A Day Celebrated

By Jack Evans circa 1985

It was the era of rail travel, circa 1910. Men and materials reached their destinations pulled by those iron behemoths known as steam locomotives. Jake was a railroad engineer, a captain you might say, of one of those 150-ton assemblies of puffing, hissing and belching steel.

Having access to complimentary rail fare passes, Jake had journeyed to Chicago on a matter of business, some land deal in Kansas involving a Chicago bank. The banks, the railroad stations, the great mercantile establishments of the Midwest, and the restaurant where Jake was seated, were all within the Chicago loop district surrounded by elevated trains clattering by, day and night.

It was noisy inside the restaurant and busy. Waiting for his order to be taken Jake glanced around at the nearby tables. Diagonally across the aisle was a well-dressed patron sitting facing him. He looked vaguely familiar despite his middle-aged spread and graying hair.

The waiter took Jake’s order for roast beef and oxtail soup. The fellow with the familiar face seemed to notice Jake also. Jake and the stranger exchanged a few furtive glances before the stranger cut off the view with his newspaper.

Jake finished his soup and was savoring his roast beef dinner. His thoughts drifted to the farm in Kansas and all the financial and legal matters involved in the purchase. Was it a fair price? Could he assume an existing mortgage? Was the land as fertile as advertised? After all, he was buying it sight unseen simply upon the recommendation of a friend.

In the midst of Jake’s preoccupation with his business uncertainties and satisfying his appetite, the stranger put down his newspaper and abruptly departed. Jake swallowed his last bite and suddenly that somewhat familiar face loomed clearly in his mind. He recognized the man and uttered a distinctly audible, “Goddamn!” Jake jumped up, dropping his knife and fork, and charged out of the restaurant. His grim determination was written across his face, as if he were to right a great undeniable wrong. It was clear Jake had recognized a former adversary and he was anxious to even the score.

Out in the street, Jake scanned the landscape but in the few minutes that had elapsed since the stranger’s departure the culprit had vanished into the labyrinth of the city. Jake returned to the restaurant and sat down once more. His mind flashed back to that infamous day 20 years before.

Jake, as a young man, wanted to explore the world, at least that part of it within the United States. As matters developed, a greater opportunity for adventure was looming on the horizon. Jake thusly arrived in San Francisco on June 20th, 1890. San Francisco was a boomtown. Buildings were going up. Jobs went begging for applicants. Knob Hill was getting its first luxury hotel. The harbor was crowded with vessels, both four-masted sailing ships and the newer steam freighters and passenger liners. In the forty-one years since the Gold Rush, San Francisco had been transformed from a sleepy Spanish mission town into an expanding metropolis.

Jake struck up an acquaintance at the hotel bar with a quick-witted Irishman, Dan Farley. It was obvious that Dan had been floating around San Francisco for some time. Dan said he knew all the sights to see, all the natural wonders, all the best bars and bar maids.

Jake was impressed. Dan offered to take Jake on a personal tour of the city. Jake was a little skeptical but agreed to meet his new acquaintance for breakfast on Saturday prior to touring the city with him.

In the ensuing days Jake did some exploring on his own. He walked up and down the hills of San Francisco, tried out the cable cars, visited the popular fish bars, went to a fashionable opera and to a more indelicate girlie show. Jake was intrigued with the local newspapers full of news from the East as well as advice to newcomers. The fantastic real estate offers and the seemingly endless columns of want ads seeking employees amazed him.

Saturday arrived bright and clear as Dan greeted Jake in the hotel dining room. Over breakfast Dan laid out a plan that would consume the whole day:

“We’ll visit the engineering works that house the mechanism for pulling the cable cars the first thing this morning, quite a mechanical marvel! Then we’ll go over to the Presidio; the Old Spanish settlement area. In the afternoon there’s a horse show out west of the city. In the evening we’ll visit the Golden Nugget, a spectacular new bar that I came across. You might meet the girl of your dreams there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jake replied.

Jake and his volunteer guide took the Powell cable car at Market Street. Jake looked on with fascination at the cable car operation. The operator had to be athletic and muscular to handle the giant lever centrally positioned through the floor of the car. Grasping the handle of the lever with both hands and with his feet well planted on the floor he hauled the lever back through an arc of about four feet. Having accomplished this the car accelerated to its terminal speed of nine miles per hour.

As the car came to a halt at Pine, a horse and wagon pulled alongside. Two men jumped out, climbed into the cable car and in less than a minute extracted that big lever in the center of the car. They brought in a fresh one from their wagon, installing it in about another minute. Jake noticed the construction of the lower end of the lever which when mounted in the car extended downward below the floor into the slot midway between the rails. This end of the lever had essentially a brake shoe that gripped the underground cable.

“Dan, how often do they do this?” Jake queried.

Dan didn’t seem to know and hesitated but another passenger spoke up: “Every three or four days.”

Recognizing Jake’s passion for the mechanical details of the cable car operations, they disembarked at Mason Street at the engine or powerhouse which was the vital center for the whole cable car system. Once inside, Jake observed the pulling force on the cable was imparted through a large drum or spindle around which the cable was wrapped with several turns. Jake was impressed with the cable tensioning device that took up the slack and stretch of the miles of cable in the streets of San Francisco. It occurred to Jake that the cable was like an endless belt, in other words, a loop with the cable running in opposite directions between the two sets of rails which provided the two-way cable car traffic.

Jake further noted that the tensioning device was a pulley or sheave about eight feet in diameter on a horizontal axis. The cable came in at the bottom of the sheave, went halfway around and back toward the direction from which it came. The giant sheave was supported from a rail car, the rails parallel to the entering and leaving cable loop. Several other cables tensioned the car by the force of huge counter weights.

“Wonder how much that cable stretches?” remarked Jake.

Dan, eager to please and ill equipped to answer such questions, hailed a workman in greasy overalls at the far end of the building. The man obligingly hurried over and when questioned reported that when the underground cable loop stretched the full length of the tensioning track in two or three weeks the cable had to be replaced.

The two travelers departed from the engine house. lake was very pleased with that part of the tour. He was mechanically minded and had witnessed one of the wonders of San Francisco, and of the advancing electro-mechanical age.

Jake was less interested in the Presidio area which was largely Federal land used for military purposes. There was a national military cemetery, ruins of a fort, and an officer’s club housed in the oldest adobe building in the southwest. The roof had sprung a leak and washed away part of a wall. The wall was being repaired with a new batch of mud. Jake couldn’t imagine adobe construction in his own upstate New York.

The horse show was at the Golden Gate Park, only partially developed. A throng of spectators swarmed around a wooden rail fence to watch the festivities. There was an odd mixture of Wild West and eastern culture both in the riding exhibitions and in the dress of the spectators. Sombreros, ten-gallon Texas hats, brown derbies, and black top hats were all in evidence. Refreshments were served from hastily erected tables placed at a distance.

Although Dan had mentioned that he once was a salesman for a horse dealer, Jake didn’t regard Dan’s judgement of horseflesh as very discerning. Jake had been brought up with horses as a farm boy and was familiar with the basics of good breeding and good confirmation.

Jake had not inquired as to how Dan made a living and it seemed appropriate to ask. Dan was quick to respond that he was looking for work but hadn’t quite found what he liked. He preferred a job selling real estate but admitted he had little experience in the field. Jake raised his eyebrows a time or two and hinted that a background in horse-trading was somewhat appropriate for selling real estate!

It was a long trip back to California Street and the cable cars. On the way Dan suggested that they meet at 6:30 for dinner at the new American Hotel, just a block or two from where Jake was staying.

Dan was waiting at the new American dining room when Jake arrived. The dining room was more elegant than Jake was usually accustomed to: hanging crystal chandeliers, oriental carpets, red velvet upholstered chairs with black walnut frames, exquisitely set tables with Japanese chinaware and the best of silver plate.

The menu was superb. Jake ordered fish soup, a steak with onions, au gratin potatoes, and fresh peas. For dessert Jake chose the steamed chocolate pudding with whipped cream. Dan’s order differed only in the selection of prime rib as his entree. He suggested his favorite California wine to accompany the meal.

While they dined Dan shared with Jake his plans for their evening on the town. They’d walk a few blocks north to a small somewhat private bar where two girls were to meet them and after a drink or two they would go on to the Golden Nugget for a gala evening. lake was concerned to know more about the backgrounds of their female companions. Dan assured him that they were two of San Francisco’s finest women, trusted friends and good dancers.

When it came time to pay the check, it was a very significant amount of money. Dan insisted that the dinner was his idea and that he was providing it. Jake made a point of reminding him he was unemployed and that the price of the meal should be shared. Dan stated that he had just received a windfall bequest from the settlement of a relative’s estate.

“Never thought old Aunt Betsy would leave me any money,” Dan said with kind of a smirk.

On hearing this bit of news Jake deferred and begrudgingly handed the check over to Dan.

The sun had dipped below the horizon when the two revelers entered a narrow alley. The nature of the crowded, dingy buildings contrasted markedly to the elegance I of the hotel dining room. Dan knocked on a door. A greeting came from within followed by a response from the outside.

“It’s Dan, open the door.”

A man of medium height opened the door cautiously. He was dark skinned with black hair and a waxed mustache. He wore a faded brown shirt and a leather vest. Jake guessed that he might be of Mexican descent. The man retreated behind the bar at one end of a small room set up with four tables each having four oak chairs. Except for two feminine figures seated at one of the tables, the place was vacant. The girls sat opposite each other with half empty cocktail glasses set before them on the table.

Dan approached the girls with Jake trailing sheepishly behind.

“Donna, this is Jake. He is visiting from the East.”

“June, meet Jake.”

Jake smiled and Donna invited him to sit down. The girls were dressed almost as twins with red blouses, gray skirts that were noticeably shorter than the custom of the day. Their hair was stylishly curled and Jake noticed their dramatic make-up was reminiscent of the girlie shows. Jake observed that Donna’s make-up did not hide her freckled face or her aging years. When she didn’t smile her face possessed a hardness, a map perhaps reflecting life’s cruel blows. When she smiled she was cute enough though.

Dan called to the bartender, “Bring over four glasses of champagne. This is to be a celebration.”

The men shared small talk with the women about their day’s sightseeing adventures. The champagne arrived and Dan held up his glass and proposed a toast.

“Here’s to our friendship and an exciting evening at the Golden Nugget.”

The four clanked their glasses and took long draughts of their champagne. Jake exclaimed it was the best he ever tasted.

Jake awoke to find himself laying on the floor, his head reeling. He was not sure at first whether the floor was swaying, or it was a hangover. His first sensible deduction was that he was in the hold of an old sailing ship. Stretched out on his right side through partially opened eyes he could see light streaming in through a companionway. A bearded ominous looking seaman was patrolling the exit. As his mind cleared Jake had the sensation that he was experiencing some kind of nightmare, that he wasn’t actually awake. No such luck though, it was for real. It became apparent that he had been drugged, kidnapped, and placed aboard that old sailing vessel!

Jake had read in the local newspapers about innocent persons being shanghaied. Readers were warned that sailing ship owners and captains were going to any lengths to acquire crews. Jake also remembered that if such a misfortune should befall an individual, he should seek an audience with the captain and request to be released.

Jake waited motionless, feigning sleep, and watching the sailor guarding the hold. Many minutes passed. Jake’s right side was numb. He wondered if his condition would permit a fast break for the stem end of the ship if the opportunity came.

Quite suddenly the guard disappeared from view. It was now or never. Jake stumbled as he rose from the floor, stretched quickly to regain feeling in his limbs and darted up the companionway. No one was in sight. He ran aft along the port rail as if a Bengal tiger was pursuing him. He knew the captain’s quarters would be close to the wheelhouse. He made a quick turn toward it and spotted a narrow stairway to a lower level. That’s where the shipmaster should be, he hoped. Jake plummeted down the stairs bursting into the captain’s quarters as the old man was munching his toast at breakfast. To say the least the old man was surprised at the intrusion. He wore a full graying beard. His eyes, set close together, bore a slight twinkle. He was not a large man and wherever his skin was exposed it was heavily tanned and weather-beaten.

“What brings you here, my son?” he asked not appearing to be too annoyed.

“Sir, I request that I be taken ashore. I am here against my will, placed aboard this ship by foul play.”

The captain measured his words firmly, “You are on this ship as a member of my crew.”

Jake retorted, “I am not a member of your crew and I demand to be sent ashore.”

“Well, son, the only way you can get ashore is to hire my first mate to row you ashore. He charges ten dollars and you have no money!”

Jake fumbled for his wallet. It had been emptied, seventy-five dollars in total. The old man tried not to show his satisfaction at the expected turn of events.

Jake calmly said, “Call your first mate. I have the ten dollars.”

The old man was startled at this statement, “You have ten dollars?”

“Yes, I expect you are a man of your word, sir. Call the first mate.”

With that remark Jake took off his right shoe and produced two crisp ten dollar silver certificates.

“Son, you’re a smart one. I need men like you aboard this ship. You know, I don’t like acquiring crews by unscrupulous methods. I’m at my wit’s end as to how to get good men. Son, I can offer you a great sailing career, great adventure, visit the ports of Shanghai, Manila, Tokyo, Singapore, and Bombay. I can make a sailor and man out of you. You can rise in the ranks to be the first mate or even the captain!”

The old man’s plea fell on deaf ears; Jake refused to accept any business proposition introduced through such nefarious schemes. He also knew the days of sailing ships were numbered. Little did he realize the steam locomotive, which he would be captaining in his career, would also become a museum dinosaur just sixty years later.

“Sir, I decline your offer and ask that your first mate row me ashore at once.”

The old man arose from his table and spoke into a speaking tube leading to an adjoining cabin.

“Bill, there’s a young man here to be rowed ashore. The usual fee applies. He’ll meet you at the wheelhouse.”

A muffled “Aye, aye, sir” was returned. Before making his exit Jake asked,

“Sir, do you know a Dan Farley, the shyster that drugged me and got me aboard?”

The old man replied, “No, son, I don’t. That probably isn’t his real name. He is some petty thief that makes his living through deception and betrayal. Son, don’t trust newfound friends in strange places.

First Mate, Bill, a big burly fellow, appeared in a blue pea jacket. Jake thrust a ten dollar bill toward him and the big fellow barked the order, “Follow me.”

To disembark Jake had to climb down a rope ladder to the skiff tied up below. The thought crossed his mind: how did they get me aboard this ship when I was out cold? He was tempted to ask the first mate but thought better of it and remained silent as Bill pulled the oars to shore. Jake felt like kissing terra firma as he leapt upon a low dock. He uttered no fond adieu and lost no time in putting the waterfront behind him.

In the few remaining days in San Francisco Jake saw nothing of Dan Farley. The saloons and restaurants where they fraternised showed no signs of Dan. Word must have come back that his last victim was freed.

Now, it was Chicago twenty years later and the scoundrel eluded Jake again. What would have happened had Jake recognized him a few moments earlier is anyone’s conjecture. Perhaps Jake was saved from charges of assault and battery. Perhaps, that fellow Jake recognized was the scoundrel’s double, who knows?

Editor’s Note: Thank you to the Evans Family for sharing Jack’s work.