
Commissioner, the President called: "Shake again. I used to be one of
those fellows myself."
Senator Perkins went on: "Mr. Murdock and I have served for many years
as fellow trustees of the Boys and Girls Aid Society."
"Ah," said the President, "modeled, I presume, on Brace's society, in
which my father was greatly interested. Do you know I believe work with
boys is about the only hope? It's pretty hard to change a man, but when
you can start a boy in the right way he has a chance." Turning to me he
remarked, "Did you know that Governor Brady of Alaska was one of
Brace's placed-out boys!" Then of Perkins he asked, "By the way,
Senator, how is Brady doing?"
"Very well, I understand," replied the Senator. "I believe he is a
thoroughly honest man."
"Yes; but is he also able? It is as necessary for a man in public life
to be able as to be honest."
He bade us a hearty good-by as we left him. He impressed me as
untroubled and courageous, ready every day for what came, and meeting
life with cheer.
The story of the moral and political revolution of 1907 has never been
adequately told, nor have the significance and importance of the event
been fully recognized. The facts are of greater import than the record;
but an eyewitness has responsibility, and I feel moved to give my
testimony.
Perhaps so complete a reversal of spirit and administration was never
before reached without an election by the people. The faithfulness and
nerve of one official backed by the ability of a detective employed by a
public-spirited citizen rescued the city government from the control of
corrupt and irresponsible men and substituted a mayor and board of
supervisors of high character and unselfish purpose. This was
accomplished speedily and quietly.
With positive proof of bribery that left conviction and a term in
prison as the alternative to resignation, District Attorney William H.
Langdon had complete control of the situation. In consultation with
those who had proved their interest in the welfare of the city, he asked
Edward Robeson Taylor to serve as mayor, privileged to select sixteen
citizens to act as supervisors in place of the implicated incumbents,
who would be induced to resign. Dr. Taylor was an attorney of the
highest standing, an idealist of fearless and determined character. No
pledges hampered him. He was free to act in redeeming the city. In turn,
he asked no pledge or promise of those whom he selected to serve as
supervisors. He named men whom he felt he could trust, and he
subsequently left them alone, asking nothing of them and giving them no
advice.
It was the year after the fire. I was conducting a substitute
printing-office in the old car-barn at Geary and Buchanan streets. One
morning Dr. Taylor came in and asked if he might speak to me in private.
I was not supplied with facilities for much privacy, but I asked him in
and we found seats in the corner of the office farthest from the
bookkeeper. Without preliminary, he said, "I want you to act as one of
the supervisors." Wholly surprised, I hesitated a moment and then
assured him that my respect for him and what he had undertaken was so
great that if he was sure he wanted me I would serve. He went out with
no further comment, and I heard nothing more of it until I received a
notice to meet at his office in the temporary City Hall on July 16th.
In response to the call I found fifteen other men, most of whom I knew
slightly. We seemed to be waiting for something. Mr. Langdon was there
and Mr. Burns, the detective, was in and out. Mr. Gallagher, late acting
mayor and an old-time friend of the District Attorney, was helping in
the transfer, in which he was included. Langdon would suggest some
procedure: "How will this do, Jim?" "It seems to me, Billy, that this
will be better," Gallagher would reply. Burns finally reported that the
last of the "bunch" had signed his resignation and that we could go
ahead. We filed into the boardroom. Mayor Taylor occupied the chair, to
which the week before he had been obediently but not enthusiastically
elected by "those about to die." The supervisor alphabetically ranking
offered his written resignation, which the mayor promptly accepted. He
then appointed as successor the first, alphabetically, on his list. The
deputy county clerk was conveniently near and promptly administered the
oath and certified the commission. The old member slunk or swaggered out
and the new member took his place. So the dramatic scene continued until
the transformation was accomplished and a new era dawned. The atmosphere
was changed, but was very serious and determined. Everyone felt the
gravity of the situation and that we had no easy task ahead. Solemnity
marked the undertaking and full realization that hard work alone could
overcome obstacles and restore endurable conditions.
Many of the men selected by Dr. Taylor had enjoyed experience and all
were anxious to do their best. With firm grasp and resolute procedure,
quick results followed. There was to be an election in November. Some of
the strongest members had accepted service as an emergency call and
could not serve longer; but an incredible amount of planning was
accomplished and a great deal disposed of, so that though ten of the
appointed board served but six months they had rendered a great service
and fortunately were succeeded by other men of character, and the good
work went steadily on. In looking back to the problems that confronted
the appointed board and the first elected board, also headed by Dr.
Taylor, they seem insurmountable.
It is hard now to appreciate the physical conditions of the city. It was
estimated that not less than five million dollars would be required to
put the streets into any decent condition. It was at first proposed to
include this, sum in the bond issue that could not be escaped, but
reflection assured us that so temporary a purpose was not a proper use
of bond money, and we met the expenditure from the annual tax levy. We
found the smallest amount required for urgent expenditure in excess of
the tax levy was $18,200,000, and at a special election held early in
1908 the voters endorsed the proposed issue by a vote of over 21,000 to
1800. The three largest expenditures were for an auxiliary water system
for fire protection ($5,200,000), for school buildings ($5,000,000), and
for sewers ($4,000,000).
I cannot follow the various steps by which order was brought out of
chaos, nor can I give special acknowledgment where it is manifestly due;
but I can bear testimony to the unselfishness and faithfulness of a
remarkable body of public officials and to a few of the things
accomplished. To correct gross evils and restore good conditions is no
slight task; but to substitute the best for the worst is a great
achievement. This San Francisco has done in several marked instances.
There was a time when about the only thing we could boast was that we
spent a _less_ sum per capita than any city in the Union for the care of
hospital patients. I remember hearing that fine citizen, Frederick
Dohrmann, once say, "Every supervisor who has gone out of public service
leaving our old County Hospital standing is guilty of a municipal
crime." It was a disgrace of which we were ashamed. The fire had spared
the building, but the new supervisors did not. We now have one of the
best hospitals in the country, admirably conducted.
Our City Prison is equally reversed. It was our shame; it is our pride.
The old Almshouse was a discreditable asylum for the politician who
chanced to superintend it. Today our "Relief Home" is a model for the
country. In 1906 the city was destroyed because unprotected against
fire. Today we are as safe as a city can be. In the meantime the reduced
cost of insurance pays insured citizens a high rate of interest on the
cost of our high-pressure auxiliary fire system. Our streets were once
noted for their poor construction and their filthy condition. Recently
an informed visitor has pronounced them the best to be found. We had no
creditable boulevards or drives. Quietly and without bond expenditure we
have constructed magnificent examples. Our school buildings were shabby
and poor. Many now are imposing and beautiful.
This list could be extended; but turn for a moment to matters of
manners. Where are the awful corner-groceries that helped the saloons to
ruin men and boys, and where are the busy nickel-in-the-slot machines
and shameless smokers in the street-cars? Where are the sellers of
lottery tickets, where the horse-races and the open gambling?
It was my fortune to be re-elected for eight years. Sometimes I am
impressed by how little I seem to have individually accomplished in this
long period of time. One effect of experience is to modify one's
expectations. It is not nearly so easy to accomplish things as one who
has not tried is apt to imagine. Reforming is not an easy process.
Inertia is something really to be overcome, and one is often surprised
to find how obstinate majorities can be. Initiative is a rare faculty
and an average legislator must be content to follow. One can render good
service sometimes by what he prevents. Again, he may finally fail in
some good purpose through no fault of his own, and yet win something
even in losing. Early in my term I was convinced that one thing that
ought to be changed was our absurd liquor license. We had by far the
lowest tax of any city in the Union, and naturally had the largest
number of saloons. I tried to have the license raised from eighty-four
dollars to one thousand dollars, hoping to reduce our twenty-four
hundred saloons. I almost succeeded. When I failed the liquor interest
was so frightened at its narrow escape that it led the people to adopt a
five-hundred-dollar substitute.
I was led to undertake the correction of grave abuses and confusion in
the naming of the city streets. The post-office authorities were greatly
hampered in the mail delivery by the duplicate use of names. The
dignified word "avenue" had been conferred on many alleys. A commission
worked diligently and efficiently. One set of numbered streets was
eliminated. The names of men who had figured in the history of the city
were given to streets bearing their initials. Anza, Balboa, and
Cabrillo gave meaning to A, B, and C. We gave Columbus an avenue,
Lincoln a "way," and substituted for East Street the original name of
the waterfront, "The Embarcadero." In all we made more than four hundred
changes and corrections.
There were occasional humorous incidents connected with this task. There
were opposition and prejudice against names offered. Some one proposed a
"St. Francis Boulevard." An apparently intelligent man asked why we
wanted to perpetuate the name of "that old pirate." I asked, "Who do you
think we have in mind?" He replied, "I suppose you would honor Sir
Francis Drake." He seemed never to have heard of Saint Francis of
Assisi.
It was predicted that the Taylor administration with its excellent
record would be continued, but at the end of two years it went down to
defeat and the Workingmen's party, with P.H. McCarthy as mayor, gained
strong control. For two years, as a minority member, I enjoyed a
different but interesting experience. It involved some fighting and
preventive effort; but I found that if one fought fairly he was accorded
consideration and opportunity. I introduced a charter amendment that
seemed very desirable, and it found favor. The charter prescribed a
two-year term for eighteen supervisors and their election each alternate
year. Under the provision it was possible to have every member without
experience. By making the term four years and electing nine members
every other year experience was assured, and the ballot would be half
the length, a great advantage. It had seemed wise to me to allow the
term of the mayor to remain two years, but the friends of Mayor McCarthy
were so confident of his re-election that they insisted on a four-year
term. As so amended the matter went to the people and was adopted. At
the following election Mayor James Rolph, Jr., was elected for four
years, two of which were an unintentional gift of his political
opponents.
I served for four years under the energetic Rolph, and they were
fruitful ones. Most of the plans inaugurated by the Taylor board were
carried out, and materially the city made great strides. The Exposition
was a revelation of what was possible, and of the City Hall and the
Civic Center we may well be proud.
Some of my supervisorial experiences were trying and some were amusing.
Discussion was often relieved by rare bits of eloquence and surprising
use of language. Pronunciation was frequently original and
unprecedented. Amazing ignorance was unconcealed and the gift of gab was
unrestrained. Nothing quite equaled in fatal facility a progress report
made by a former member soon after his debut: "We think we shall soon be
able to bring chaos out of the present disorder, now existing." On one
of our trips of investigation the City Engineer had remarked on the
watershed. One of the members later cornered him and asked "Where is the
watershed?" expecting to be shown a building that had escaped his
attention.
A pleasant episode of official duty early in Rolph's term was an
assignment to represent the city at a national municipal congress at Los
Angeles. We were called upon, in connection with a study of municipal
art, to make an exhibit of objects of beauty or ornament presented to
the city by its citizens. We felt that San Francisco had been kindly
dealt with, but were surprised at the extent and variety of the gifts.
Enlarged sepia photographs of structures, monuments, bronzes, statuary,
and memorials of all kinds were gathered and framed uniformly. There
were very many, and they reflected great credit and taste. Properly
inscribed, they filled a large room in Los Angeles and attracted much
attention. Interest was enhanced by the cleverness of the young woman in
charge. The general title of the collection was "Objects of Art
Presented by its Citizens to the City of San Francisco." She left a
space and over a conspicuous panel printed the inscription "Objects of
Art Presented by its Citizens to the City of Los Angeles." The panel was
empty. The ordinarily proud city had nothing to show.
Moses at Pisgah gazed upon the land he was not to enter. My Pisgah was
reached at the end of 1916. My halls of service were temporary. The new
City Hall was not occupied until just after I had found my political
Moab; the pleasure of sitting in a hall which is pronounced the most
beautiful in America was not for me.
As I look back upon varied public service, I am not clear as to its
value; but I do not regret having tried to do my part. My practical
creed was never to seek and never to decline opportunity to serve. I
feel that the effort to do what I was able to do hardly justified
itself; but it always seemed worth trying, and I do not hold myself
responsible for results. I am told that in parts of California
infinitesimal diatoms form deposits five thousand feet in thickness. If
we have but little to give we cannot afford not to give it.