The Spirit of 1906 | Page 4

packed by an excited
throng of humanity. If ever the St. Francis needed the S. O. S. sign, it
was the morning of this day. Everybody in the hotel must have been,
with others, in the lobby.
The president was in his usual hopeful and optimistic frame of mind.
He had no fear whatever but that the fire would be shortly under control.

How this was to be brought about, he could not tell, but he was
perfectly satisfied that it would be done. I looked at the man in wonder
and admiration. Such colossal optimism was superb. To expect from
fate what appeared to me to be the impossible was indicative of a hope
sublime. I envied such a nature. It was not only a great asset but was
also a great solace in the face of an unprecedented disaster. But he had
not been where I had been nor had he seen what I had seen.
Then my thoughts turned toward home and my depression increased
almost to despair as I walked past the wreck and ruin and through the
crowds who themselves were fleeing in indescribable habiliments and
with all sorts of futile treasures grasped in their hands.
No water! Little, if any, police protection! In fact, nothing, apparently,
except Divinity itself, to prevent the conflagration from finally burning
to the ocean. A most sublime tragedy! It meant the impoverishment and
lack of homes to thousands; it meant the sweeping away of
accumulations of years of endeavor; it might mean starvation; it meant
beginning again to climb the uphill trail to success; and last, but worst,
it meant the tremendous death toll either from immediate causes or
from after effects. Even today, years after the conflagration, many men
and women live in San Francisco in a greater or less degree of ill health,
the seeds of which were planted by the terror and mental strain which
they endured on the morning of that day.

Progress of the Fire

The day passed. Neither I nor any other can remember all the details
which marked the hours of suspense. It is to be presumed that others
like myself found various, and what then appeared to them to be
tremendous, things to claim their attention and then - the second day!
The fire had now reached Van Ness avenue and again came the
messengers on horseback who shouted in passing that everyone must
move. My home was on Vallejo street about five blocks beyond Van
Ness and it was generally believed that inasmuch as that street was one
hundred and twenty feet wide that it would form a fire break which
could not be crossed. Backfiring had already been started to meet the
oncoming conflagration, but everything, including the elements,
seemed to favor destruction and, as time passed, the worry and fear

increased. Owing to inability to combat the fire, through the lack of
water, doubt began to creep in as to whether the width of Van Ness
avenue and the puny attempts at fire fighting would check the march of
the flames.
About this time the question dawned upon myself and neighbors as to
what we should do with the more precious of our personal belongings.
Mr. Joseph Weisbein, a friendly neighbor, since dead, and myself
evolved a scheme to bury our belongings in the garden at the rear of my
house. We assembled four trunks, packed these with silverware and
wearing apparel, and some of the hardest physical work I have ever
done was in burying these trunks, digging the hole with a worn out
shovel and a broken spade. Then, with the help of our Chinese cook, I
brought out of the cellar a baby's buggy which had lain forgotten and
unused for several years. We loaded it with bedding and other things
and trundled it down the hill to Lobos Park near the bay shore. Trip
after trip we made before we decided that we had all that was necessary
or, rather, absolutely needful for a camp existence. The next question
was shelter. After prowling around the partially quake-wrecked gas
works, I found some pieces of timber out of which I constructed a sort
of framework for a large A tent. I borrowed a hatchet from another
refugee, a stranger in adversity. The disaster had broken down the
barriers of formality and we all lent a willing hand each to the other. I
secured some spare rope and got up my framework. This was covered
to windward with some Indian blankets sewn together by those we
were trying to make comfortable. Under that hastily erected rude
shelter nineteen people slept on mattresses that night. I did not have the
good fortune to sleep. Sleep would not come to "knit up the ravelled
sleeve of care," and