The Lure of San Francisco: a Romance Amid Old Landmarks

Part 1

The Lure of San Francisco

A Romance Amid Old Landmarks

By Elizabeth Gray Potter and Mabel Thayer Gray

Illustrated By Audley B. Wells

Paul Elder & Company Publishers San Francisco

Copyright, 1915, By Paul Elder & Co. San Francisco

To Our Mother

Preface

The average visitor considers California's claim to historic recognition as dating from the discovery of gold. Her children, both by birth and adoption, have a hazy pride in her Spanish origin but are too busy with today's interests to take much thought of it. They know that somewhere over in the Mission is the old adobe church. They rejoice that it escaped the fire but have no time to visit it. They will proudly tell their eastern friends of its existence and that the Presidio received its name from the Spaniards but further narration of the heritage is lost in exclamations over the beauty of the drives and the views, while the historic significance of Portsmouth Square is smothered in the delight over Chinese embroideries, bronzes and cloisonné.

May this little book aid in the general awaking of the dormant love of every Californian for his possessions and be a suggestion to the casual visitor that we are entitled to the dignity of age.

Contents

Preface The Mission and its Romance A view from Twin Peaks--The city with its historic crosses. A visit to the old church--Its past, and the romance of Lüis Argüello. The Presidio, Past and Present The Spanish Fortifications and the love story of Concepcion and Rezánov. The Plaza and its Echoes A Chinese restaurant. Yerba Buena and the reminiscences of a forty-niner. Telegraph Hill of Unique Fame The Latin quarter. The signal station of '49 and a view of the city as it was. The Golden Gate.

List of Illustrations

The Mission "The modern structures crowd upon the low adobe building." Prayer Book Cross "A granite cross just visible above the trees in Golden Gate Park." At Lotta's Fountain "We watched the people purchasing flowers on the corner." The Officer's Club House at the Presidio "Of a different generation from its neighbors." A Street in Chinatown "We must take a look at the spot where the first house stood." Portsmouth Square "The entire history of San Francisco was made around this Plaza." A Fountain in the Latin Quarter "Stooping to drink from his hand on the edge of a little pool." A Sunset Thro' the Golden Gate "The last rays gilded the cliffs on either side."

The Mission

A view from Twin Peaks--The city with its historic crosses. A visit to the old church--Its past, and the romance of Lüis Argüello.

The Mission and Its Romance

"Tickets to the city, Sir?" The conductor's voice sounded above the rumble of the train. As my companion's hand went to his pocket he glanced at me with a quizzical smile.

"I should think you Oaklanders would resent that. Hasn't your town put on long skirts since the fire?" There was an unpleasant emphasis on the last phrase, but I passed it over unnoticed.

"Of course we have grown up," I assured him. "We're a big flourishing city, but we are not the city. San Francisco always has been, and always will be the city to all northern California; it was so called in the days of forty-nine and we still cling affectionately to the term."

"I believe you Californians have but two dates on your calendar," he exclaimed, "for everything I mention seems to have happened either 'before the fire' or 'in the good old days of forty-nine!' 'Good old days of forty-nine,'" he repeated, amused. "In Boston we date back to the Revolution, and 'in Colonial times' is a common expression. We have buildings a hundred years old, but if you have a structure that has lasted a decade, it is a paragon and pointed out as built 'before the fire.' Do you remember the pilgrimage we made to the historic shrines of Boston, just a year ago?"

"Shall I ever forget it!" I exclaimed.

He smiled appreciatively. "Faneuil Hall and the old State House are interesting."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about the buildings! I don't even recall how they look. But I do remember the weather. I was so cold I couldn't even speak."

"Impossible!" he cried, "you not able to talk!"

"But it's true! My cheeks were frozen stiff. I wore a thick dress, a sweater, a heavy coat and my furs, and, still I was cold while all the time I was thinking that the fruit trees and wild flowers were in blossom in California. If it hadn't been for the symphony concerts and the opera, I never could have endured an Eastern winter."

"A fine compliment to me when I spent days taking you to points of historic interest."

I sent him an appreciative glance. "It was good of you," I acknowledged, "and do you remember that I promised to take you on a similar pilgrimage when you came to San Francisco?"

Part 2

He laughed. "And I was foolish enough to believe you, since I had never been to the Pacific Coast."

The train came to a stop in the Ferry Building and we followed the other passengers onto the boat. "San Francisco is modern to the core," he continued. "Boston dates back generations, but you have hardly acquired your three score years and ten."

"If you don't like fine progressive cities, why did you come to California?" His fault-finding with San Francisco hurt me as if it had been a personal criticism.

"You know why I came," he said gently, with his eyes on my face.

I felt the blood creeping to my cheeks and turned quickly to look for an out-of-doors seat. In the crowd we were jostled by a little slant-eyed man of the Orient, resplendent in baggy blue silk trousers tied neatly at the ankles and a loose coat lined with lavender, whose flowing sleeves half concealed his slender brown hands.

"There's a man who has centuries at his back." My companion's eyes traveled from the soft padded shoes to the little red button on the top of the black skull cap. "Even his costume is the same as his forefathers'."

"If you are interested in the Chinese, I'll show you Oriental San Francisco. It lies in the heart of the city and its very atmosphere is saturated with Eastern customs. It is much more sanitary but not as picturesque as it was before the fire." I flushed as I saw his amusement, and quickly called his attention to the receding shores where the encircling green hills had thrown out long banners of yellow mustard and blue lupins. To the right was Mt. Tamalpais, a sturdy sentinel looking out to the ocean, its summit pressed against the sky's blue canopy and its base lost in a network of purple forests. In front of the Golden Gate was Alcatraz Island, like a huge dismantled warship, guarding the entrance to the bay, and before us, San Francisco rested upon undulating hills, its tall buildings piercing the sky at irregular intervals. We made our way to the forward deck in order to have the full sweep of the waterfront.

"You should see it at night!" I said, "it is a marvelous tiara. The red and green lights on these wharves close to the water's edge are the rubies and emeralds, while above, sweeping the hills, the lights of the residences sparkle like rows and rows of diamonds."

A crowd of passengers surged around us as the boat poked its nose into the slip. "There was nothing left of this part of the city but a fringe of wharves, after the fire." I bit the last word in two, for it was evident the expression was getting on his nerves. I was thankful that the clanging chains of the descending gang plank and the tramp of many feet made further conversation impossible.

"Hurry," he urged, "there's the Exposition car." We were in front of the Ferry Building and the crowd was jostling us in every direction.

"You surely are not going to the Exposition!" I exclaimed in mock surprise.

"Of course I am. Where else should we go?"

"But, my dear Antiquary, those buildings are only a few months old!"

He laughed good naturedly. "It ought to suit you Westerners, anyway," he retaliated. Then taking my arm, "Let us hurry! Look, the car is starting!"

"I am going to take the one behind," I announced. "There must be something old in San Francisco and I am going to find it."

"You'll have a long hunt," rejoined the skeptic, and with his eyes still on the tail of the disappearing Exposition car, he reluctantly followed me.

"Lots of strangers in San Francisco for the Fair," he remarked, as from the car window he watched the big turban of a Hindoo bobbing among the crowd on the sidewalk; then his eyes wandered to a Japanese arrayed in a new suit of American clothes and finally rested on a bright yellow lei wound about the hat of a swarthy Hawaiian. I smiled as I nodded to the Japanese who had worked in my kitchen for three years, and recognized in the dusky Hawaiian one of the regular singers in a popular café.

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