On My Own

Today, I journeyed to beautiful Fresno, California.  The purpose?  To attend a symposium for grad students at Fresno State.  This will be my first academic presentation, the first time I've spoken to an audience of my peers on the results of my own original research.  I've presented my findings before, don't get me wrong.  But those audiences were mainly older Sacramentans, easy to enthrall with the story of my great-aunt Daisy and her unique place in Sacramento history.

This time, my audience will include students, critical, bright, questioning students.  I know my material--I love my material.  Lost Cause themes in the films of the 1930s is surely a subject to warm anyone's heart.  And I know it cold.  Still....

I had a nice drive down here from my little home in the Grove.  Along the way, I remembered the things I learned from the sainted Joe Pitti in my two California history classes with him.  As I went through Stockton, I recalled what I learned about the State Mental Hospital there.  During the last half of the nineteenth century, a disproportionate percentage of the inmates there were Irish or of Irish descent.  Why, you may ask (especially those of you who claim an Irish heritage)?  It seems like the upright non-Irish officials in California found that the Irish penchant for heavy drinking, moroseness, and inveterate whoring made them, in a word, crazy.  So off to the hospital they went, to dry out, to clear up whatever venereal disease they may have acquired, and to generally get their shit together.

Past Stockton, the little town of Lathrop was built as what is known as a "spite town."  The Stockton city fathers, during the hey day of the Central Pacific Railroad, decided to play chicken with the Big Four.  Yes, that's right, they wouldn't let the railroad through their fair burg without a chunk of coin coming their way, too much coin for the tight-fisted RR tycoons.  So, the CP bypassed Stockton and went through their own created town, Lathrop, named for the wife of Leland Stanford, Jane Lathrop Stanford. And then 100+ years later, Stockton went bankrupt.  Somewhere, Collis Huntington is laughing.

Lathrop also made California history as its train station is where David Terry, a nasty-ass, pro-slavery, Senator-killer, met his demise.  For those of you who don't know Terry's story, follow the link for a look at this freak-show of early California.

Bad, bad David Terry

One more note about history struck me as I drove through the fertile San Joaquin Valley.  Before it became a haven for all kinds of tasty crops, it was the center of the very profitable hide-and-tallow industry.  Huge cattle ranches spread across the Valley, raising cows not for the delicious steak and hamburger, but for the leather for shoes and the tallow for candles.  Think about how it smells while driving by Harris Ranch.  How about that times ten down the length of the Valley?  Yeah, my nineteenth-century self would not have been down with that.

So, its about time for dinner, then I've got an evening with Eric Foner planned.  Love me those Civil War historians....

The view from my room--STELLA!