The Sadness of History

As fragments of people's stories come together from archival fragments, I sometimes find they didn't end how I wish they had:

1890
We note with pleasure the arrival of Comrade Evans, accompanied by his daughter Aggie, and Comrade Weaver, from San Francisco. They arrived on the 3rd of April, in good health and spirits and will hereafter make their home with us. (Kaweah Commonwealth 1(12), April 5, 1890)

1892
Aggie, Cartwight, Miss H. + myself went in swimming at the ford. Water cold. (Burnette Haskell's journal, Arcady, CA, Friday April 8, 1892)

1896
“Nance-Evans Nuptials: Miss Agnes W. Evans of King City and Mr. Hugh J. Nance of San Lucas were married in the Episcopal Church at the former place Thanksgiving day, Rev. Mr. Hoge officiating. The church was beautifully decorated with evergreens, holly berries and different varieties of flowers. The bridal party entered the church in the following order: Firs., Messrs. W.C. Hamilton and M.J. O’Brien, ushers, the bride leaning on the arm of her father, the bride’s attendants, Miss E.L. Purdy and Mrs. E.C. Harrison, the bride’s sister… The bride was attired in a dress of cream colored silk, trimmed with pearls of old maltese lace; she wore a veil of nun’s veiling fastened with a spray of orange blossoms, in her hand she carried a bunch of “bride’s” roses. The bridesmaids wore dresses of white Swiss trimmed with red ribbons and carried bunches of hollyberries…” (Salinas Daily Journal, Nov. 28, 1896)

1897
“Nance – In San Lucas, Monterey county, Cal., November 27, Mrs. H.J. Nance (nee Agnes Webb Evans), beloved wife of H.J. Nance, beloved daughter of Aaron Evans of King City and sister of Mrs. Jennie Harrison and Mrs. Clara Dexter, aged 22 years 1 month and 19 days. ** Services will be held to-day (Monday), at 2 o’clock p.m., at Odd Fellows’ Hall, Seventh and Market streets. Interment, I.O.O.F. Cemetery, San Francisco.” (unattributed obituary clipping from Anna H. Haskell diaries)

Diary of Annie H. Haskell, June 5, 1895

"Wea. Fair
Well. I have been taking a book binding lesson. Mr. Bishop of course did the work and I helped a little. it was an old copy of Emerson’s Essays. though it is not very stylish – it looks neat and strong. I am going to try one all alone to-morrow. with out the letter press I don’t see how we could do them at all.
Mr. & Mrs. Cartwright came down this eve. to play whist and we played. I blush to record it but she and I lost the rubber. Burnette was drinking - + was silly he says he don’t drink whiskey or liquor – except wine or beer – but he will drink an awful lot of wine + beer mixed."

Structural Failure

When I took out the garbage this morning I saw this across the street. Strong winds last night took the wall right off a little abandoned house, exposing its innards and its history of neglect. Most striking to me was how the layers of attempts to stop the downward soggy sagging of a slumping roof - a shredded tarp, a roll of roofing tacked on top - may have only made things worse for the aged lathe walls beneath. The place is a raw hole in the neighborhood. Nobody lived here recently, but the remains of household inside the decaying structure - old appliances, a pressure cooker that looks like a torture device, curtains and tablecloth, and some silk flowers on the floor - are the remains of somebody's home. I hope they're somewhere better now.

At about 5:30 this evening someone knocked on our front door. Lifting the curtain I saw a man of about 50 standing on our porch, very tan and very thin with worn-looking clothes. He started his plea right through the window... that he'd been arrested last week for squatting and drug possession in the empty duplex next door... and that he just wanted to gather the things he'd left behind... did I know the owners phone number?...

I said I'd go look for it... found it... then decided that I shouldn't give it to him but contact them first... went back and lied and said I couldn't find it... So he left this note on the duplex' door.

And all this time he doesn't know... probably... that I was the one who called the police several nights ago after seeing a light on in the empty building and smelling pot smoke....

And I feel like a heel for being the snitch, for lying to him about the owner's number, for not even opening the door to talk to him. I've become so cautious - our neighborhood has shootings, robberies, muggings... When I occasionally read the police bulletins I map the incidents in my head and see a disturbing number nearby. So who are we supposed to trust? Maybe I just need bigger dogs.

By Popular Demand - YORK!

I spent January 6th to 9th in York, England. I went for a conference, stayed for the history, and left because of the food!* I stayed at the York Youth Hotel, which was a clean and inexpensive alternative to the conference hotel. It's the building with the light on, below:



As you can see by the narrow streets and old buildings, York is a quaint old place. Unfortunately, the chamber of commerce is completely aware of this fact, and the central shopping districts take quaintness to an almost embarrassing level.



I took this picture because one of the signs on this street actually reads "Ye Olde Starre Inne," which is the worst abuse of the extra "e" spelling I've ever seen. The sign didn't show up well in the photo, but you can still get an impression of York's Commercial Cuteness. Note the internet cafe in the foreground, in blue.

On the third day of my visit, all of the town's efforts to seem warm and welcoming were blown through by a chilly wind gusting to (I heard) 90 km/hr, which rattled all the windows and set off fire and security alarms all over town. Thank goodness for hot cups of good tea!

*Okay, to be perfectly honest I didn't leave *because* of the food, but it certainly wasn't worth staying in town for. The variety of good Belgian fruit beers, though, was excellent.