A Letter from California - 15 Sept. 1860, Placer County

Chasing History: Exploring My Ancestral Roots - Post #23

by Tonya Graham McQuade

Civil War letter written by James Calaway Hale, 

with flag sewn by his daughter, Mary Ann "Mollie" Hale,

which he carried with him through the war

Today, I'm sharing an excerpt from chapter 7 of my draft of Missouri Daughter, my historical fiction novel that incorporates the Civil War letters written by my GGG Grandfather James Calaway Hale, to wrap up my earlier posts (#13-19)  about family members who headed West along the Oregon Trail and Mormon Trail - some to California during and after the Gold Rush; some to Walla Walla Washington; and some to Salk Lake City, Utah.

This chapter includes a letter from a friend from Andrew County, Elias Edwards, who made the decision to stay in California. I love his descriptions of the California scenery and social customs and troubles of the time, and I'm very impressed by his vocabulary and writing style. While the actual letter is dated September 15, 1860, I change the date in the book to March 1863 for the sake of the storyline.

The excerpt I'm sharing opens with Bailis (my great great grandfather) and Mc (McDonald, Mollie's brother) heading to the post office after a fishing trip.

Missouri Daughter, Chapter 7:

... Two letters were waiting for them at the post office in Savannah: one from Papa and one from their old friend Elias Edwards, who had been living in California for quite a few years now. They had not heard from him since he had left, so both Bailis and Mc were excited to read the news.

“We’d better wait to open the letter until we get back to the house,” Bailis suggested. “We don’t want the others getting upset at us for spoiling the fun.”

 

They stopped to pick up Mollie and Jimmy before heading down the road to take Mc home. There was plenty of excitement when they all walked in with the giant catfish, crappy and trout, two letters, and 75 cents from their catfish sale that Mc presented to Mama with a grandiose display. Mama beamed at him, and it made his heart glad. Then she eagerly urged them all to sit down and asked Mollie to read the two letters.

 

Mollie decided to start with the letter from Elias since it had been many years since they had heard anything from him:

 

March 1863 – Iowa Hill, Placer County, California

 

Dear Mollie and Family,

 

I received a letter from a friend of mine a few days since in the vicinity of Savannah, Missouri, who informs me that it is your request I should write to you a letter and that if I do, you will answer the same. Many years have elapsed and many changes taken place since I last saw you all, and although it has been my lot to form many new acquaintances and fond ties of friendship, I still remember you all fondly.

 

I hear, Mollie, that you and Bailis have now married. Let me offer my best wishes for your happiness. As for myself, sad to say, I find myself having to answer to that accursed title of Bachelor. You request me through my friend to write a good and long letter. Sadly, a good letter is something I am not capable of doing, and to write a long one gives birth to a question in my mind as to what subject would be the most interesting to you. However, I have selected the longest sheet of paper that I could find, and should I find interesting matter enough to fill it, I suppose you will give me credit for the effort.

Actual 24", double-sided letter written by

Elias Edwards, dated Sept. 15, 1860 

 

I suppose you often read glancing accounts of this country and that you often converse with those that have been here and shared the inconveniences of a California life (from which you have no doubt become as conversant as with the geography and general customs and habits of the country as I am myself), a repetition of which would only serve to wear your patience. Notwithstanding, I consider it due to myself and to the state in which I live to say that nature has done its part for the Pacific Coast. The climate is of the best, the sail of the quickest, the water of the purest, the Bachelors of the plentiest, and the hauls of the fastest.

 

If you have an eye for scenery, you ought to come to this country. Travel when you will on the Pacific Coast, and you will daily see something new to excite your admiration. The valleys of California are decidedly the most beautiful part of the globe I ever laid my eyes on. The mountains of California are also blessed with some very interesting scenery, and the climate is equally as pleasant as that of the valley, although the fact of its being so very rough and hilly makes the mountains not so desirable a place to live as the valleys. But yet in consequence of their mineral wealth, the mountains are thickly populated; in fact, the improvements that have been for the last few years continually going on go to prove that people are continually becoming more permanently located, and I think the time is not far distant when the mountains of California will be second to no mountainous country in the United States.

 

The time has been here that good society could not exist, but the emigration of the finer sex has wrought a material change in the last few years, and I am proud to say that at the present time society is tolerable good and still improving. There are some churches and Sunday schools established throughout the state. There may be found in almost every little town and village in the state a Masonic Lodge and an Order of Odd Fellows. We have good schools – also singing and dancing schools. We have social parties. We have good and well-conducted balls. In short, we have everything in this country that there is anywhere, but the great difficulty is we have too much vice and too little morality.

 

Also, we have too many old bachelors and young men and not enough old maids and young girls. There appears to be a great many ladies in this country at the present day, but yet in comparison to the opposite sex there is but few. I have never heard of an old maid in this country yet; in fact, few girls live single here to see their eighteenth birthday. A great many gain in the enviable pleasures of matrimony at the age of fourteen and fifteen years, while others become impatient and place themselves under the protection of some fatherly old bachelor at the age of thirteen, in the majority of instances marrying men of about twice their own age. The fact of the girls marrying so young here makes them a scarce article in the market. To give you a more correct idea of the matter, I will just state that within the last year there has been some eight weddings in the vicinity, the girls ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen years and the men they married from twenty-five to forty-five.

 

It is impossible to get up a ball or party in this country without the attendance of married ladies, a great many of whom expect the young men to go and take them the same as though they had no husband nor no half a dozen brats to leave at home. To illustrate the matter more plainly, I will just say that a few nights since I attended a ball – what we call a very good ball – the participants of which consisted of eighteen females of the following description: eight married ladies, six juveniles, and four young ladies; thirty-four males as follows - three married men and thirty-one young men and bachelors from the age of twenty-one to fifty. The above is about an average for this country.

 

The scarcity of young ladies is a great drawback to this country. So now, dare I say to widows, old maids, and young ladies – you want to marry and be of service to your country and add to the rising generation, come immediately to this country and redeem some of the despairing bachelors from a life lonely, miserable, inconvenient, and contrary to the plans of God.

 

One year ago I paid the valleys a visit – was gone from here some four months. In my travels over the valleys, I saw and made the acquaintance of your Uncle Jahue Brown but have not seen him since I left there. I shall expect an answer from this letter immediately. Please give me all the news. This is not very fashionable paper that I have written on, but if you will only send me long, full-filled sheets of the same lines, I will be satisfied.

 

From Your Faithful Friend,

Elias Edwards

 

Elizabeth’s ears perked up at the mention of her brother Jahue, from whom she had not heard any news in several years. He had never been good at writing letters or keeping up with the family, and he tended to move around a lot so it was hard to know where to write to him. She was glad to know he was alive and well. Just two years before, her mother had written to her from Tennessee, desperate to get in touch with Jahue because he had some debts that had come due, and his land was going to be sold to pay the debt if he did not take care of it. Elizabeth wondered now what had ever come of that. She did not like to recall how anxious her mother had sounded in the letter.

 

Jahue was quite similar, she thought, to James’s nephew Enoch, the prodigal son of James’s oldest brother Lewis. When Enoch had first journeyed to California, Lewis went more than a year without knowing whether he was alive or dead – then finally, a letter came one day. Soon after that, Enoch had traveled all the way to the Sandwich Islands, two thousand miles west of California in the middle of the Pacific Ocean! No one in the family could fathom such a journey, but Enoch eventually returned home with heart-stopping tales of tropical forests, dancing natives, giant banyans, swaying palms, delicious pineapples, sweet-fleshed coconuts, colorful fish, breaching whales, and spewing volcanoes.

 

Now, Enoch was back in California, married and living in Butte County. Last she had heard, he was serving there in the Union army. Elizabeth wondered what that must be like for Lewis – having sons fighting on both sides in this dreadful war. At least with Enoch living thousands of miles away on the west coast, it wasn’t likely he would ever encounter one of his brothers on the battlefield.

 

Suddenly remembering where she was, Elizabeth returned to the moment at hand. “When you write back, Mollie, please be sure to ask Elias if he has a postal address for Jahue,” she requested. “I know my poor mother would be glad to hear from him. In her last letter, she said she wasn’t sure if he was alive any longer.”

 

“I will,” Mollie reassured her. “I wonder how the two of them ever met!”

 

“It sounds like Elias would rather not be a bachelor,” Bailis said, with a tinge of jealousy in his voice. Elias clearly had fond memories of Mollie – perhaps too fond, Bailis thought. “I think he’s hoping we will encourage more of the young ladies here to set out for California!”

 

“Well, if this war keeps going on, there might be an abundance of ladies both old and young here in need of husbands,” Mollie said, with a sense of sorrow in her voice. “So many of our brave Southern men are leaving their homes, never to return.”

 

“So true,” Mama said with anxious concern. “Perhaps it’s time you read Papa’s letter. I want to know if his medicines have been working.”

 

Mollie opened the letter, then looked up with worry and fear in her eyes. Papa was no longer in Arkansas – his letter, dated a week ago, was coming from the General Hospital in St. Louis.

Benton Barracks, where "Papa" (James Calaway Hale)

spent time in and out of the hospital for almost two years

I hope you've enjoyed this "peek" into Missouri Daughter - which I hope to see published sometime in the future. In my next blog post, I'll be sharing one of my favorite letters - from "Rachel at Rebel Rendezvous" - who tries to convince Cousin Bailis to see the error of his ways and join the Southern cause!

Ellis Island: My Austria-Hungary Connection, Part III

Chasing History: Exploring My Ancestral Roots - Post #22

by Tonya Graham McQuade

Anna Halper Wagner (1894-1972)

A few years ago, as I was preparing for my daughter, who was 19 at the time, to head over to Hong Kong for a year of study abroad, I got to thinking about my Great Grandma Anna Halper Wagner, who at age 19 left her home in Hungary to travel to the United States to begin a new life. I already shared her story in Post #20, but here I want to share the poem I wrote back in Fall 2018:

I Wish I Got to Know Her

In 1913,

at the tender age of 19,

she came to this new country

with twenty-six dollars in hand,

passing through Ellis Island,

leaving her family behind

in Orallas, Hungary,

never to return.

She must have wondered about them,

missed them,

worried about them.

She must have felt torn.

 

In Chicago, she joined up

with others like her,

crowded into single family homes

bursting at the seams at times

with four families crowded in –

Justine, Bishop, and Laflin,

all streets welcoming immigrants to Chicago –

to neighborhoods made up of

Germans and Poles and Lithuanians

and others who sought

the American dream –

others who believed that

“money fell from trees” –

but often found

The Jungle instead.

 

At some point

she met my great grandfather –

also an immigrant from Hungary –

and they married,

still living on Bishop Street,

but eventually in their own home.

There, they raised my grandfather,

who died at 52 of a heart attack

(probably from working too long

around toxic chemicals),

a daughter

who died too young of epilepsy,

another son

who died too young of tuberculosis –

or perhaps it was alcoholism –

and a daughter who lived to

a ripe old age: my great aunt.

 

I do remember meeting her

when I was very young –

the smell of the house overwhelming

my antiseptic senses,

her accent still thick,

nearly every surface covered

with crocheted doilies,

piled up with the many treasures

she had accumulated from

nearly sixty years of living

on the often stifling streets of

Cook County, Chicago.

My mother, Dorothy, holding me, beside Great Grandma Anna

My mom most remembers

her generosity.

Though she’d spent much of her life

in poverty,

she was always ready to give

to those around her.

She also remembers a few German phrases –

though no one I know who speaks German

ever recognized them.

Perhaps it was some Orallas slang -

or maybe it was Hungarian.

 

While still new to the country,

she watched the U.S. go to war

against her home country,

where undoubtedly she still had relatives.

She must have wondered about them,

missed them,

worried about them.

She must have felt torn.

 

During World War II,

while facing prejudice

against Germans at home,

she sent her oldest son off to fight

far away in Italy.

What he saw, what he experienced,

he would never talk about.

My mother heard none of his stories.

I wonder if his mother ever did?

What did he write to her

in his letters home?

She must have wondered about him,

Missed him,

Worried about him.

She must have felt torn.

My grandpa, John Paul Wagner, as a young boy

 

Later, she welcomed

four grandchildren,

Dorothy, John, Michael, and Tracey,

and three great grandchildren,

Tonya, Cameron, and Andrew,

to her Justine Street home,

watching her family line

live on in this country

where she had learned

money didn’t fall from trees,

but that didn’t mean

you couldn’t still hope.

 

While none of her own children

attended college,

two of her grandchildren did –

and all of her great grandchildren.

Now, more than forty-four years

after her death,

I think she would be happy

to meet her six great-great grandchildren

and to learn that among them,

one shares her name:

my daughter, Anna Rose.

 

I wish she could have met her.

I think she could have liked her spunk,

her spirit, her determination,

her drive, and her courage …

as she prepares to travel

across a different ocean,

also at the age of 19,

leaving her family behind,

boarding a plane alone,

to pursue her own dreams

in a far off land.

 

I know I will wonder about her,

miss her,

worry about her.

I know I’ll feel torn.

But I also know

that by venturing out,

we often find ourselves,

find the lives

we were meant to lead.

So, I’ll have to let her go …

just as all those Orallas parents

had to let their own children go

so long ago.

 

What stories I’m sure

Great Grandma Anna could tell,

if I ever got to know her.

Daughter Anna atop Suicide Cliff in Hong Kong - 

19 and ready to take on the world!

Tune in next time as I return to the family letters from the mid-1800's that helped kickstart this project. I'll be sharing an excerpt from Missouri Daughter, Chapter 7, where the Hale family in Andrew County, Missouri, receives another letter from a friend who headed to California during the Gold Rush: Elias Edwards. Elias chose to stay in California and writes about California's scenery, its social scene, and its "scarcity of young ladies." 

 

 

Ellis Island: My Austria-Hungary Connection, Part II

Chasing History: Exploring My Ancestral Roots – Post #21

By Tonya Graham McQuade

Anna Halper & John Wagner, Wedding Day, Dec 1917

In my previous post, I discussed some history related to my great grandmother, Anna Halper. Today I turn to my great grandfather, Johan Wagner, who passed twice through Ellis Island, first in 1905, then again in 1912. The second time, he stayed, settled in Chicago, met Anna Halper, got married, and had four children. The oldest, John Paul Wagner, was my mother’s father and my grandfather.

 

Johan "John" Wagner was born in 1885 in Jobaggyi (aka. Alsoor), Vas, Hungary – now known as Unterwart, Burgenland, Austria. As I explained in my previous post, the borders of Hungary changed after WWI, so Johan’s “birthplace” changed to Austria. A bit confusing, right? What makes it even more confusing is that both German and Hungarian names are used for these towns, and different names are used in different records. His parents were Johann Wagner and Josefa Bessenhofer. Only one other sibling of his, as far as I can tell, immigrated to America – his sister Wilma, who was 18 years younger and didn’t arrive until 1922. He did not learn she was here until many years later because he did not keep in contact with his family back in Austria.

My Great Grandpa Johan "John" Wagner

I was surprised to see in the 1912 Ellis Island record that Johan said he had been to the U.S. before – it's not part of the family history my mother had ever heard, so it’s not something she ever told me. She really knew very little about her grandfather, and she remembers him as a rather distant, somewhat harsh and cold man. Her grandmother Anna, on the other hand, she remembers very fondly, saying how kind and generous she always was.

 

I have vague memories of my great grandmother Anna Halper. Towards the end of her life, I remember visiting her house on Justine St. in Chicago, where she lived with her daughter Minnie (Hermina), Minnie’s husband Jim Dougherty, and their daughter Tracey. I remember the dank smell, the humidity, the crowdedness, the doilies, the cats, and that she would always give me something when we left. Since she died when I was five, I don’t have a lot of memories – but since we lived in Illinois for about a year when I was 3-4, I must have seen her on several occasions.

Four Generations: Great Grandma Anna Halper Wagner, 

Grandpa John Paul Wagner, Mother Dorothy Wagner Graham, and Me (c. 1967)

My mom, brother Cam, Grandma Anna, and me (c. 1970)

My great grandfather, on the other hand, died in 1965 before I was born. In almost all the pictures I have seen of him, he is sitting in a chair, smoking a pipe. That’s about all I knew about him until I started doing some ancestry research – and until my cousin Tracey (mentioned above) passed away unexpectedly, and my mom and dad and I were left to go through her house and help settle her affairs. At that time, I inherited the “box” of old family letters and documents Tracey had acquired when her mother Minnie passed away a year and a half before her.

That's John smoking his pipe, with wife Anna

and my mom's brother, John, standing behind him

Tracey is actually my mom’s first cousin, but she was my same age, and we were “pen pals” for many years growing up. I was always happy to see her when we would visit Illinois, but then we lost touch after she moved to Las Vegas. In fact, I didn't see her for 28 years. Fortunately, we reconnected in 2017 before she died and enjoyed two fun trips together – one to New Orleans and one where she visited us in San Jose. At that time, we went to Big Basin Redwoods State Park because she wanted to see a redwood tree. She also brought some of the old family history documents with her at that time so I could help her go through them since we were both interested in ancestry research.

Aunt Minnie and Tracey on left; my mom and me on right

That's Tracey (on the right) with me at Big Basin Redwoods SP

 

From my research (mostly census records) and items in the box, I learned my great grandfather worked for Pullman Railroad for more than 35 years – I now have his Pullman pin – as a railroad car cleaner. I learned he came here first in 1905, at which time his Ellis Island record says his last residence was in Schonferchen, Bayern (Bavaria), with his final destination being Pleasant Plains, Staten Island, New York, to join a relative I have not been able to identify. I have no idea if that’s where he stayed during his sojourn, but he eventually returned to Europe. His passport – which I also now have – shows that he traveled quite a bit between 1904-1912, leaving home when he was 18 or 19 and spending time in various parts of Austria and Germany.

 

A letter that my cousin Tracey had in her possession revealed some family history that might explain his early departure. It appears that his father was quite harsh with him. The letter sounds like the first contact he had with his mother and sister Hermina back in Austria since he immigrated to America – and the letter was written in 1952, forty years after his arrival! Apparently, he and his sister Wilma, who settled in St. Louis, Missouri, had finally somehow reconnected, and Wilma shared his address with her mother and sister back home.

 

John's sister Hermina writes in the letter: “My dear mother and I talked about you often. Papa died a long time ago, but … he squandered everything. We don’t even have a little house, but rather worries. Papa treated us the same he treated you and didn’t care. Mama always cried a lot when she talked about you, dear brother, how mean he treated you, and Mama was not allowed to say anything.... We now have only the bare necessities, but our holy peace. Mama has gone through a lot. Her last money was destroyed after 32 years in the Pinkafelder Sparkasse (a bank in Pinkafeld, Burgenland, Austria). After that he (Papa) went crazy. A whole year I suffered terribly. His death was a relief for us.”

 

When I read the letter to my mother, it helped her to see her grandfather somewhat more sympathetically. There's so much we often don't know about the scars and burdens a person carries. When I showed her his Pullman pin and certificate recognizing his 35 years of service, she was surprised and rather impressed. The “box” also contained several of his pipes - items she definitely recalled. Clearly, he had secret hurts – early traumas he bore and perhaps, regrettably, sometimes took out on others. He faced challenges and hardships I can only imagine. He was a German-speaking immigrant living in America during both WWI and WWII, which must have brought its own share of prejudices and difficulties. He watched his oldest son, my grandfather, be drafted to fight in Italy during WWII, and he saw two of his children die before him.

 

Furthermore, whereas his wife Anna had lots of family members around for support and companionship, he did not have that same benefit. I wonder if he ever missed his family or regretted the lost contact. I wonder if he was haunted by bitterness and resentment toward his father. I wonder if he responded to that letter from his mother and sister in 1952. If so, I would love to see what he wrote. I hope he sent them a picture of his family.

Anna & John Wagner

The guest book from his funeral, which was also in the box, shows that his sister Wilma and her husband, Ernest Obernay, came up from St. Louis for the funeral. My mom didn’t remember ever hearing about this great aunt. Her father must have met Wilma at his father’s funeral, if not before, but by then my mom was married and living in California. I know my grandpa's sister Minnie corresponded with both Wilma and her daughters because I have some of those letters.

Whatever the case, John and Anna carved out a life for themselves and their four children – John Jr., Anna, Hermina (Minnie), and Joseph - in Chicago, eventually purchasing a house in 1954 on S. Justine Street, where they lived out their final years. They and their family members were part of the Eastern European immigration surge at the beginning of the 20th century that flooded Ellis Island; part of the westward movement that caused midwestern cities like Chicago to explode in their populations; part of the hordes of immigrant workers forced to work long, harsh hours for low pay; and part of the mass of "other language" speakers who had to struggle to speak English and adjust to the American way of life.

But as I quoted in my previous post, Aunt Minnie said of her mother, "Whenever I asked her if she wanted to return, she always said she didn’t care to visit Austria. She was so proud to become a citizen, and we always had to have a replica of the Statue of Liberty at our house." I can only assume the same was true of her father. They both eventually became U.S. citizens - and neither ever returned to see family members left behind in Austria-Hungary. They both lived full lives, and they both are buried at St. Mary Cemetery in Chicago.

Remembering Johan "John" Wagner

Tune in next time for a poem about Great Grandma Anna before I return to my Missouri focus as I continue working on my Civil War books. Don't forget to click "Follow" if you like what you see!