Harper's Weekly May 19, 1906 . A Part of San Francisco's vast"Bread-line" awaiting the Distribution, under Arms, of Food and Drink
Harper's Weekly May 19, 1906
The Human Drama at San Francisco
by Herman Whitaker — author of The Probationer
From the Contra Costa hills I saw a fiery cloud, miles high, rising over San Francisco. Eight miles away men were fighting one of the greatest fires of history without water. At the end of the first day word came that the powder supply was exhausted; later a supply was obtained somehow and for three days thereafter the sullen roar of the blasts went on unceasingly. It was a fine thing to hear: it stirred one’s blood, filled one with a sense of the indomitable resources that did not flinch in the face of the most fearful odds. Along the bay, San Francisco lay like a huge giant in a purgatory flames, —a giant tormented yet still unconquered. Above the roar and crackle rose his great voice, the growl and thunder of the blasts. And now that the smoke pall has lifted from San Francisco one may observe ruin so vast and complete that the mind registers only an impression of the common place. It is to immense, too comprehensive, to be appreciated until, after hours of wondering amid calcined brick piles, one returns to the flowers and gardens of Oakland across the bay. These Seem strange, unfamiliar; and so, by negation, appreciation is gained of the great lime kiln that was once a suburban city. Overlooking it from an eminence, the streets may be traced only by long brick piles that cross blackened and tottering walls. Closer inspection shows that this fire stone actually burned like coal : bricks are calcined, and cobblestones burned in places to sand and dust.
For duration, intensity, area, destruction, the San Francisco fire is one of the greatest in history: yet, when it is said, but half has been told. The quality it called forth— dogged courage, tenacity of purpose, cheerfulness, sympathy, hope —equal it’s stupendous proportions as a tragedy. History records no superior instance of a stricken people rising superior to a calamitous occasion. To earthquake and fire the Californian turned and still turns a cheerful visage. Though, in these days, millionaires have become paupers and business men bankrupt, once he scarcely a sober face upon the street. For the buoyancy is general, or becomes sympathetic sobriety only when the wearer comes in contact with some mourner. Of these, of course, there are many, and besides those who perished by earthquake or fire are those who died of wounds or exposure. The saddest cases of all were those poor women who died while bringing children into the world. The second night of the fire 23 babies were born on the grass of Golden Gate Park. 11 other unfortunate women bore children out in the Berkeley hills. And of these mothers nine are said to have died. For this, no one is to blame: it was inevitable to the situation. Almost equally sad is the case of children who have been separated from parents by death or confusion. Under any circumstances, of course, sympathy naturally flows to the orphan, but how much more is it needed when the bereavement comes in such terrible form. What could be more awful than the thought of the helpless child wondering without help or guidance through the perilous streets of a wrecked city. In all of Oakland’s many relief camps these may be found, and today they are being gathered together by the Salvation Army and taken to Beulah Park. Besides such inevitable suffering the situation developed a tragic side. Always when calamity interferes with established order, the beast crops out in man, and that San Francisco escaped raping, incendiarism , assault, and robbery is due to the inflexible administration of martial law. Not only were looters shot on sight, but all others who persisted in defying authority or in any way molested the peace of the people. The following cases a typical example: Out towards North Beach a refugee camp was situated at the foot of some cliffs, which fact suggested to some Barbary Coast hoodlums the amiable sport of rolling rocks down upon the women and children gathered there. Warned by the sentry on duty, one man dared him to fire. The word had hardly passed his lips before a bullet took him through the heart. There was no more rock rolling.
The soldiers, nevertheless, knew how to be kind. They shared their rations with starving men and gave up their tents to women and children. They stood between the people and would-be extortionists, confiscating the stocks of merchants who unduly raised prices. An instance of this was related to me by an eyewitness. In one of the relief camps, a sergeant heard an aged woman saying that she had been asked $.75 for a loaf of bread that morning. “What!” he exclaimed; and upon her repeating her statement he marched a squad of men to the store she showed him, and began to distribute the stock among the crowd.
“But these are my things!” the grocery protested.
“You charged this woman $.75 for a loaf of bread,” the sergeant answered.
“But I can charge what I like,” the grocery protested; “get out of my store!”
Without answering, the sergeant went on distributing the stores until the angry man laid a hand on his shoulder, then he turned.
“Do you think we are joking?” he asked. Then, turning to his men, he said, “Take him out.”
They shot him against the walls of his own store.
It is creditable to human nature, however, to know that cases of extortion were the exception. On the second day of the fire, I myself made a tour of the Oakland groceries and found only one man who evinced a disposition to advance prices. If there were others, they were deterred by an editorial published in the Oakland Tribune that very morning. “Cursed be he,“ finished the indignant editor, “who at this juncture tries to trade on the necessities of his fellows.” It is lamentable that such a warning should have been necessary; yet when one contemplates the violence, suffering, and bloodshed which have attended similar catastrophes in the past, when one remember set under such circumstances wrongdoing is the rule instead of the exception, the conclusion is forced upon one that man has progressed far in humanity.
Concerning the pervading cheerfulness of which I have been speaking, no report of the situation would be complete without some mention of it’s humorous aspects. For instance the young man whose modesty overcame his fear of death. Running out into the street at the first shock, he observed two young women of his acquaintance leaning out of the window, and was so afflicted with a certain sense of his pajamas that he ran back into the building. Now closer observation or less scrupulous modesty would have shown him the folly of his act, for he was clad in the very latest fashion. Indeed men in pajamas impressed others more lightly clad very much as a tailored youth regards a hand me down. Then there was the dignified gentleman of my acquaintance who put sleeve links into clean cuffs, shaved, washed, and packed a suitcase before merging upon the street. But not until he had walked a block down Market Street did he discover his utter lack of trousers. On Nob Hill, the city’s aristocratic section, two well known society women were observed dragging a trunk between them: and surely panic is a great leveler, for just then a man with a vegetable cart came along, offered his conveyance and drove off with a star a fashion on either side of him.
After the fire had burned itself out, the humor evolved into a sort of grim practical joking. Soldiers and police pressed every man they could lay hands on into service for clearing the streets of bricks, wherefore many a sight-seer who had obtained a pass to cross the bay and see the sights remained to heave brick. One police sergeant remarked with a grin, “I’ve got a bank president, a traffic manager of the Southern Pacific Railway, and a Chief of Police all in the gang. They didn’t like it at first,” he added, tapping his boot with the muscle of a long pistol, “but now they’re doing fine.” Then there was an English man, in immaculate traveling suit, parading ferryward with a suitcase. “But I can’t heave bricks,” he answered when impressed; but he did – five hours with that gang, and five with another which caught him further down the street.
Yet on the whole such things were accepted philosophically, and out of the tangle and trouble were born innumerable acts of sympathetic kindness. Late this morning I met a printer who, until then, had held steady employment. “Chucked my job,” was his answer to my question; “do you think I’d hang onto it while hundreds of married men are hunting for work?” And in an Oakland restaurant a similar case occurred. A man applied for work, and, when the proprietor refused, he said, “I must have it, for I have a wife and children to support.” Unwillingly enough, the proprietor repeated that he could not employ any more man, whereupon a waiter who was passing set down his tray of dishes, whipped off his apron and handed it to the applicant. “I have nobody but myself to look after,” he said; “take my job.”
These are but two instances from among thousands that might be cited, which go to show the quality of the public spirit. While the fire was yet burning, plans were being evolved for the building of a greater city. “Going to rebuild?” one hears constantly in the ferry, trains, and cars; and always comes the ready answer: “sure, just as soon as the ashes are cold.” A man was treated for burned hands at a local hospital because he could not wait for the bricks to cool. Cheerfully, bravely, San Franciscans are facing their problem, and their attitude may be summed up in the answer given me by a man this morning. He is 106 years old and when meeting him on the street, I put the question, “well, Captain, did you save anything?” he answered: “Only what I stand in. I’ve got to begin all over again.” Yet it must not be imagined that there is anything flippant about this attitude. The men who laugh and joke do so with the full knowledge of the gravity of the situation. This morning, Secretary Metcalf placed the property loss at $500 million and the jokers are the men who suffered the loss. Another misunderstanding should be avoided. The money reported subscribed is said to be sufficient to tide San Francisco over her crisis. This is not the case. Of the three million and a half that Congress appropriated, all but $300,000 is already spent. Indeed that is all of the appropriation which the relief committee of San Francisco has seen, the bulk of the appropriations having been spent by the War Department for provisions and supplies. The Rockefeller gift of $200,000 was handled entirely by the Standard Oil agents; and this morning Mr. Phelan, chairman of the Central Relief Committee, stated that many of the other subscriptions had not been paid. At the time of writing, the committee has only $600,000 to its credit, and most of this sum is preempted by debts already occurred. It should be distinctly realized that the business part of San Francisco has been swept from the face of the earth; that months must elapse before paralyzed business is reestablished, lines of trade reopened, and the great mass of laborers reemployed.
Six months is a low estimate for the length of time during which a quarter of 1 million of homeless and houseless people require assistance. It would be safer to say that a year will pass before all are reabsorbed into industry. At this juncture therefore it behooves every American to bestir himself for the benefit of San Francisco, which in the past has herself so often extended a helping hand to those in affliction. It would be dastardly to allow actual want to touch men and women who are facing bitter calamity with so brave a front. Surely this will not be. It may be safely be predicted that, once the facts of the case are clearly known, a generous response will meet all needs; so let there be no slacking in the good work. If this be rightly done, the San Francisco conflagration will be remembered not so much for its enormous losses of life and property, its vast areas of distraction, but rather because it furnished the world with proof that, in our time, “brotherhood of man” was not an empty phrase. The lesson it teaches is not that such and such a style of building is earthquake or fireproof, but that no calamity can exceed or quench the courage of man. As the Israelites of old were led to brighter and more beautiful lands by the clouds of smoke by day and the pillar of fire by night, so San Francisco’s mounting flames were landmark on the road to a greater humanity.
Harper's Weekly May 19, 1906 . A Part of San Francisco's vast"Bread-line" awaiting the Distribution, under Arms, of Food and Drink
Harper's Weekly May 19, 1906
The Human Drama at San Francisco
by Herman Whitaker — author of The Probationer
From the Contra Costa hills I saw a fiery cloud, miles high, rising over San Francisco. Eight miles away men were fighting one of the greatest fires of history without water. At the end of the first day word came that the powder supply was exhausted; later a supply was obtained somehow and for three days thereafter the sullen roar of the blasts went on unceasingly. It was a fine thing to hear: it stirred one’s blood, filled one with a sense of the indomitable resources that did not flinch in the face of the most fearful odds. Along the bay, San Francisco lay like a huge giant in a purgatory flames, —a giant tormented yet still unconquered. Above the roar and crackle rose his great voice, the growl and thunder of the blasts. And now that the smoke pall has lifted from San Francisco one may observe ruin so vast and complete that the mind registers only an impression of the common place. It is to immense, too comprehensive, to be appreciated until, after hours of wondering amid calcined brick piles, one returns to the flowers and gardens of Oakland across the bay. These Seem strange, unfamiliar; and so, by negation, appreciation is gained of the great lime kiln that was once a suburban city. Overlooking it from an eminence, the streets may be traced only by long brick piles that cross blackened and tottering walls. Closer inspection shows that this fire stone actually burned like coal : bricks are calcined, and cobblestones burned in places to sand and dust.
For duration, intensity, area, destruction, the San Francisco fire is one of the greatest in history: yet, when it is said, but half has been told. The quality it called forth— dogged courage, tenacity of purpose, cheerfulness, sympathy, hope —equal it’s stupendous proportions as a tragedy. History records no superior instance of a stricken people rising superior to a calamitous occasion. To earthquake and fire the Californian turned and still turns a cheerful visage. Though, in these days, millionaires have become paupers and business men bankrupt, once he scarcely a sober face upon the street. For the buoyancy is general, or becomes sympathetic sobriety only when the wearer comes in contact with some mourner. Of these, of course, there are many, and besides those who perished by earthquake or fire are those who died of wounds or exposure. The saddest cases of all were those poor women who died while bringing children into the world. The second night of the fire 23 babies were born on the grass of Golden Gate Park. 11 other unfortunate women bore children out in the Berkeley hills. And of these mothers nine are said to have died. For this, no one is to blame: it was inevitable to the situation. Almost equally sad is the case of children who have been separated from parents by death or confusion. Under any circumstances, of course, sympathy naturally flows to the orphan, but how much more is it needed when the bereavement comes in such terrible form. What could be more awful than the thought of the helpless child wondering without help or guidance through the perilous streets of a wrecked city. In all of Oakland’s many relief camps these may be found, and today they are being gathered together by the Salvation Army and taken to Beulah Park. Besides such inevitable suffering the situation developed a tragic side. Always when calamity interferes with established order, the beast crops out in man, and that San Francisco escaped raping, incendiarism , assault, and robbery is due to the inflexible administration of martial law. Not only were looters shot on sight, but all others who persisted in defying authority or in any way molested the peace of the people. The following cases a typical example: Out towards North Beach a refugee camp was situated at the foot of some cliffs, which fact suggested to some Barbary Coast hoodlums the amiable sport of rolling rocks down upon the women and children gathered there. Warned by the sentry on duty, one man dared him to fire. The word had hardly passed his lips before a bullet took him through the heart. There was no more rock rolling.
The soldiers, nevertheless, knew how to be kind. They shared their rations with starving men and gave up their tents to women and children. They stood between the people and would-be extortionists, confiscating the stocks of merchants who unduly raised prices. An instance of this was related to me by an eyewitness. In one of the relief camps, a sergeant heard an aged woman saying that she had been asked $.75 for a loaf of bread that morning. “What!” he exclaimed; and upon her repeating her statement he marched a squad of men to the store she showed him, and began to distribute the stock among the crowd.
“But these are my things!” the grocery protested.
“You charged this woman $.75 for a loaf of bread,” the sergeant answered.
“But I can charge what I like,” the grocery protested; “get out of my store!”
Without answering, the sergeant went on distributing the stores until the angry man laid a hand on his shoulder, then he turned.
“Do you think we are joking?” he asked. Then, turning to his men, he said, “Take him out.”
They shot him against the walls of his own store.
It is creditable to human nature, however, to know that cases of extortion were the exception. On the second day of the fire, I myself made a tour of the Oakland groceries and found only one man who evinced a disposition to advance prices. If there were others, they were deterred by an editorial published in the Oakland Tribune that very morning. “Cursed be he,“ finished the indignant editor, “who at this juncture tries to trade on the necessities of his fellows.” It is lamentable that such a warning should have been necessary; yet when one contemplates the violence, suffering, and bloodshed which have attended similar catastrophes in the past, when one remember set under such circumstances wrongdoing is the rule instead of the exception, the conclusion is forced upon one that man has progressed far in humanity.
Concerning the pervading cheerfulness of which I have been speaking, no report of the situation would be complete without some mention of it’s humorous aspects. For instance the young man whose modesty overcame his fear of death. Running out into the street at the first shock, he observed two young women of his acquaintance leaning out of the window, and was so afflicted with a certain sense of his pajamas that he ran back into the building. Now closer observation or less scrupulous modesty would have shown him the folly of his act, for he was clad in the very latest fashion. Indeed men in pajamas impressed others more lightly clad very much as a tailored youth regards a hand me down. Then there was the dignified gentleman of my acquaintance who put sleeve links into clean cuffs, shaved, washed, and packed a suitcase before merging upon the street. But not until he had walked a block down Market Street did he discover his utter lack of trousers. On Nob Hill, the city’s aristocratic section, two well known society women were observed dragging a trunk between them: and surely panic is a great leveler, for just then a man with a vegetable cart came along, offered his conveyance and drove off with a star a fashion on either side of him.
After the fire had burned itself out, the humor evolved into a sort of grim practical joking. Soldiers and police pressed every man they could lay hands on into service for clearing the streets of bricks, wherefore many a sight-seer who had obtained a pass to cross the bay and see the sights remained to heave brick. One police sergeant remarked with a grin, “I’ve got a bank president, a traffic manager of the Southern Pacific Railway, and a Chief of Police all in the gang. They didn’t like it at first,” he added, tapping his boot with the muscle of a long pistol, “but now they’re doing fine.” Then there was an English man, in immaculate traveling suit, parading ferryward with a suitcase. “But I can’t heave bricks,” he answered when impressed; but he did – five hours with that gang, and five with another which caught him further down the street.
Yet on the whole such things were accepted philosophically, and out of the tangle and trouble were born innumerable acts of sympathetic kindness. Late this morning I met a printer who, until then, had held steady employment. “Chucked my job,” was his answer to my question; “do you think I’d hang onto it while hundreds of married men are hunting for work?” And in an Oakland restaurant a similar case occurred. A man applied for work, and, when the proprietor refused, he said, “I must have it, for I have a wife and children to support.” Unwillingly enough, the proprietor repeated that he could not employ any more man, whereupon a waiter who was passing set down his tray of dishes, whipped off his apron and handed it to the applicant. “I have nobody but myself to look after,” he said; “take my job.”
These are but two instances from among thousands that might be cited, which go to show the quality of the public spirit. While the fire was yet burning, plans were being evolved for the building of a greater city. “Going to rebuild?” one hears constantly in the ferry, trains, and cars; and always comes the ready answer: “sure, just as soon as the ashes are cold.” A man was treated for burned hands at a local hospital because he could not wait for the bricks to cool. Cheerfully, bravely, San Franciscans are facing their problem, and their attitude may be summed up in the answer given me by a man this morning. He is 106 years old and when meeting him on the street, I put the question, “well, Captain, did you save anything?” he answered: “Only what I stand in. I’ve got to begin all over again.” Yet it must not be imagined that there is anything flippant about this attitude. The men who laugh and joke do so with the full knowledge of the gravity of the situation. This morning, Secretary Metcalf placed the property loss at $500 million and the jokers are the men who suffered the loss. Another misunderstanding should be avoided. The money reported subscribed is said to be sufficient to tide San Francisco over her crisis. This is not the case. Of the three million and a half that Congress appropriated, all but $300,000 is already spent. Indeed that is all of the appropriation which the relief committee of San Francisco has seen, the bulk of the appropriations having been spent by the War Department for provisions and supplies. The Rockefeller gift of $200,000 was handled entirely by the Standard Oil agents; and this morning Mr. Phelan, chairman of the Central Relief Committee, stated that many of the other subscriptions had not been paid. At the time of writing, the committee has only $600,000 to its credit, and most of this sum is preempted by debts already occurred. It should be distinctly realized that the business part of San Francisco has been swept from the face of the earth; that months must elapse before paralyzed business is reestablished, lines of trade reopened, and the great mass of laborers reemployed.
Six months is a low estimate for the length of time during which a quarter of 1 million of homeless and houseless people require assistance. It would be safer to say that a year will pass before all are reabsorbed into industry. At this juncture therefore it behooves every American to bestir himself for the benefit of San Francisco, which in the past has herself so often extended a helping hand to those in affliction. It would be dastardly to allow actual want to touch men and women who are facing bitter calamity with so brave a front. Surely this will not be. It may be safely be predicted that, once the facts of the case are clearly known, a generous response will meet all needs; so let there be no slacking in the good work. If this be rightly done, the San Francisco conflagration will be remembered not so much for its enormous losses of life and property, its vast areas of distraction, but rather because it furnished the world with proof that, in our time, “brotherhood of man” was not an empty phrase. The lesson it teaches is not that such and such a style of building is earthquake or fireproof, but that no calamity can exceed or quench the courage of man. As the Israelites of old were led to brighter and more beautiful lands by the clouds of smoke by day and the pillar of fire by night, so San Francisco’s mounting flames were landmark on the road to a greater humanity.