Lot 99

Garfield Park, Santa Cruz, California

June 15, 1893 

Celia Clarke, taken in Santa Cruz in the 1890s.
Celia Clarke, taken in Santa Cruz in the 1890s.

A young woman—a girl, really—with wavy chestnut brown brown hair sat next to a window at a writing table in the front room of a cottage. She appeared faded and wan in comparison to the brightness of the late afternoon light playing on the leaves of the trees across the road. Closing her eyes and and turning her face to the west she imagined the diamond sparkle of the ocean waves, which were actually just out of her sight.

Close-up of embossed border of a photo taken in Santa Cruz in the 1890s.
Close-up of embossed border of Celia’s photo taken in Santa Cruz in the 1890s.

Her attention returned to the room, and to the pen and paper before her. She rested her forehead in one hand while she wrote with the other, her note paper lit up by the sun streaming through the window.

My Dearest Brother, 

I don’t suppose you will have time to answer this, but then I’ll write anyway and you must write if you can possibly spare the time. 


She sighed and gazed out the window for several long moments, then returned to her writing.

We haven’t been any place today, we intended going to Capitola, but my head has ached all day so we stayed at home, maybe we will go tomorrow. 

Her awareness of her headache faded a bit as she thought of her brother, Foster, nicknamed Posy in his younger years although he disdained the sweet moniker now. He was two years her elder, her only remaining brother. Little Georgie, three years younger than herself, had been taken by typhoid six years ago when he was only 7. Her eldest brother, Willie, had bled to death after a hunting accident three years ago, leaving behind a young grieving widow, Anny (Stover) Clarke.

The letter Celia was writing would find Foster back home on the family ranch in the northern Sacramento Valley. She smiled fondly as her words took on a teasing tone.

It has been quite warm today. You must have had a scorcher up home. How do you like ploughing? Quite nice and pleasant on warm days!

A breeze wafted in off the ocean, through the open window. Celia lifted her head to feel the cool breeze on her face, tasted the salty tang on her lips.

Celia Clarke, undated photo
Celia Clarke, undated photo

She was now several weeks into her stay at the cottage, having come with her elder sister Katie. They took a train from Colusa to Sacramento to Oakland, and then on to the most scenic part of the trip on the South Pacific Coast line through the mountains to Santa Cruz. The cottage, part of a retreat center developed by the Christian Church, sat on one of about 100 small lots—just large enough for tents or small dwellings—laid out on streets that wrapped around the church tabernacle in concentric circles.

1931 map of Santa Cruz with the original numbering of the lots. Can you find 99? Its on Wilkes.
1931 map of Santa Cruz with the original numbering of the lots. Can you find 99? Its on Wilkes.

Previously the Christian Church had had no retreat center of its own. They had held their state conference in Woodland, California, but this location was voted down in 1887 (no doubt due to the Valley heat). Meanwhile, in the mid-1880s, the Methodists had built a retreat center in nearby Pacific Grove that was considered the finest in the West. The city of Santa Cruz, having decided to stake their economic future on tourism, was actively recruiting other denominations to build similar retreats. By 1889 ten acres of land in Santa Cruz had been donated to the Christian Church for the purpose of creating a retreat center.  The tabernacle, an imposing wood-frame building with a 100-foot bell tower, was dedicated in 1890. It could seat 2,000 people, the largest auditorium in Santa Cruz. There were doors on all sides that could be opened for overflow crowds, or to turn it into an open-air pavilion. That same year the church sold the surrounding lots. Celia’s father, Will Clarke, had purchased lot 99 and had the small cottage constructed.

The family used the location as an escape from the valley heat during the summer. It was an especially helpful locale for young Celia, who suffered from tuberculosis. It met many of the criteria for the ideal living situation for consumptives: Not too hot nor too cold, the ability to spend much time outdoors, as well as providing the recommended opportunities for rest, recreation, amusement and peace of mind. The little community surrounding the tabernacle was known as Garfield Park, named after the recently assassinated president, James Garfield who had been a preacher in the Christian Church at one time.

Celia found the town of Santa Cruz to be much to her liking. Just the previous year a book detailing the history of Santa Cruz county had been published and had this to say about the area:

Because of the combination of mountain and marine scenery and climatic and other advantages…Santa Cruz has become the Mecca of thousands, who spend the heated term here during every summer season. The beach is very fine, and surf bathing can be indulged in with comparative freedom from danger. Life at Santa Cruz during the summer is one round of pleasure. The city is thronged with visitors, and every day possesses a gala appearance. In the afternoon many of the visiting multitude, and such of the resident population as are not otherwise engaged, congregate at the beach. It is no unusual sight to see several thousand people seated upon the sand of the bay shore, walking or riding, or indulging in the afternoon popular entertainments of bathing in the surf. The evenings are devoted to hops at the halls and some of the leading hotels, to lawn parties, to boating on the San Lorenzo, and other forms of innocent pastime, which make the days pass all too quickly for the tired and overworked portions of humanity who here seek recreation during their vacation.

As much as she enjoyed herself, her health permitting, Celia did at times get a bit lonely this early in the season and looked forward to later in the summer when thousands would attend the two week annual church conference. Families who did not own cottages would erect tents or sleep in their wagons. A large kitchen tent was set up with big kettles, ovens for baking, and pits for roasting. Over 1,000 meals a day were served. Temporary restaurants and stores were set up. Essentially, a small city was built, inhabited and torn down each summer. That was the high point of the season. Foster and other members of the family would all come down for the retreat.

She complained in her letter to Foster that

there are more old folks at the park than you can shake a stick at. I haven’t seen a young person yet. 

She went on to tell him changes she had observed in the town since last season.

The casino is not in running order yet, there are several men working on the grounds and kind of cleaning up around, so I suppose it will be in full trim by the time you get ready to come down. You know the Museum that used to be down on the bathing beach? They have moved it up right across the road from the casino. You remember that house that was being built there last year, well, that is the “Free Cliff Museum.” They have things fixed up pretty nobby there and have a large ice cream parlor. You can get soda and I suppose any other kind of a drink you wish to have. 

The Sea Beach Hotel, Santa Cruz, CA
The Sea Beach Hotel, Santa Cruz, CA

Again she directed her gaze out the window and saw Mrs. Langford and Mrs. Williams—friends of her mother’s—strolling arm-in-arm towards the Sea Beach Hotel, no doubt for afternoon tea. They waved to Celia and she waved back before returning to her letter, now twitting her brother about his female admirers.

Oh yes, I saw your girl in at Grants the other day She has improved a great deal in looks the last year. If you remember rightly, there was a great deal of room for improvement. She said she met a couple of fellows last summer but had forgotten their names. I have not seen any of your other “biddies” yet, but hope to before I go home. 

Celia smiled at this last bit, but she was tired and had at least one other letter she wished to write, to her cousin Jennie. She signed off.


Hoping to hear from you soon,

I remain,




College City, California

August 23, 1893

College City residence of William John and Catherine (Foster) Clarke, built in 1879.
College City residence of William John and Catherine (Foster) Clarke, built in 1879.

The Santa Cruz cottage was shut up, and the family had returned home to the Valley, after a wonderful and relaxing time catching up with old friends, showing first-timers the ropes at the camp, and enjoying the many speakers at the two-week retreat in Santa Cruz. It was now a very busy time at the ranch near College City, Colusa County, with harvest coming on. Foster had gone up to work on the Clarkes’ cattle ranch in the Sierra (Plumas County) while his father worked with his hired men to harvest the wheat and the orchard fruits.

Catherine Clarke fretted over her daughter, Celia, who had not been feeling well the past few days. “I had hoped to see a change for the better in her after her time by the sea,” Catherine confided to Will. “I did think she was better in Santa Cruz but now I wonder if I imagined it. She’s restless and fretful.”

“I’ve been working every hour of daylight and have hardly seen the mite.” Will sounded remorseful. “Should we call the doctor out?”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Catherine. “But do write to Foster, won’t you? She’s been asking after him an awful lot.”

“I’ll do it tonight,” promised Will.

My Dear boy,

We are about as we were when you left, but dear little Celia is not feeling as well as when you left. She had a bad chill yesterday. 

She feels very anxious to see you. She inquired about you several times, when her chill was on yesterday.

I think when you rest a few days, you had better come home. She seems so anxious to see you, don’t think there is any immediate danger or at least I hope so.

My regards to Anny Clarke.

Weather nice and cool. Will go to Buckeye today to make trays. 

This is for your Mother, she asked me to write you.

Goodbye, God help you my son.

Yours Ever Lovingly,


I can only assume that Foster did come home to visit his sister, given the affectionate relationship they seemed to share. Celia died five months after this letter was written, just a few months shy of her 18th birthday.


This piece was inspired by a recent visit to Santa Cruz where I spent some time searching for information about a property owned by the Clarke family in Santa Cruz in the 1800s. The property was mentioned in at least two wills but always as “Lot 99 in Garfield Park, Santa Cruz.” I went around in circles between the Santa Cruz Public Library, the Santa Cruz County Recorders Office and Assessors Office trying to figure out exactly where this property might have been located. The neighborhood is still there, same circular streets, and there is still a church in the center although the original tabernacle burned down in 1935. It was the old Sanborn insurance map available online through the UC Santa Cruz Library that eventually showed me where Lot 99 was located. The lot has a different physical address now, and the original cottage is sadly gone, replaced by a newer house, although a few of the original cottages do survive.

The letters are actual letters written by Celia Clarke to her brother Foster, and by her father Will Clarke.

My great-great-grandfather, Will Clarke and his family were members of the Christian Church. They very likely had attended retreats in Woodland as they lived very near there. Celia was diagnosed with TB right around the time the Santa Cruz retreat center was being developed so I speculate that they purchased the lot with Celia’s health in mind. I know the lot was passed from Will to his wife Catherine upon his death in 1894, and from Catherine to daughter Maggie upon her death in 1897. I don’t know what happened to it after that. Another project for another day…

I have always felt that I didn’t know much about Celia, who would have been my grandmother’s aunt (had she not died 10 years before my grandmother was born to Celia’s oldest sister, Elizabeth). But in my attempt to put what I knew into a story instead of a dry retelling of facts, she began to come alive for me. I wish she had lived and enriched us by contributing more stories to our family history as well as progeny to our family tree.


The Circles at 100: The Story of a Church and a Neighborhood by Pastor Steven DeFields-Gambrel, 2007 (available at the Santa Cruz Public Library, local history collection).

History of Santa Cruz County by Edward Sanford Harrison, 1892.

Climate and Tuberculosis: The Relation of Climate to Recovery by John W. Trask in Public Health Reports, 1917.

UC Santa Cruz Library website

Santa Cruz County Public Library website

Letters and other information about Celia Clarke and the Santa Cruz house are from information compiled by Joyce Dawley, a descendant of Foster Noble Clarke.

Newcomers? Names and Migrations

Most of the information that follows is taken from Lloyd K. Hoffman’s research which he compiled in a document entitled The Hoffman Family: Two Hundred Years in America, housed at Shepherd University in Shepherdstown, WV. According to this document, the Hoffmans and Newcomers arrived in Germantown (Philadelphia) around the same time, in the 1720s and ‘30s, and intermarried.


When I first started researching the Hoffmans (my mother’s father’s family) I began encountering the name Newcomer—initially as a middle name. My mother had an uncle christened Worthington Newcomer Hoffman. I developed an instant fondness for this delicious mouthful of a name. (In Colusa County he was just “Uncle Worth.”) As a newbie genealogist I was puzzled by the possible origin of this name, Newcomer. Focused as I was on the migration of my family into California, I wondered, did the name Newcomer somehow relate to their recent arrival in California? Turns out my instincts were correct about the name being connected to being new arrivals. I was just a continent and a few centuries off in the particulars.


According to Lloyd Hoffman, our Newcomer ancestors spent many years fleeing religious persecution and wars in Europe prior to emigrating to America. They apparently were part of the Waldensians, a pre-reformation religious movement originating in Lyons, France early in the 14th century and led by Peter Waldo (or Waldes or Valdes). The Roman Catholics were eager to wipe out this hotbed of controversy with various persecutions and wars that went on for centuries. Many Waldensians left Southern France for the northern valleys of France and Germany, and by the 1500s many were hiding in the Cottian Alps, which border on Switzerland. Apparently my early ancestors left France and their French name (probably for security reasons), adopting Nei Comers, or New Comers, when they landed in Switzerland. Peter Newcomer was the first of my branch of Newcomers to emigrate, coming from Switzerland in 1720, and landing in Germantown (Philadelphia).


My Hoffman ancestors were, as I suspected, immigrants from Germany. As to the Hoffman name, a hoff refers to a settlement, farm or house, so Hoffman refers to a man who either owned his own house or farm or was a steward of a settlement or farm. Peter Von Hoffman is named as an early ancestor whose family was originally from the Old Grand Duchy of Baden, a German state and a historical territory of the Holy Roman Empire. Prior to emigrating to America this branch of the family had moved further down the Rhine Valley to a part of Germany very near the Holland border, where the Reformed faith was embraced. Many inhabitants of the Upper Rhenish states left their homes and farms after the Protestant Reformation and the 30 years of war that followed (the 30 Years War ended in 1648), and my ancestors appear to have been among them.


Prior to emigrating to the American colonies, the Newcomers and Hoffmans had been slowly moving and relocating through parts of Europe, crossing mountains and crossing borders. For generations and through centuries, they sought to escape the ever-exploding violence of the religious conflicts that made peaceful living impossible. The 16 week sail from Rotterdam to Germantown, Pennsylvania was only one of the more recent in a long list of moves made by the Hoffman and Newcomer clans. Apparently, the German families tended to send a family member off to a potential new region to check on conditions, and if they were favorable many more family members followed.


Adam Hoffman, from whom I am descended, was the first of three brothers to emigrate to America. He sailed from Rotterdam, Holland on the ship Winter Galley in 1737.  When he arrived in Germantown in the early days of 1738, he was 23-years-old. It was a full decade (1747) before the second brother, Michael arrived, also in Germantown. A third brother, Robert, followed two years later in 1749. Adam and Michael settled in Pennsylvania and raised large families. It was Robert who led a group of his nieces and nephews from Pennsylvania to Maryland and Virginia where many of them settled, including one of Adam’s sons, John Hoffman. (This is in conflict with my understanding that John Hoffman was born in Virginia—I now believe he was born in Pennsylvania but moved with other family members to the Shepherdstown, WV area.) John Hoffman married Sallie Newcomer, the great-granddaughter of the above-mentioned Peter Newcomer. John and Sallie are my 4th great-grandparents. The Newcomer name was handed down to my 2nd great-grandfather (the one who came west to California, landing in Sutter County) Samuel Newcomer Hoffman, and on to one of his three sons, the afore-mentioned Worthington Newcomer Hoffman.


“Gramps” was written at the top of this photo by my grandfather, John Wade Hoffman. I believe it is his grandfather, Samuel Newcomer Hoffman.


I spent some time researching the Waldensians and pre-reformation history. It is complicated and there is much conflicting information, not surprising when religious claims are involved. But what I do know is both the Hoffman and Newcomer branches of my family were part of the reformation movement centuries before what we know as “the Reformation,” as initiated by Martin Luther (his 95 Theses was published in 1517). The early branches of these families in America were Mennonites and Dunkards. In Shepherdstown, WV, they were members of the Reformed Church.


They came to America to be able to escape religious persecution, and in this they were successful. They did not find freedom from war, however. For the next 150 years they and their descendants endured the French and Indian War (1754-1763), the Revolutionary War (1775-1783), the War of 1812 (1812-1815), and, most devastatingly, the Civil War (1861-1865).

The Hoffman Family: 200 Years in America

Shepherdstown, West Virginia is located in the Shenandoah Valley on the banks of the Potomac River. The land rolls gently in all directions and, as our visit was in late spring, everything was incredibly green.

The town itself is small (population less than 2,000) and very charming. Most of the buildings lining the main street are two-story brick or stone with an occasional wooden structure crowded in. IMG_3504They feature lovely wood trim, with details carved or painted, and appeared very well-maintained.

Our B&B anchored one end of the commercial district, and provided us easy access to the shops and restaurants in town, not to mention the cemeteries (Lutheran across the street from Reformed) which anchored the far end of town.


W. German St., Shepherdstown's main drag
W. German St., Shepherdstown’s main drag. We strolled around enjoying the lovely architecture, some old stone churches, and several views of Town Run, the burbling stream that ran directly through the town.


We had time to do some sight-seeing of the area for one full day, timing my visit to the archive to occur on our last morning before heading off to Annapolis. In addition to exploring the town (that didn’t take long) and visiting a portion of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park just across the river, we visited the Christ Reformed Church graveyards and found a number of family headstones from the early 1800s. Some were so worn and eroded that it was difficult to read the names or dates. The stones made of granite had held up better and were easier to read. I was excited to be hot on the trail of my Hoffman ancestors, but really did not know what to expect from the archive. I tried to keep my hopes in check.


We arrived at the museum and archive promptly the next morning and were introduced to a young man who was finishing up an internship there, having just graduated from Shepherd University. He told me he had found a document on the Hoffmans and it was housed in the university library, so we walked the few blocks from the museum to the campus together.


The document he had unearthed was manually-typed, about 70 pages in length, bound with a cardboard cover. On the cover was a typed label which read: The Hoffman Family. Two Hundred Years in America. By Lloyd K. Hoffman.


Two hundred years of Hoffman history all laid out in one document. It was more than I had ever hoped. In addition to the American history, the author provided some European history of the Hoffmans and the Newcomers—these two families came to America within a decade of each other, initially settled in Pennsylvania, and intermarried—including their previous movements and reasons for emigrating. All my questions answered! Once again I have benefitted from the research of a distant cousin. The document appears to be the original. It has never been digitized so the only place to see it was right there at Shepherd University.


I was allowed to scan it, which I did using the Scanner Pro app on my iPhone. I couldn’t wait to transfer it to my computer in order to read it. When I did, I found it absolutely fascinating. From pre-reformation politics in France, Italy and Germany to the Pennsylvania Dutch to the Revolutionary War and the Civil War, my ancestors had been very caught up in major historical events. Once again history began to come alive for me as I saw the bright thread of my ancestors running through it.

The Hunt for Hoffmans in Shepherdstown, West Virginia

When I was a kid I didn’t think about who my Grandpa John Hoffman’s grandpa was. Grandpa seemed far too old to ever have had a grandpa himself. But Grandpa John did have a grandpa, and his name was Samuel Hoffman, and he was the first of my branch of Hoffmans to come out west.

Hoffman Headstone, College City Cemetery
Hoffman Headstone, College City Cemetery

Samuel was born in 1834 in the state of Virginia, and he came to California sometime between 1870 and 1880 with his wife Elizabeth Jane Wade, and their three sons: Harvey W. Hoffman, Alvey Wade Hoffman, and Worthington Newcomer Hoffman (that name piqued my interest, and I did eventually learn about its origins). Those three boys were born in Maryland, just across the Potomac River from where Samuel grew up in Virginia.


Samuel’s oldest son, Harvey W. Hoffman (1864-1930) was my great-grandfather. He married Nancy Bole (1868-1950), a native of California, in 1892 and they produced two sons: Harvey Virgil Hoffman (1893-1960) and John Wade Hoffman (1904-1975), who was my grandfather.


I was able to trace the Hoffmans two generations further back from Samuel to a John Hoffman who was born in Shepherdstown, Virginia (now West Virginia) in 1760.

map locating Shepherdstown WV
click on map to enlarge

This is where I had gotten stuck in my Hoffman research about a year ago, so I had set it aside and concentrated on other branches of the family.


When my wife and I recently started planning a trip to the East Coast, I revisited my Hoffman research. I had always assumed Hoffman was a German name, so I was intrigued to learn that Shepherdstown, West Virginia, was an area that had had a large German population, many of whom were crafts people. As usual, I wanted to know the stories of my predecessors. Did they emigrate from Germany? From what part? When and why? Did they have a craft? What was it?


Well, here it is 2016 and we don’t have the promised jet packs. But we do have the internet, so I plugged the desired information into the Google search engine and learned that modern-day Shepherdstown is a charming, historic college town. It is near the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, now a National Historic Park (all 184.5 miles of it) as well as other historic sites such as Harpers Ferry and Antietam. IMG_3501 Shepherd University is there, and has been there since 1871 when it was established as part of the state normal school system. The more I read, the more I wanted to go there, and as it was within a couple hour’s drive of our other planned destinations—Annapolis and Washington D.C.—we booked a couple nights at the Thomas Shepherd Inn (a B&B within walking distance of many points of interest). IMG_3506 (1)I contacted the Shepherdstown Museum and made an appointment to visit their archive. I emailed information about what I had discovered thus far about my family in the area, including family names I was looking for. I also knew (from the website Find A Grave) that any number of Hoffmans were buried in the Reformed Graveyard in Shepherdstown, so we planned to visit the cemetery as well (cemeteries have become a common destination in our travels). I crossed my fingers and hoped I might gather a few more scraps of information about the Hoffmans from the Shepherdstown archive.


In the end our trip was wildly successful. Not only did my wife and I have a great time exploring, we learned some fascinating history about the area, and the documentation I found on my family was far better than I could have imagined—a real genealogical coup! Even in this age of the internet, it turns out there’s nothing as good as going right to the source.

Buh Bye Clarkes, Hello Hoffmans

I’ve had so much fun over the past 15 months or so since I began this blog, learning about the Clarkes, my maternal grandmother’s ancestors. I’ve visited the places they lived in the California counties of Yolo and Colusa. Some of their homes are still standing, and at least one is still lived in by Clarke descendants. I’ve walked the cemeteries they are buried in, explored the upper Sacramento Valley where they grew their wheat and rice, and where many of William John and Catherine (Foster) Clarke’s descendants continue to live and work and farm.


I’m very excited to have made contact with Marilyn Kelly Ornbaun, one of my mother’s cousins (my second cousin 1x removed) who has worked for years on our family history. A friend of hers came across this blog and put us in touch with each other. Marilyn is on the board of the Sacramento Valley Museum in Williams, CA, and when we visited the museum in Chester, CA, her name was prevalent, acknowledging her donations of photographs and other items. (One of our common ancestors had been the first librarian in Chester, Katie Clarke Stover.) We’re having a wonderful time comparing notes on our research. Sadly, I was informed by Marilyn that another of my mother’s cousins, Joyce Dawley, who compiled a tremendous amount of family history research, died this past year. I so wish I had met her.

But now it’s time to bid a fond adieu to the Clarkes. Other branches of the family clamor for attention. Although I am anxious to dig further into my father’s side of the family, a recent trip back East caused me to turn my attention to the Hoffmans, my mother’s father’s family. I knew they had come west from Virginia in the 1870s, so I thought I’d see what I could learn about them while spending a little time in their old stomping grounds. What started out as a vacation to visit friends on the East coast turned into a genealogy bonanza, and I returned home with a greatly expanded knowledge of the Hoffman branch of my family. Get ready for a journey that encompasses everything from Europe’s religious wars of the 1300s to our own Civil War as we navigate the churning rapids of history with the Hoffmans.


Where the Heck is Sisson?

My grandmother, Marjorie Cain, attended Chico State Teachers College in the 1920s, graduating in 1925. I’ve been researching various details of her life for a historical fiction novel I am writing which borrows liberally from her life and times. Last November I spent some time at the California State University, Chico (CSUC) library delving into what campus life was like in the 1920s. That’s when I discovered that Chico State Teachers College, as it was known during my grandmother’s era (formerly Chico Normal School—the name changed in 1921), had a summer camp where students could attend a 6-week session. The camp was located in the town of Sisson. The only problem was, where the heck was Sisson? Did it still exist?

The idea of Chico Normal School holding a summer session was first raised in 1916, but WWI caused a delay to the plan. In 1918 a location for the summer camp was sought somewhere in the Sacramento River canyon, and the town of Sisson was chosen. At that time it was common for people to escape the heat of the valley by summering at higher elevations. Locating the camp at Sisson benefited both the town and the college. The first summer session was held in 1920.

Mt. Shasta as seen from the town of Mount Shasta.

It turns out that Sisson is the former name for the town of Mount Shasta. When Molly and I recently learned that the headwaters of the Sacramento River (ok, one of the headwaters) is also located in Mount Shasta, we decided we must plan a stopover on our annual road trip to the Pacific Northwest. Excited about this confluence of our shared obsessions with California and family history, and the headwaters of California rivers, we continued our research on the exact locations of the camp and the source of the Sacramento River. The searches led us to one and the same place: Mount Shasta City Park.

The summer camp (which is now the city park) was situated near the railroad and Big Springs, from which the Sacramento River flows. Drought or no drought, the cold, crystal clear water continues to pour right out of the foot of Mt. Shasta. During our visit to the park we saw people drive in with jars and jugs to capture the water, which is pure enough to drink right out of the springs.


Big Springs, source of the Sacramento River
Big Springs, source of the Sacramento River
Big Springs
Big Springs


Construction of the camp continued for a number of years. Most of the buildings used by the summer camp were in place by 1927. These included bathrooms, a power house, a dormitory which housed 40 students, a manual training building, a laundry, a kitchen and dining room, an art building, more dormitories, a lodge, an administration building, a hospital, and a home for the Dean of Women. I had been wondering if any infrastructure remained from the camp, which ran from 1920 until 1942. The Mount Shasta Recreation and Parks District website, which describes the current-day 26 acre city park, states that “the park facilities include picnic areas, playgrounds, and five public buildings.” What they neglect to mention is that the buildings were constructed for the CSTC summer camp in the 1920s.

It seemed to me that the history of the summer camp was under-appreciated, as there was nothing about it at the Mount Shasta Museum—although one of the volunteers did find a 3-page article in a binder that had some of the history—and there was no signage or information in the park that mentioned the history of the buildings. Too bad.


The CSTC course catalogue for academic year 1922-23 includes the following rather effusive description of summer school:

The summer student can not do better than to attend the Mount Shasta Summer Session. The camp is located conveniently, near the village of Sisson, in a beautiful grove of cedars, pines, firs and oaks. The famous spring of “Muirs Woods” gushes ice cold water from beneath the lava rock, furnishing the water supply of the camp.

The natural scenery surrounding the grounds can not be surpassed. To the north and east, but a few yards from the camp, one hits the trail that ascends 14,380 feet to the crest of the sublime Mount Shasta. To the west rises Mount Eddy. These two mountains are snowcapped the year around. Among other points of interest which are easily accessible by pack animal or by auto are Castle Lake, McCloud River, Castle Crags, and Crater Lake (Oregon). Week-end trips are made by students to these points, chaperoned by members of faculty.

Social life in the camp is quite ideal. The housing is provided for by means of dormitories and tents. A cafeteria on the grounds provides plenty of appetizing and wholesome food at moderate prices.

The Lodge furnishes a place for amusements, such as dances, musicals, plays, and all general recreational parties.

There are half-day sessions conducted during the forenoons, leaving afternoons free for study and recreation.

A summer spent at the Mount Shasta Summer Session cannot but prove one of delight and profit.

By all accounts that we’ve read or been told, the students had an absolute blast at these camps. I only regret I was born too late to attend, and it’s one more thing I wish I had talked to my grandmother about when I had the opportunity.

Between Two Contending Forces


In my last entry I speculated whether events other than the deaths of two of his adult children drove my great- great-grandfather, William John Clarke, to take his own life in October of 1894. A comment from my brother-in-law about the financial panic of 1893 jogged my memory and sent me scurrying back to review Rulers & Rebels, A People’s History of Early California, 1769-1901 by Laurence Shoup. I recently read this book with particular interest in how historical events may have affected my ancestors who farmed north of Sacramento. After more careful review, and getting my dates straight—bingo! Not only was there a panic in 1893—the biggest depression the country had ever faced up until that time—but a railroad strike occurred in the summer of 1894 which had dire effects on the farmers in California who were unable to get their crops to market, or even acquire sacks to harvest the wheat in.


The 1870 census states that William John Clarke’s real estate was worth $124,440 and his personal estate was worth $20,000, so he was quite well off. Although there was also a financial panic and a railroad strike in the mid 1870s, he seems to have weathered those crises. But by the fall of 1894, when he took his life, he may have been wiped out by one-two punch of the depression in 1893 followed by not being able to get his wheat and other crops to market during the summer of 1894. As supporting evidence I offer a line from a letter written by Clarke’s stepdaughter (my great grandmother), Lizzie (Tenney) Clarke Cain, after her stepfather’s death. She states that William John Clarke was once well-to-do but the land was mortgaged and “it all went for bad debt”. I have also been able to read the probate proceedings that occurred after Clarke’s death on the Ancestry.com website. Clarke’s widow, Catherine (Foster) Tenney Clarke, was left only with their home and some personal belongings. It is true that everything else was sold off or repossessed.


The Pullman Strike of 1894 affected the entire country, but was particularly brutal in California. The strike began when the American Railroad Union called for a nation-wide strike against the Pullman Company in Chicago, where workers were being subjected to horrible conditions. It was not a strike against all railroads, only the Pullman Company. All trains were to be allowed passage with the exception of those carrying Pullman cars. Southern Pacific in California reacted by unnecessarily placing Pullman cars on every train, including mail trains, whether they needed them or not.


The strike was largely supported by the populace initially, because it was largely recognized that the railroads had a monopoly while both state and federal governments looked the other way. When Eugene Debs, the leader of the American Railroad Union was testifying before Congress during the strike, he was asked if he believed in government ownership of the railroads. He replied,

“Yes sir; I believe that Government ownership of railroads is decidedly better than railroad ownership of the Government.”

However, as the strike went on and became more violent, and neither side would compromise, public support began to wane.


The governor had called up the National Guard, sending them to Sacramento to guard the Southern Pacific Railroad yard. Hundreds of strikers were also in the area and things were quite tense. The Woodland Daily Democrat ran an editorial on July 2, 1984, that summed up the situation:


It is an anomaly in civilized society in having some of the characteristics of organized warfare in presence of the reign of law and peace. That is the condition that confronts the people of California today.

The opposing forces are the Southern Pacific Company on one side and its employes [sic], swayed and influenced by a powerful labor union, on the other. In such a conflict it is to be presumed that both sides are prepared to make some sacrifices that will involve losses to both of a very serious character. Both seem to fear that if any concessions are made looking to a settlement, precedents will be established that will in the future operate to the disadvantage of whichever party makes the concession.

The corporation contends that the success of the strikers will mean that henceforth the most trifling differences between labor and capital will be arbitrarily settled by the interference of labor organizations, and that every employer in the country will be made a party to any trouble that may exist between every other employer and his help.

On the other hand the labor organizations insist that this is a boycott against Pullman and not a strike against the Southern Pacific, as they have no grievance against that company, and that if Pullman triumps[sic] they will be crushed and labor may as well surrender unconditionally to aggregated capital and organized monopoly, all the rights for which it is now contending.

Between these two contending forces, and in no way responsible for the actions of either, stands the public, the inoffending people, whose losses are infinitely more than the combined losses of both parties to the irrepressible conflict. Business is at a standstill; freight and passenger traffic are blocked; grain cannot be harvested, because the farmer can get no sacks; thousands of tons of fruit are rotting, because transportation is denied; and all this is occurring at a time when the people are least able to withstand the effects of such a disaster. They have not recovered from the effects of the recent panic, and it would be impossible to imagine a greater misfortune to California interests than that these labor troubles should have occurred at this time.


The information I’ve read about William John Clarke’s suicide stated that he was despondent over the deaths of two of his adult children. It’s true he shot himself on the grave of his son Willie. You can’t say he didn’t have a flair for the dramatic. But Willie had been dead for four years. And Celia, his youngest daughter, had died almost a year previously. I can’t say that sadness around the deaths of his children didn’t play into his decision to end his life. But it just didn’t add up for me. In investigating the historical events of the time I found what I submit is a more believable reason for his suicide. The Pullman Strike of 1984 was indeed a disaster for my great-great-grandfather. I believe he was crushed between two contending forces.