Timber, Sail, and Rail: An Archaeology of Industry, Immigration, and the Loma Prieta Mill 9781789207279

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Timber, Sail, and Rail

Timber, Sail, and Rail An Archaeology of Industry, Immigration, and the Loma Prieta Mill

Marco G. Meniketti

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

First published in 2020 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com © 2020 Marco G. Meniketti All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A C.I.P. cataloging record is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Control Number: 2020937008

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-78920-726-2 hardback ISBN 978-1-78920-727-9 ebook

Contents

List of Illustrations, Figures, and Tables

vi

Acknowledgments

xi

Preface Introduction. The Industrial Landscape of Timber

xiii 1

Chapter 1. Logging History in the San Francisco Bay Area

31

Chapter 2. The Immigration Mosaic of the West

66

Chapter 3. Laboring at Loma Prieta

96

Chapter 4. Archaeology at Loma Prieta Mill

112

Chapter 5. Artifacts: A Window to Life at the Mill

138

Conclusion. Reading Ethnicity and Class

165

Glossary

180

References

185

Index

200

Illustrations, Figures, and Tables

Illustrations 0.1

Loma Prieta Mill on Aptos Creek, circa 1891 (Site 1).

1.1

Broadside from a Marysville newspaper advertising a new shipment of circular saws for mills. Saws were regularly advertised in Marysville.

41

1.2

A rare period photograph of Chinese railroad workers in the Santa Cruz Area.

49

1.3

Oxen pulling saw logs along a skid road. Before narrowgauge railroads, this was the only means of delivering logs to the millponds or directly to mills.

59

Donkey engine. This particular engine is the Willamette engine on display at Sturgeon’s Mill in Sebastopol, California. Still functional.

61

Bok Kai Temple in Marysville. Interior view through front door. First built in 1851, it is the oldest temple still serving the Chinese community at large. Marysville was the scene of significant anti-Chinese violence during the gold rush era.

71

Archaeological reconnaissance of the barkentine Jane L. Stanford. Exposing massive hanging knee. The vessel, built at Bendixsen shipyard, hauled lumber on the coast and overseas.

93

1.4

2.1

2.2

3.1

4.1

4

The author standing next to the double sixty-inch circular saw at Sturgeon’s Mill, which is comparable in size and layout to the saw at Loma Prieta Mill.

104

Burned original floor timbers of Loma Prieta Mill documented during initial survey.

114

Illustrations, Figures, and Tables

4.2

vii

Parallel concrete slabs that were used to form a channel for the steam-engine flywheel. The engine would have been mounted on the timber base, indicated by the bolts at the right in the image.

115

Photograph looking west down Aptos Creek toward Loma Prieta Mill, circa 1891. In the foreground is the quartermile-long millpond. On the south side are the laborers’ housing and cookhouse (Site 2).

116

4.4

The brick smithy hearth adjacent to the mill.

118

4.5

A historical spec sheet in an advertisement for an Atlas steam-mill engine. Loma Prieta Mill probably used a similar engine. The Atlas engine at Sturgeon’s Mill still operates smoothly after a hundred years.

120

Brick feature at Site 1. The feature was eventually revealed to be the location of the boiler for the steam engine, in direct line to the concrete slabs shown in illustration 4.2.

123

Exposed brickwork and poured mortar flooring at base of boiler. The upper brickwork was likely destroyed during removal of the boiler.

124

Boiler at Sturgeon’s Mill as an example. Note the use of firebrick to wedge and support the boiler in its iron chamber. A firebox door as shown in the image was found at the Loma Prieta site.

125

4.3

4.6

4.7

4.8

4.9a Brick fragment with maker’s mark for Snowball, manufactured in England.

127

4.9b Brick fragment with maker’s mark for Livermore, made in Livermore, California.

127

4.9c Brick fragment with maker’s mark for T. Carr, produced in England.

127

4.9d Brick fragment with maker’s mark for Carnegie, made in California.

127

4.10 Documenting Feature 25 at Site 2, workers’ housing area. This feature had a brick floor comprising recycled firebrick. The material culture present suggests this was a married worker’s house.

133

4.11 The floor of Feature 25 exposed. The structure had three levels of brickwork flooring.

134

viii

Illustrations, Figures, and Tables

4.12 Documentation of a laborer’s collapsed cabin (Site 4). 5.1

136

An iron belt-wheel at the mill site. With the use of fabric belts, energy from the engine could be transferred throughout the mill to operate a variety of machines.

139

One of several glass artifacts (lavender color). This could be a vase. Other non-bottle glass includes stemware, kerosene-lamp bases, and tumblers.

141

Two types of ceramic cups. Type A is more robust, and the base has a slight decorative feature. Type B is thinner and lacks any styling. Neither has a maker’s mark, but both likely conform to the makers indicated by plates as a set.

142

Various plates and saucers recovered near the cookhouse feature. Items A, B, C, D, and F are all plates, and E is a shallow bowl.

143

Representative sample of bottles. A: blank clear druggist’s panel bottle; B: Ross Belfast torpedo soda bottle, brown patina; C: molded brown beer bottle with applied lip; D: Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce; E: clear square druggist’s bottle.

145

Additional beverage bottle types from privy. A: clear; B: light blue; C: dark green wine bottle. All were mold made.

145

5.7

Assorted jeans rivets (Levi Strauss & Company, San Francisco), brass clasps, buttons from privy.

146

5.8

Two leather shoe toe ends. Note the brass nails. Several shoe parts were recovered, including tongues, heels, and panels. A few lacing hooks were also recovered.

147

Minerva intaglio cameo. This image is deep red. The copper alloy piece may or may not go with the cameo, but it seems likely since they were recovered in the same unit and strata. Minerva represented crafts and arts.

148

5.2

5.3

5.4

5.5

5.6

5.9

5.10 Pocketknife. One of three recovered from Site 1 and Site 2.

149

5.11 Shard of glass bottle with embossed Kanji letters. Recovered from the laborers’ housing area.

152

5.12 Pipe stem with the word “McDougal” showing. On the obverse is the word “Glasgow.”

153

ix

Illustrations, Figures, and Tables

5.13 Teardrop-shaped glass gravitating stopper. Lettering states “patent 1887.” These stoppers were common for bottles with contents under pressure, such as soda water.

154

5.14 One-quarter of a whetstone found near cookhouse location.

155

5.15 An intact whetstone of the same size as the one in illustration 5.14 mounted in its water trough. A larger whetstone is in the foreground at right. These could be used at this scale to sharpen knives and cleavers. The larger ones were used for axes. Saws were sharpened with files.

156

5.16 One of many narrow-gauge Shay engines operating at Loma Prieta Mill.

157

5.17 Butchered bone from Site 2 near the cookhouse. Ends were sawn.

158

5.18 Butchered bone from Site 3. All shown are beef.

159

5.19 Ceramics from Feature 25, possibly from a married laborer’s house. A: blue and red annular-ware; B: cream color with red annular stripe; C: porcelain teacup rim, red paint; D: pale-blue flora-decorated white-ware.

161

5.20 Yellowware mixing bowl and gray stoneware storage vessel. Each was recovered in the workers’ housing area near privies.

161

Figures 0.1

Map of the central coast of California in 1856. The Loma Prieta Mountains are visible just to the right of the large letter “A” in “Santa Cruz.”

3

0.2

Schematic topographic map showing the location of the study area.

6

1.1

Schematic map of the creeks, gulches, and locations of various mills mentioned in the text.

45

1.2

This schematic map of the central California coast shows the various railroad lines serving the mills near Aptos.

46

4.1

Site plan for Loma Prieta Mill (Site 1).

113

4.2

Site plan for the workers’ housing area (Site 2).

130

x

5.1

Illustrations, Figures, and Tables

Two unit profiles from more than forty excavated. These units illustrate evidence for episodic flooding and mudslides at the mill site.

140

Tables 4.1

Bricks on Sites 1 and 2 with identifiable maker’s marks.

126

5.1

Nonindustrial domestic artifacts, Site 2.

150

5.2

Faunal specimen, all units (totals, not MNI).

163

Acknowledgments

I would like to first extend my sincere appreciation to Mark Hylkema, archaeologist of California State Parks and past president of the Society for California Archaeology, for providing access and guidance in the park and for his inspirational natural history lectures for the field school students. I wish to thank historian Kevin Newhouse and curator John Hibble, both of the Aptos History Museum, for their generous support and opportunities for public outreach. I thank the Santa Cruz Archaeological Society and San Jose State University Department of Anthropology. I also want to acknowledge the contributions of Jorge Aguilar for his compilation GIS data of railroad lines, and Juliana Cheng for her translation efforts. I wish to acknowledge the conversations with Sylvia Fisher concerning Sturgeon’s Mill. I would like to express my appreciation to the editors of the Journal of the Society for Industrial Archeology for graciously allowing the use of research that previously appeared in the SIA Journal, which has been thoroughly expanded in this book. I would like to thank the librarian of the University of California, Santa Cruz Library, for permission to use the Santa Cruz Oral History Project interviews conducted by Elizabeth Calciano. I wish to extend special gratitude to the many field school students for their enthusiastic labor in the forest from 2015–2017. Field staff: Arianna Heathcote, Colin Jaramillo, Marissa Massaro, and Rebecca Spitzer. Crews: Gibran Adham, Danci Bert, Eliane Bauer, Ethan Brooks, Jessica Brooks, Jonathan D’Sa, Berglind Erlingsdotter, Harrison Foo, Erika Harvey, Elizabeth Hill, Leslie Hoefert, Emily Jackson, Danielle Jacobsma, Amanda Jorgenson, Megan Leckie, Rodrigo Martinez, Alyssa Pappas, Celeste Ramos, Tim Rodriguez (our drone pilot), Elliot Summers, Aaron Van Valen, Edwin Victorine, Colette Witcher, and Emily Yuriar, Special thanks to Lisa Stapleton for tracking down data on silent era films in the Loma Prieta area, and to my capable lab assistants who diligently explored the origins and uses of many of our artifacts: Duffy Barrett, Lucy Chiem, Sean Davis, Tor Heggelund, Steven Simpson, and

xii

Acknowledgments

Kanya Yoshihiro. Finally, I want to express my sincere appreciation to the external reviewers and copy editors of early versions of manuscripts whose feedback and constructive critique undoubtedly improved this book significantly.

Preface

KILT, n. A costume sometimes worn by Scotchmen in America and Americans in Scotland. —Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary The constructs of race, ethnicity, heritage, and culture over the past three decades have increasingly become enmeshed in the world of historical archaeology under a rubric of identity. The general public, politicians, and—far too often—archaeologists themselves are likely to conflate one or more of these terms, use them interchangeably, or imagine these highly charged concepts immutable. My choice of Ambrose Bierce, “the Wickedest Man in San Francisco,” as he was sometimes known (Bean 1968, 246), to open this preface serves dual purposes: First, his acerbic wit and perceptive intellect, although deeply flawed by bitter self-loathing, frequently cut through the issues of his day, some of which resonate with the social conflicts of our own times. Second, his definition of “kilt” highlights the problems of associating material culture display too closely with ethnicity or identity. The issue of ethnicity has long been a concern of mine. As an American of both Italian and Irish/Scottish heritage I have been keenly aware of externally derived identity and preconceptions. Perhaps “parentage” is a better word than “heritage.” Since childhood I have been cognizant that definitions and use of the terms “race,” “ethnicity,” or “heritage” are fluid and often downright incorrect. I am the descendant of immigrants, as indeed we all are unless a person’s ancestry is from one of the First Nations. My paternal grandfather came to the United States about 1909. As I type this manuscript, I am drinking coffee from a mug emblazoned with the Nichols crest, a nod to my mother’s Scottish heritage. My mother’s people; as she liked to say, arrived in the 1690s in Virginia as “dirt folk,” meaning as poor indentured farmers. Her family did not stray far and she was eventually born in a coal-mining town in Virginia in the 1920s. My mother used to say that her family was shocked when she married, not be-

xiv

Preface

cause she, raised a Protestant, had married an Italian Catholic, but because she had dared venture west and married a Californian! The mentality of her relatives was such that they accepted their class as a given. When she pursued a college degree to become a school teacher—one of the few professional occupations open to women in her day—she was accused by an aunt of trying to “get above her station.” This sentiment, my mother used to say, has kept many generations of families in the mines. Family tradition held that we were related to Sir Walter Raleigh. Intensive genealogical study by my mother’s uncle did not substantiate this story, and it appears I was the only one of my relations to be disappointed. Links to June Carter Cash, however, thrilled many of my Appalachian relations. Until quite recently I had never been to Italy, do not speak Italian, and my only real flirtation with my Scottish roots are when I occasionally wear the family tartan to the Scottish Games held annually in Pleasanton, California. I have been to clan gatherings where I witness varying degrees of ethnicity on display. I have yet to visit Scotland or Ireland. How can I be referred to, then, as either an Italian American or a Scots/Irish American? Are terms like “ethnicity,” “heritage,” and “culture” being conflated with DNA? Is there a gene for ethnic identity? What is heritage in this case? As I undertook Loma Prieta Mill project to reconstruct the industry in early California, I continually discovered intersections between my heritage, my family links, and the experiences of the immigrant groups that populated the mill camps. It would be misleading to suggest that these intersections offered significant insights for analysis, but they did provide a deeper understanding of the trajectories different groups followed that landed them in the forests. Ordinarily, an author of a research project such as the study presented in this book remains outside the narrative, but after consulting with colleagues I decided to remain attached, and to insert pertinent commentary whenever intersections are evident that underscore the outcomes of the immigrant experience. I am the product of immigration. My family is a result of immigrant groups merging, and it would be disingenuous to suggest the experiences of my immigrant lineage play no part in my life. These were not the motivations for this book, but a realization of the processes exposed in the study. My paternal grandparents emigrated from Italy in the first decade of the twentieth century while my mother’s family has been in Virginia and Kentucky since before the Revolution, having emigrated from Scotland and Ireland. My mother was born and raised in coal-mining towns. Learning, for instance, that Italians tended to be in the sawmills helped explain to some extent my wife’s paternal grandfather’s role at Pacific Saw Works. The path to America of many Portuguese in California, arriving on whaling ships, and particularly Azoreans by way of Hawaii, matched her maternal grandmother’s parents, who were Por-

Preface

xv

tuguese from Hawaii. Little by little the intersections added up to the point where it was not possible to examine the timber industry without seeing immigration and labor as the cornerstones of the study. As I write this in 2018, the issue of immigration is subject to considerable divisive politics. The tenor of the polemic and the nature of the attacks on immigrant groups have been harsh, ugly, and violent. Yet the arguments, the rhetoric, and the characterizations of immigrants are not new. As will be made evident in this volume, many of the vitriolic and disparaging diatribes used by politicians and by anti-immigration sectors are nearly word for word what I found in historical sources. The arguments against groups today resonate with the arguments of the past; both are inspired by fear. The groups being targeted and that are suffering from the onslaught have changed, and then only marginally. Fears that a particular group represents a threat to the livelihood of working-class men and women or to “our way of life,” or that particular groups refuse to assimilate used as an excuse to discriminate against them were as common a hundred years ago as today. Such a stance, however, denies the genuine contribution immigrants from everywhere have made and continue to make to America and to its continuing prosperity. In California, with its tumultuous beginnings as an American state following the gold rush, the population has always been comprised of immigrants, yet here too the anti-immigrant rhetoric is shrill. In this book I attempt to shed light on one small aspect of the immigrant experience through an examination of the many communities associated with the timber industry and how they came to labor in the forest. The timber industry in California was a capitalist enterprise. Regardless of the size of the milling operations, capitalization, and the means of getting the highly desired commodified natural resources to market were crucial elements in success. The larger companies often had deep-pocket investors and a few owners shared ownership of other mills. As the industry developed, so too did related industries. Shipping grew with the need to get lumber from the forests to the markets, cities grew as forests were cut to construct homes from the redwood, fir, and pine. Rail increased the speed and volume with which lumber could be delivered and lumber supported the rails. Population growth was matched with an increase in milling and forests were harvested at a quickening pace into the early twentieth century. At each step the better-capitalized companies profited. At each step success depended on immigrant labor. The Gilded Age that overlaps my period of study was one where rampant unchecked capitalism reigned and economic monopoly was the goal of industrial power. An example I provide in this book was the way Claus Spreckels integrated timber, shipping, rail, and capital to become one of California’s richest men. His story intersects with Loma Prieta Mill

xvi

Preface

through capital interest, investment in the Southern Pacific Railroad, and his importation of Japanese laborers for work in the forests and at his sugar factories. The exploitation of immigrant labor by Spreckels and others like him often purposely cast workers of different nationalities against one another and catalyzed raw emotions that savaged early California labor relations.

Organization of This Book There are three threads braided together in this study. The first is the history of technological and capitalist development of an extractive industry that profoundly influenced communities and engineered environmental change. The communities are manifest in two forms: as towns, and as distinct populations with shared immigrant status. The second thread is a contextualized examination of the many immigrant groups that came to California and found their way into the timber mills. These groups, whose ethnic identities were derived from their foreign nationalities, can be understood best from the perspective of diasporic communities whether forming true communities or not, often defined externally as not part of Anglo America. The third thread running throughout the study is the very question of ethnicity and its itinerant relationship with concepts of class and class affiliation. The Introduction offers an overview of how these three areas of study intersect, and probes the concepts of ethnicity, immigrant workers, and the societal landscape the workers found themselves in and to which they contributed their labor. Timber as an extractive industry is explored and contextualized within a capitalist framework. Chapter 1 narrows the scope somewhat to examine the immigration of different groups to the United States and the diverse motivations bringing them to California. The history of timbering from the Spanish period through to the early Anglo period is outlined, and the ascendancy of the industry in the state is presented with a focus on the San Francisco Bay Area and the mills in Santa Cruz County beyond the San Francisco Bay with Loma Prieta Mill serving as a case study. Chapter 2 shifts the focus to intersecting industries through the lens of shipping and the carriage trade in moving timber from forest to market, and explores occupational stereotyping based on perceived ethnic attributes while examining the role of organized labor in maintaining divisions. Chapter 3 describes the composition of the labor force and characterizes the many occupations that constitute the timber industry ranging from fallers to sawyers. The position of timbering in the industrial labor

Preface

xvii

hierarchy is discussed to demonstrate how capitalists’ maintained control over labor and fostered tensions between groups. The way in which specific occupations became associated with particular ethnic groups and the stereotyping of occupations along ethnic lines is examined. The impact on the natural environment of unsustainable forest clearing and unbridled timber operations is emphasized in historical perspective. Chapter 4 presents the archaeology of Loma Prieta Mill as it unfolded over three seasons and our efforts to reconstruct the mill landscape, to understand the remains and scale of operations, and the fieldwork carried out to locate the laborers’ housing area. Environmental data is presented to corroborate documentary evidence for various episodes of flooding and landslides experienced at the mill. Chapter 5 describes and assesses the material culture recovered from three sites associated with Loma Prieta Mill, with a focus on domestic and personal items of the workers. In this context the subjects of ethnicity and class are investigated as the various artifact categories are addressed. The premise of detecting ethnicity and class through material culture is revisited to reveal that discerning ethnicity remains problematic. The concluding chapter is an analysis of the timber industry and returns the discourse to the concepts of ethnicity and class as it emerges in the context of this study and revisits the difficulties of ascribing material culture to the ethnic categories while synthesizing the findings. The chapter concludes with an analysis of the way in which class, ethnicity, and labor intersected in the lumber mills, with class a dominant factor. As is the case with most industrial operations, the timber industry and its laborers have their own unique and colorful jargon, slang, and often opaque terminology for various processes or pieces of equipment. While some mechanisms may bear the name of its inventor, other equipment might be descriptive and related to function. Take the term “misery whip,” for example. One can conjure up an impression of the tool without seeing it in action. In other cases, the terminology is simply vulgar, stemming from the bigotry of the day. I provide a glossary for common terminology used historically in the timber industry. Not all terms in the glossary are used in this book but are included to be thorough. Some terminology has infiltrated the mundane world and is in use colloquially in modified forms, such as skid row, derived from skid road, suggesting a close relationship between the early timber industry and urban life. Perhaps the regular passage of timber labor between the two worlds influenced the adoption of terms into the vernacular. The movement of labor between the forests and the towns, which may also have been a vector for industrial language making its way into common use, will be illustrated in the chapters as the story of immigration, ethnicity, and industry is brought to light.

INTRODUCTION

The Industrial Landscape of Timber

Narrative at times has the power to transcend fragmentation across social settings and through individual time, and to chart the different ways in which individuals act and are acted upon. —Giovanna Vitelli, 2013 She was born in Wright’s Camp on 23 April 1908, and named Regina. Her birth certificate states her parents were both Italian, recent immigrants to California: Her father was a farmer and her mother was a housekeeper. Wright’s was one of several lumber camps nestled into the mountains of Santa Cruz in an area near what is today a forested state park.1 She grew up in a region of active timber milling at a significant period in the expansion of timbering throughout the state. Although a farmer, her father also worked in the forest as a contract timber cutter. Her story and that of thousands of others who journeyed to California in the nineteenth century offers insights into the immigrant experience in the extractive industries that propelled California’s economic growth at the start of the twentieth century. Immigration has been an important area of research within many social science disciplines but few have explicitly examined the issue in the context of timbering or in terms of the contribution various immigrant groups made to the prosperity of California. Timbering is one of the shadow industries, often ignored because its activities were conducted away from towns and urban areas, out of sight for the most part, and did not require massive architectural edifices so linked to heavy industry. Railroading, iron foundries, and mining all garner greater attention. Yet in the timber industry immigrant labor harvested and processed the raw building materials used in the growth of towns and cities throughout the state, anchored rail for locomotives, and shored up the mines. In the timber camps and

2

Timber, Sail, and Rail

lumber towns, men and women of different ethnic origins interacted as in few other industrial labor environments. The mountains and canyons of the Santa Cruz region in Northern California, seventy-five miles south of the San Francisco peninsula, once were the scene of a multitude of bustling logging operations that collectively, and profoundly, transformed the natural environment and prehistoric cultural landscape (Dillon 1992; Dillon and Dillon 1993; Homans 1915; Perkins 1900; Wendling 1915). San Francisco itself was not blessed with timber, a problem that hindered early settlements and Spanish colonization. The average elevation in the Santa Cruz Mountains is 2,500 feet, rising to a maximum of 3,800 feet, cloaked in a mantle of forest (figure 0.1). From the 1850s until the 1920s the region now encompassed by The Forest at Nisene Marks State Park, near the town of Aptos in Santa Cruz County, was nearly clear-cut and stripped of all commercially valued hardwoods, firs, redwoods, and other commercially valued trees. The surrounding canyons today represent a naturally recovering industrial landscape (Amended General Plan 2005; Dillon 1992; Dillon and Dillon 1993). During the historical period covered by this study there were several mills in full operation along the creeks employing hundreds of workers. At the heart of these operations was Loma Prieta Mill, located along Aptos Creek (illustration 0.1). Timber cutting and processing of lumber at industrial scale for distant markets systematically manufactured an industrial landscape of buildings, mills, railroad grades, and hillsides stripped of vegetation and scarred by indifference to terrain. The industrial landscape—a natural environment transformed by the act of industrial enterprise—can be understood as an important aspect of environmental history as well as cultural history and an artifact in itself, essential for interpreting the industrial or cultural past (Christensen 1989; Lewis 1993; Quivik 2000). Between 1890 and 1910 loggers cut one-quarter of all mature sequoia (S. sempervirens) tress in California—in other words, of the species in the entire world. Not until 1950 did the remaining groves in California receive legal protections (Farmer 2013, 44). Regardless of whether it is the waste fields and tailings resulting from mining under consideration; hillsides transformed from blasting and railroad grading; or gouges and scarring of canyons produced as the timber was extracted, these relics of activity represent physical vestiges of industrial practices. Some heal, some are repurposed, and still others endure to remind us of our industrial heritage (Bergeron 2012; Hardesty 1985, 1998; Lewis 1993; White 2017). In a harsh critique of timbering in California, Farmer (2013) suggests that early industrial logging was more like mining than forestry, and that logging matched mining in flagrant deposit of waste on the landscape. To the degree that forestry and mining, including petroleum prospecting, were capitalist-driven ex-

Introduction

3

Figure 0.1. Map of the central coast of California in 1856. The Loma Prieta Mountains are visible just to the right of the large letter “A” in “Santa Cruz.” Courtesy Society for California Archaeology.

4

Timber, Sail, and Rail

Illustration 0.1. Loma Prieta Mill on Aptos Creek, circa 1891 (Site 1). Courtesy the Aptos History Museum. Originally University of California Santa Cruz Special Collections.

tractive industries, Richard Walker (2001) would agree. Walker closely examined California’s rise to economic might through the lens of the Gilded Age and the intense exploitation of natural resources, and finds that California’s prosperity came from plundering its natural resources. The perspectives of economics, environment, and extractive industry that Walker (2001), Farmer (2013), and Hardesty (1985) developed can be integrated to provide a means of framing the nexus of immigration with the timber industry, where exploitation of labor was as central to the process as exploitation of resources. With Gilded Age capitalism providing the backdrop, the immigrant labor experiences can be contextualized. Indeed, labor and environment were incidental players to be exploited, deemed an acceptable part of capitalist development (Wurst and Mrozowski 2016, 82). Hardesty was among the first to recognize that industrialization, particularly extractive industry deserved to be examined from a world system approach (Hardesty 1986, 47). The diverse immigrant populations came to California along different pathways, some from East Coast ports, while others came directly to western shores, all with strikingly similar motivations. Yet each met with different accommodation and acceptance or resistance from Anglo American society or previously established immigrant communities that had already carved out niches in the industrial landscape. That many of these immigrants came to work

5

Introduction

in the timber camps, one of the lowest-ranking occupations of the labor hierarchy, exposes the way in which California was structuring the social environment and labor relations at the time.

Labor and Landscape For three seasons, survey and excavations were conducted at the site of Loma Prieta Mill by San Jose State University in partnership with California State Parks. Loma Prieta Mill was once one of the most productive mills in the state (figure 0.2). The project was designed to examine three related aspects of the timber industry, with Loma Prieta serving as a case study. First, our objective was to inventory and document existing remains and to understand the industrial processes, spatial organization, and operations at the mill site as a general example. Second, we wanted to assess the impact this enterprise and others like it had on the natural environment, which historical records suggest was considerable. Third, and in our mind of greater significance, to shed light on the labor component of timbering. The Loma Prieta Mill Project was conceived to test the proposition that material culture left behind by the laborers, spatial arrangements, or company management might reveal hidden elements of ethnicity and ethnic expressions at the mill, and help reveal the story of immigration within the industry that was otherwise masked by the work environment. Workers of diverse origins came to California in the early decades after statehood seeking opportunities for themselves and their families. The extractive industries provided numerous employment possibilities, if not the quick path to prosperity many might have hoped for. Historical records show that the newly arriving immigrants of the 1870s and 1880s intermingled with and competed with established immigrant groups, creating tensions within the working-class landscape. Much of this tension was borne of racial, ethnic, and nationalist bigotry; the flames of this trifecta of intolerances were fanned by labor organizations and capitalists whose reasons were counterpoised. Labor organizations dominated by Anglo Americans viewed various immigrant groups as competition and felt threatened by the possibility of cheaper labor (Bean 1968; Hittell 1879; McNeil 1892; Orser 2007). In fact, this competition was a reason capitalists and industry leaders welcomed new immigrant populations—to challenge established labor organizations, pitting one group against another. At one level the fears of labor groups were not unfounded. Yet, rather than the working masses uniting against the capitalist class for fairer wages and to end the practice of exploiting cheaper labor, conflict most often arose between worker populations, with racial overtones and ethnic identities as the fault line.

6

Timber, Sail, and Rail

Figure 0.2. Schematic topographic map showing the location of the study area. By the author.

These sentiments were stoked and encouraged by industry to such a degree that work tensions became equivalent to ethnic tensions and internal class conflict. With this understanding of labor issues as a framework, I wondered how this might have played out in the timber industry and in the camps that brought together a diverse workforce. Because timbering was a major industry in the Santa Cruz region during the years Loma Prieta Mill

Introduction

7

operated, the study had regional implications for the many communities in the area. And because San Francisco had been a magnet for multiple immigrant populations, I was curious how the myriad groups and waves of immigrants influenced the labor environment. Two umbrella terms one finds in similar studies are “community” and “working class,” although neither is satisfactorily defined. Moreover, I was concerned with deconstructing the notion of working class as a functional concept. Is it economic, identity based, or cultural? After a careful review of the literature the consensus answer among archaeologists seems to be, Yes, all of the above. The proverbial working class and its reality are multivalent. Class and identity are distinguishable, but inseparable. And the so-called middle class intersects with the working class by sharing facets of a suite of values and interests, and not simply a common economic stratum. Apart from the poorer classes occupying the lower rung of the economic ladder, always looking up, and the wealthy classes—the capitalists—looking down, the middle-class experience fretful economic tensions, ever mindful of losing ground to the one while constantly pursuing entry into the other. In Mrozowski’s characterization of the urbanization of class, he takes as given that “class, like all forms of identity, is discursive as well as multifaceted, it exists simultaneously as a physical, mental, and cultural-historical reality” (Mrozowski 2006, 2). Using this as a launching pad for his exploration of class development and expression in Lowell, Massachusetts, and Newport, Rhode Island, Mrozowski was able to tease out a discourse of class relations from the archaeological landscape. Mrozowski earned his spurs on these thorny issues with research at Boot Mill boardinghouses in Lowell, in a now classic study of labor and class relations and has been influential in the study of capitalism and class, and the exploitive discourse that is at the core of the relationship. To this recognition of class identity, we must also add ethnic components while deconstructing the very fluid concept of ethnicity as a social reality. Finding class to be somewhat nebulous, Mrozowski wondered about “where class is and where it comes from” (Mrozowski 2006, 7). These continue to be relevant questions. The study presented here offers an attempt to contextualize multiethnic discourse among laborers whose identities were entangled with notions of class and ethnicity, by investigating the material expressions of workers within a labor landscape that is neither urban nor distinctly rural. However, it can be stated here that while I went in search of ethnicity, what I found is more aptly definable as class. Class association is more discernible in archaeological remains than are ethnic markers. There is a broad literature on the theory of class available in historical archaeology from which to draw; many are cited in this book. Claims that “class is dead” are premature (Wurst and Fitts 1999, 1). The reader will no doubt be aware of the influence that class theory has had on archaeological research over the

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past two decades and that material culture holds clues to behaviors. The use of artifacts ranging from smoking paraphernalia to household ceramics in the analysis of class has been an important tool for archaeologists in the interpretation of discourse between classes, in relation to hegemonic groups, and in response to structural inequalities, and has facilitated the examination of groups in context at many scales (Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991). This issue will be taken up further in chapter 2. That class is an appropriate area of study in archaeology is tempered by the concept that archaeology has always served middle-class interests (McGuire and Walker 1999, 159).

Landscape as Unit of Analysis The nested scales of analysis in this study include macroscale regional context, a medium scale defined by the milling operation and immediate environment, down to the scale of household. Milling in the Santa Cruz area or anywhere within California for that matter, was not an isolated phenomenon, but rather existed within a tangled web of commercial and social networks. Unlike the individual miner who might have worked for himself—until the arrival of large conglomerate company mines squeezed out the independent miner—timber extraction and lumber were profitable only on a large scale. The individual timberman did not exist in a viable commercial sense. As with all extractive industries, value was drawn from the commodification of the natural world for commercial profit. This ideology of productive valuation has been termed “resource capitalism,” where the product of capitalist investment is a natural rather than manufactured commodity (R. Walker 2001). Resource capitalist enterprises are, therefore, by definition, extractive. California on the whole, according to Richard Walker, could be called “a case study in resource-led development” (R. Walker 2001, 167). Capitalization of operations allowed the owners of companies to industrialize and extract resources at an ascending scale. California’s economic development and prosperity was driven by waves of resource exploitation, from gold, silver, and petroleum to wheat, citrus, and timber (R. Walker 2001, 168). The value of timber and lumber grew continuously from 1880 through 1940, peaking in 1914, then dropping sharply by 1922 (the period in which Loma Prieta Mill finally closed), despite the fact that lumber was in high demand during the years of World War I. Using Manufacturing Census records, Walker (R. Walker 2001, 177) calculated that, in value-added analysis, lumber was the number one industry in California in 1869 and remained in the top three until the 1920s. Here “value-added” means that the timber industry created employment

Introduction

9

opportunities and facilitated subsidiary industries, including producing a demand for machinery and equipment. Certainly, the lumber business, with its need for product transportation and its intersections with shipping, generated value at several scales and produced a unique industrial landscape even as it transformed the natural landscape. Walker points out that resource-industries consume other resources and stimulate ancillary extractive industries. As an example, he examined how mining “devoured whole forests” in the process of building mining infrastructure (R. Walker 2001, 186).2 The same might be said for lime kilns, brick manufacturers, railroads, and shipyards, each of them consuming forest products. Extractive industries at industrial scale are driven in the modern world by capitalism and are capitalist enterprises. This nexus of moneyed interests, government subsidy, and entrepreneurial spirit is captured by Walker’s (2001) astute analysis of California’s agro-industrialization at four scales: processing, equipment supply, secondary product demand, and technical innovation. However, while Walker demonstrated the manner in which capitalism underwrote the new industrial landscapes, he touches only briefly on how these economic relationships fostered the socially driven distinctions rooted in immigration or how capitalist ventures derived value from the divisions created by driving wedges into the laboring class. Nevertheless, Walker’s analysis gives us a solid footing for framing the study of labor in timber. As emphasized by McGuire and Paynter (1991, 94), industrialization has always created novel landscapes that frequently reveal power differentiation. Prosperity in California took the path of resource industrialization as a symbiotic relationship developed between industry and extraction (R. Walker 2001). Railroad lines also used vast amounts of lumber for ties. According to contemporary analysis, lumber—sawn, split, and hewn— was produced by 328 sawmills, of which 205 were steam driven, clearing 260 million board feet annually through the 1860s (Hittell 1879, 190). Out of this total, the Santa Cruz region accounted for 14 million board feet, a number that increased steadily after 1880. In terms of innovation, invention of the donkey engine would eventually lead to efficiencies in timber hauling, yet had to await improvements in steel cables, without which a donkey engine is ineffective. One innovation for one industry stimulated innovation from another. Landscapes, particularly those brought about by agro-industrialism, such as plantations, mining, or timbering, wherein both land and human relations come to be configured in support of production, leave significant traces on the natural environment, but also in the human terrain. Landscapes are shaped physically in the open environment and are experienced both physically and psychologically (Hardesty 1985; Hood 1996; Yate 1989). When people interact in time and space with their environment’s

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cultural habitus, it gives meaning to these landscapes (Butzer and Butzer 2000; Hood 1996; Rubertone 1989; Zedeño 2000; Zedeño and Bower 2009). Landscapes are “active and space in context is an artifact,” according to Rubertone (1989, 50). These processes can be accessed and methodologically interpreted through procedures grounded in a landscape approach, incorporating praxis from ecology, geography, anthropology, and social history (Adams 1990; Aston and Rowely 1974; Brandon and Davidson 2005; Butzer and Butzer 2000; Crumley and Marquardt 1990; Dubrow 2000; Hood 1996; Kealhoffer 1999; Mugerauer 1995; Pauls 2006; Shackel 2009; Voss 2006; Winthrop 2001; Zedeño 2000). The various scholars just cited have developed viable frameworks for examining the relationships between workers and their environment, and for understanding environment in social terms. In other words, it is possible to frame environment as a construct of human values and cultural expressions. The landscape that results from timber cutting is an example. So critical has it become for archaeologists to understand the nexus of industry, labor, and landscape that the Society for Historical Archaeology devoted an entire issue of their journal to this topic, with investigations from around the globe (Cassell and Stachiw 2005). Landscape, industry, and labor are carefully defined in historical context by Cassell and Stachiw in their introduction to the edition (Cassell and Stachiw 2005, 1). Expanding on the meaning of landscape, Cassell and Stachiw, and indeed all of the contributing authors, make the case that landscape as artifact is a conceptual framework, and breathe new life into the framework through structurally diverse landscape studies. Landscapes “begin and end as the result of human social activity . . . [and encompass] consciously or unconsciously placed things and altered environments and arranged spaces” (Cassell and Stachiw 2005, 1). In essence, landscapes are the product of human agency and can be deconstructed archaeologically to reveal embedded meaning. The Society for Historical Archaeology followed up with an edition of the journal in 2016 devoted to American landscapes, wherein Paul White examined the ethnic and racial stereotyping of labor in mining camps (White 2016, 158). White’s findings mirror the divisions of labor prevailing elsewhere in extractive industries, an issue he explored in greater depth in his book The Archaeology of American Mining. Mining in the 1880s, he states, was “an international enterprise,” first because “the majority of the workforce was foreign born, but also because it pushed beyond the natural edges of the continent” (White 2017, 25). The same can be said of the lumber camps on the West Coast. Different societies and socioeconomic systems may result in different landscapes, yet capitalism has its own criteria for development. This concept as distilled by Lefebvre (1979, 1993) through an analysis of space in the modern capitalist social order, established a framework for interpre-

Introduction

11

tation of archaeological landscapes, suggesting that “even though the use of space has limits imposed by the environment, every mode of production in history has produced a particular kind of space,” and that space is both social and a means of production mediated through a network of exchanges and division of labor (Lefebvre 1979, 286). According to Crumley and Marquardt (1990, 79), who sought to understand how landscapes impact social behaviors, “Cognitive and historical features must be added to familiar environmental analysis if we are to successfully model the dynamics of culture/social change.” An important aspect of this dynamic regarding the connection between landscape and society was articulated by Hood (1996, 130) stating, “The physical landscape was very much a part of people’s understanding of economy, legal rights, and acceptable social order.” The idea that landscapes reinforce social ordering is not new, but its application to understanding how it may also be used to maintain ethnic and racial hierarchies has only recently been investigated (Jones 1997; Silliman 2006). These conceptualizations of landscape, space, and labor within the framework of capitalism have been vigorously embraced by several historical archaeologists in pursuit of nuanced understanding of its expression in frontier or industrial contexts. For example, Dixon’s (2005, 2006) interpretation of ethnic boundaries and African American enterprise in boomtown saloons, Ross’s (2013, 2017) investigations of Chinese workers in the canneries, or Mrozowski’s analysis of class in urban America, to name only a few who have integrated capitalism within realms of class and ethnic diversity. It remains to synthesize the findings of such insightful studies by investigating these same components in the working environment of lumbering where class, immigration, and capitalism intersect. Two important works concerning class, capitalism, landscape, and ethnicity in archaeology, were published in close order: Stephen Mrozowski’s cogent The Archaeology of Class in Urban America (2006), and Charles Orser’s deeply engaging and troubling The Archaeology of Race and Racialization in Historic America (2007), which explored how these concepts are woven together. In the analysis of class and racial discourse—always an arena of research in historical archaeology—these two works represented high watermarks in the field in their time and each has influenced the analytical approach of the study presented in this book. The year 2006 was a banner year for publications questioning the critical concepts of identity, ethnicity, race, and labor (see also Hall and Silliman 2006). Charles Orser (1996b) had earlier examined the conceptualization of landscape in a particularly applicable way for the interests of this study, while Mrozowski’s (2006) situating space configuration, class, and capitalism (capturing the essence of Lefebvre 1993) suggested both organizing principles and a lens for analysis. These diverse studies of landscape, labor, and class derive

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Timber, Sail, and Rail

their strength from theoretical constructs of landscape archaeology that combine examinations of labor in a Marxian sense with material culture analysis. These studies provide a firm foundation for investigating labor landscapes in lumber camps and the nexus of capitalist development in associated industries. Timber camps are neither urban nor characteristically a rural zone, but instead are situated in a frontier zone. Orser suggests that the concept of landscape “invariably includes a concept of boundary because landscapes must end somewhere in space” (1996b, 139; italics added). However, landscapes include sociohistorical structures as people coexisting in the physical landscape interact. Indeed, the timbering landscape does have a boundary, but it is not impermeable to social and cultural influences. There are in fact several scales of boundary evident; the first of these boundaries is between cut and uncut forest, the edge of the forest where farms or towns are established, and the liminal zone between the lumber camps and the residential zones beyond. The workers are therefore constantly negotiating and manipulating these boundaries—extending some of them by their labors and decreasing others by clearing. The introduction of rail lines alters the accessibility and facilitates crossing boundaries physically, which then increases the crossing of socially erected boundaries as well. Social boundaries also existed between skilled and unskilled labor since these categories also were frequently nuanced by immigrant status in the mill camps. The natural environment, modified as an outcome of production or to suit the requirements of specialized production such as the extraction and transport of commodity, will result in de facto industrial landscapes. But landscapes modified from natural environments do not order themselves—they are generated by people vis-à-vis cultural and economic traditions (Meniketti 2015). Modern (present and visible) landscapes are not accidental, and even if inadvertently ordered, are not random phenomena. They result from planning, purposeful design, competing interests, and attitudes toward development, as well as the outcome of unintended consequences or neglect, forming a series of nested relationships that connect ideologies with contemporary values. For instance, the construction of a crib dam to create a millpond had direct impact on the health of the creek and the fish populations it supported and the decline in fish resources for downriver communities (Walcott 1909, 36). Decisions made in historical context lead to the landscapes that emerge and could have been different if particular decisions or structuring attitudes had been different. These separate elements are networked within a system designed to maximize labor, production, profit, and management of both product and labor. Hardesty postulated that late-nineteenth-century “Victorian cultural traditions were carried into industrial environments” (Hardesty 1980, 75; Hardesty 1985, 221). Hardesty’s view was that a suite of discernable attitudes and

Introduction

13

behaviors influenced by those attitudes constituted a Victorian template, definable and measurable. That modified landscapes serve many purposes has been demonstrated by Leone (1984, 1985, 1999) and Leone and Potter (1988) in the context of capitalism. The relevant interpretation from these careful studies is that, beyond a “reflection of culture or a functional arrangement of artifacts . . . landscape itself plays an important role in constituting human society” (Hood 1996, 125). From this framework, landscape analysis is essentially a study of the relationships that intersect and transform landscapes and by extension, transform boundaries. From this perspective, landscape combines quantitative data derived from spatial analysis, archaeology, and environmental studies with qualitative data drawn from ethnohistorical sources, semiotics, and historical documentation. To this already complex mix we must add the mosaic of diverse origins and cultural freight of the laborers who toiled in the industrial landscape. The presence of a particular group may have lasting impact, such as Japanese horticulturists in California agriculture (Dubrow 2000). Arguing that landscape writ large is a potent metaphor, Hood (1996, 122) described this phenomenon with a litany of human categories for landscape that have strong psychological pull, writing, “Landscapes are categorized into culturally relevant entities, even if these are the ‘unexplored’ or ‘virgin land.’” Such categorizations can have tangible consequences for how that space is used or understood, which in turn affects the behavior of those perceiving the landscape in a particular way. These cognitive constructs influence interactions with nature, hence Hardesty’s Victorian pattern model. For instance, the term “virgin land,” while equating nature with the feminine and industry with masculinity, suggests simultaneously an exploitive and dominant mentality over nature: themes that can be found routinely in literature of the day. The language used by timbermen, such as “attacking the virgin forest,” betrays also an unmistakable taming of gendered wildness (see Knott 2011, 80). Those familiar with the discourse on gender and landscape will recognize the cultural semantics, however; to paraphrase Van Wormer (2003, 199), landscapes cannot be examined outside the context in which they are created. The women-as-nature concept has been explored by scholars and has been shown to have deep roots in Western philosophy (Ortner 1972, 12). Late-Victorian values were applied to natural landscapes as they were to people, and when wedded to capitalism were used to justify conquest in all its manifestations. The built environment, suggests Deborah Rotman, “is used not only to codify cultural values, but also to reproduce gendered social organization” (Rotman 2003, 15). Landscapes have been viewed by social scientists and archaeologists alike as more than altered natural places, but as embodying the total-

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Timber, Sail, and Rail

ity of human modifications to create purposeful spaces (Lewis 1993). Landscapes become cultural as a result of the modifications and behaviors enacted within the manipulated environments. Mines, quarries, dams, wharves, farms, lawns, parks, houses, barns, sacred circles, and cemeteries all constitute cultural landscapes, and obviously this list is by no means exhaustive. Whether humans work, play, or engage in spiritual fulfillment within the natural world they impose a cultural imprint and “these landscapes become in effect a kind of document” (Lewis 1993, 116). This concept of artifact is not without problems, however, and its extension into the physical realm cannot be validated without documentary sources to provide clues to contemporary meanings (Andrén1998, 148). In conceiving of landscapes as a document, Pierce Lewis did not mean to imply that the creators of the landscapes were conscious of doing so—although they might have, as Leone has suggested—or that they expected archaeologists to one day read their activities—only that their activities leave traces. And the document is incomplete, written over and erased by new activities, new groups, and new purposes (Dixon 2005; Hardesty 1985, 1988; Meniketti 2015; White 2017). Specific landscapes, where the creators had clear intentions to signal order or to symbolize power relations include, but are not limited to, parks with monuments, cemeteries and religious spaces, ostentatious private gardens, or classical facades (Leone and Potter 1988). Industrial landscapes, defined here as natural environments transformed for industrial purposes, were created for profitable production or extraction of resources, which to some degree dictates what structure was imposed, but the conceptualization of that structure is itself a product of the time and ideologies of a culture at a given time (Hughes 1989). For instance, the ways in which labor is integrated into the patterns of production will follow social norms, concepts of efficiency such as the length of a workday, and the struggle of workers to change it, or what cost-value is assigned to specific skills—indeed, how labor itself is conceived—are all culturally derived. Industrial landscapes are labor landscapes; as long as laborers are human, until robots with sophisticated AI take over—likely the twenty-first-century capitalists’ dream—they will leave their human traces for archaeologists to sift through. The concept of efficiency, for example, may have variable meanings depending on historical context and its relationship with concepts of productive output. Lumbermen were in the working class and ranked near the bottom of the working-class spectrum. Yet they could expect housing and meals, both of which configured the mill landscape, and which distinguished them from other worker occupations. Disputes with management over food frequently outweighed disputes over wages (Conlin 1979). A strong link exists between the ideological underpinnings of capitalism and the physical world expressed in settlement patterning, hence the

Introduction

15

utility of archaeology. It is also a possibility that exploitation of one resource may prove detrimental to another. As a result, a built landscape or modified environment can have economic, cultural, and social repercussions, which may resonate for generations. Interactions with a given environment do not take place in a closed system, external forces can penetrate that may give impetus to change in the physical landscape. However, the external forces are ultimately of cultural and social origin and not as completely external as the term may imply (Ortner 1990, 77). For example, market demands for more product or management decisions concerning who to hire may concretely influence the social as well as forest landscape. At times land use decisions have unintended consequences with lasting effects on environments or industry long after implementation. By their nature, extractive industries have limited longevity. Mines play out, forests are clear-cut, fisheries collapse, oil wells run dry, and with the demise of each there are repercussions for labor, for nearby communities, and for local or regional economies. The timber mills were components of a larger landscape that included both natural and constructed elements: multiple watersheds, ecozones, natural habitats, transportation systems, and growing communities. Factors within each of the elements impacting industry could be dynamic or static, but each played a role in the productive trajectory of the mills. In some cases, the only reason for a town’s existence was the proximity of the mills and the tangential businesses and income it generated. This might amount to general merchandise stores offering clothes, smoking pipes, and basic amenities, as well as taverns that sought to siphon off the hard-earned paycheck of the lumbermen, and churches that served the lumbermen and their families’ spiritual needs. Neighboring towns were connected by roads and rail lines, economic rivalries, and exchange of laborers on a seasonal basis, and these towns were connected to growing cities. The sawyer who cut lumber at Loma Prieta into boards that went into the support beams of homes in Santa Cruz or San Francisco was linked through his labor to this larger sphere of interaction whether aware of it or not. Ethnographic sources suggest they were well aware. The act of purchasing a new hat or obtaining overthe-counter patent medicines for chronic pain from the store in town inserted timber laborers into the consumer landscape (Calciano 1964a). In 1964 Elizabeth Calciano conducted interviews with two former employees of the Loma Prieta Company for a history project of Santa Cruz. The recollections of these two men are an important data set and will be referred to throughout this study. Remembrances of workers, leisure time, and interactions at the mill brought to light the many ways laborers in the camps were connected to and invested in the extractive industry of timbering.

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Timber, Sail, and Rail

Landscape analysis and its relationship with capitalism has been a mainstay of analysis in historical archaeology for several decades (Lewis 1993). The pioneering work of Leone at Annapolis served to inspire a generation of researchers seeking to expand the relevance of the field connecting hidden ideologies and landscape configurations. Situating class and industry in this relational network has provided new frameworks for understanding the multivalent discourse that ensues at conscious and unconscious levels (Delle 1999; Epperson 2000; Leone and Potter 1988; Meniketti 2016 [2019]; Mrozowski 2000, 2006; Orser 1996b, 2007). Industrial archaeology over the past decades, with a few exceptions, has explicitly focused on industrial machinery or edifices with limited or token recognition of the people who inhabited the work spaces or made the machinery operate. This problem was critically articulated by Paul Shackel (2004) stating that while industrial archaeologists have a long tradition of documenting the engineering feats of the industrial age they have tended to avoid humanistic issues. Industry has been glorified and celebrated (see, e.g., Thomas Hughes’s American Genesis) but rarely examined through the eyes of laborers. Understanding what is “studied, remembered, and interpreted at these industrial sites can show us who we are as a community and a nation” (Shackel 2004, 44). While there are exceptions in the literature, as a whole the critique remains valid. Shackel framed the issue in terms of labor heritage by pointing out, “In a time when American and international corporations continue to undermine the American workforce by weakening unions and extending the average workweek, if we as a society are to remember the long arduous struggle of workers . . . understanding labor as a component of Industrial archaeology provides us the tool necessary to revisit history of industrial sites and gives us a mechanism to think about labor in the past, present, and future” (Shackel 2004, 44). Such an operational framework for the study of past enterprises and the landscapes that manifested through industrial intersections with society gives an immediacy and relevance to the landscapes in our present. Nearly a decade after Shackel’s critique a similar lament of industrial archaeology of ignoring labor, particularly was argued by Gudsby and Chidester (2011) as a preface to their examination of working-class lives in Hampden. Again, this complaint was voiced by Rob Young (2014, 60) for industrial archaeology in the United Kingdom, suggesting that the technocentric perspective so common in industrial archaeology served to gloss over active agents. Young’s analysis of labor songs in English coal mines offered a window into working conditions underground that are missing in most contemporary studies of mining. Silliman (2006, 148) echoed Shackel with a more optimistic tone in an overview of labor and identity studies, with a call for broadening the

Introduction

17

scope and contexts of historical scholarship that is focused on industry and labor relations. It may seem as if industrial archaeology has been fearful of addressing the component of labor that made industry possible, or fearful of examining the tensions created by race relations, ethnic divisions, or gender distinctions within industry. By examining machines, industrial processes, and innovative engineers, the field could insulate itself from the complex, often messy, and frightfully disturbing elements of labor relations, politics, racial and ethnic discord, and gender discrimination fostered and exploited by industry—not only during the Gilded Age, but also in our own time. The practice was for social issues to be subsumed in labor studies. Yet there is a place for particularistic studies that highlight technological processes. Industrial archaeologists have increasingly addressed social issues through examinations of company towns, mining districts, and the deplorable health outcomes experienced by neighboring communities and company towns from industrial waste or contaminated water. Company towns of various types developed as a strategy for attracting and maintaining labor yet came to serve ulterior purposes. Some company towns were ruled like fiefdoms while others were allowed to stagnate or grow on their own. Focusing on the company town built by the Calumet mine in Michigan, Paul White makes the cogent point that, while signs of status between classes of workers were part of the American landscape, company towns “made the connections stark” and accustomed the “often foreign-born workforce to American values” to equate hard work with social attainment (White 2017, 76). The study of the timber industry would be exasperatingly boring if we clung solely to descriptions of donkey engines and applications of steam for powering saws—interesting as those topics might be—rather than including the human story. The study of the timber industry is a study of labor and, owing to its unique space and impact on the environment, inescapably also a study of landscape (Lewis 1993). Industrial practices and production consume landscape and reshape or modify environments. People live, work, and occasionally die in these landscapes. Considering the married workers’ housing we see they also fall in love in those landscapes. This rather unscientific assessment simply underscores the reality that industrial landscapes are unavoidably and by definition cultural landscapes. Historical archaeologists have been reading landscapes for some time now, interpreting changes in communities over time or to understand settlement patterns. Mining, lumbering, railroading, manufacturing, and agro-industry all reshape vast swaths of natural environment and are transformed by people to serve specific needs. In doing so, people interact directly with nature and invariably with one another, although not always with positive or visible outcomes.

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Timbering and Development Considering the number of publications describing the timber industry, it might be imagined little more could be added, yet several topics have not been explored, including the synergistic relationships among industries, the character of the labor force, and the way in which the industrial practices influenced regional development. These processes are viewed here from an ecological perspective, wherein the intersection of industry with the natural world and environmental feedback create dynamic relationships having measurable impact. For instance, clear-cutting increases erosion and likelihood of flooding, and removal of climax forest species opens the terrain to a succession of plant species that alter local ecologies with recognizable changes to habitat. The milling operations created colossal environmental damage. Sawdust was dumped directly into streams, damaging once-productive fisheries, and erosion of dirt and rock from the skidding of timber left deep gashes in the hillsides. It is noteworthy that Loma Prieta Mill was built in California grizzly bear territory, and encounters between bears and fellers in the early years were not uncommon. The California grizzly is now extinct. Loma Prieta Mill was one of several competing companies extracting timber for the growing communities of the greater San Francisco Bay Area and was among the most productive in terms of board feet cut and processed and among the most profitable until 1900. Eventual competition with lumbering elsewhere in the state and depletion of the local resource brought about decline in profitability by 1890 and, after extending deeper in the forest, again in 1920. The environment surrounding the San Francisco Bay, with low hills and valleys, was well suited for farming and orchard development, but lacked substantial stands of timber adequate for construction purposes, although some islands in the bay were heavily wooded. Loma Prieta Mill also held significant meaning in the local context of Santa Cruz County since its operations were the core reason that some communities nearby came into existence and prospered. Mills south of San Francisco are overshadowed in the literature of California milling by the rich histories of operations in Mendocino and Humboldt Counties to the north. More than eight hundred logging operations were in business in these two regions around 1900. Wages for lumbermen were generally average for working-class laborers in the 1880s and 1890s, after which they fell to among the lowest. Although far fewer exist today, mechanized logging companies in California, Oregon, and Washington continue to employ a few thousand workers and sustain numerous communities because demand for lumber remains strong, especially redwood, although wages remain comparatively low (Bureau of Labor Statistics 2018). In 2018 in California three hundred fallers were employed, earn-

Introduction

19

ing an average $56,000 annually, with over 1,200 heavy-equipment operators earning somewhat more. Before competition with rail service and eventual completion of major roadways and advent of trucking, nearly a hundred schooner companies operated out of forty-eight lumber ports in Northern California alone (McNairn and MacMullen 1973 [1945]). More than three hundred schooners and barkentines carried lumber from the mills north and south of San Francisco (Hitchman 1990, 23). Virtually all lumber was transported by ship until 1900. Where these schooners came in for lumber spawned small maritime communities associated with the mills. Places like Mendocino, Albion, or Bodega north of San Francisco and Aptos or Soquel south of the city owe much of their existence to these endeavors complementary to timber extraction (Kortum and Olmstead 1971). Generally, two masted and recognized by a fore-and-aft rigging, with shallow draft, these were the workhorses of the trade. Most were California built (Sullenberger 1980, 51). Timber cutting is far too often presented in popular literature and local histories from a romantic, perhaps even nostalgic perspective, stemming from and perpetuating a man-taming-nature ideology as an inevitable outcome of progress (see, e.g., Williams 1976). Nearly every source consulted for this study dating from 1900 to 1970 adheres to this trope. Another prevalent motif found in these histories is one of the rugged individual—a theme that is itself central to the American myth (Purser and Warner 2017; Rose 2013; see also Knott 2011). The nostalgic and flowery recollections of Michigan lumberjacks by a former timberman, captured by John Knott in his account of timber industry narratives, conjures up images of idyllic labor in the classical Greek mode: “They were strong and wild in both body and spirit with the careless masculine beauty of men who live free lives in the open air” (John Emmet Nelligan 1929, from Knott 2011). Historical photographs and archaeology suggest a different narrative. The lives of timbermen with respect to one another, in the context of nearby towns and in relation to the ethnic divisions fostered within the industry, have received little attention with few exceptions (see Franzen 1992). The architecture of sawmills also remains a neglected area of research, in particular how these work spaces shaped the lives of workers. Interior views of mills captured in historical photos are a rarity, although floor plans exist and can be ferreted out of archives when fortune smiles. The harvest of natural resources was not limited to the local region around Aptos but was part of a wider statewide exploitation that connected farflung enterprises and seemingly unrelated systems of shipping, railroading, mining, lime kilns, and home building and heating. Each of these related industries was worked by immigrant labor and each contributed

20

Timber, Sail, and Rail

to the mosaic of cultures in the greater San Francisco Bay Area. Redwood was harvested for foundation timbers, door and window frames, moldings, sidings, shingles, and even for staved pipes, water mains, and sewers (Wendling 1915, 108). Resistant to rot, the redwood pipes were long lasting and to this day there remain redwood sewer lines beneath the streets of San Francisco. Firewood was also a mainstay of lumbering. Contemporary newspapers described the oak firewood from Aptos to be the finest quality and that considerable “timber went into the hearths of San Franciscans” (Amended General Plan 2005, 35, citing Santa Cruz Weekly Sentinel 1866). Evidence of the damming of Aptos Creek to create a half-mile-long millpond, and the road cuts, rail beds, and the deep scours in the hillsides where logs were dragged down to the pond remain visible on the postindustrial landscape. The scars on the natural environment are an observable legacy of the shortsighted approach to extraction of natural resources. Shortsighted may be the wrong interpretation since the resource was historically deemed inexhaustible and the concept of sustainability was foreign to the capitalist-driven frenzy to maximize profits. Still, the practice of resource extraction to depletion, whether in the mines or other industry and followed by abandonment, led to of what Purser and Warner describe as the pattern in the West of “instant boomtowns and enduring toxic legacy of extractive industries” (Purser and Warner 2017, xiv). The damage from timbering has one distinct difference, however, from the tailings of mines or the waste from stamp mills: timber has potential to regenerate. But the renewed forest is ecologically different. The landscape today, although seemingly lush with new growth, is an impoverished ecological zone with established nonnative plant communities (Amended General Plan 2005, 40). Studies by the state, however, indicate a steady improvement in plant species diversity despite the destructive habits of invasive wild pigs. The eradication of nonnative species and preservation of natural biocorridors has been a priority of California State Parks. During the early years of the industry lumbermen were well paid and well fed, according to Andrews (1958). Gradually, however, pay fell well below the average for laborers. The work was hard and often dangerous. Keeping the workers well fed was strategic because it reduced labor disputes and complaints. While most of the logging companies were not operating in the paternalistic manner that was developing as a common feature of industry at the end of the nineteenth century, owners did try to control labor where it could. Food was one form of compensation used to attract workers, and it could be used by management as a form of control. This topic will be addressed further in chapter 4, but it is worth noting the parallels between cooked meals for laborers and provision grounds for enslaved plantation workers; intended by management as an induce-

Introduction

21

ment, it transformed into an entitlement, locking the timber company into an arrangement that served as a flashpoint for disputes (Conlin 1979; Franzen 1992). In 1963 Albretto Stoodley, ninety years old, and Michael Bergazzi, eighty, were interviewed for Santa Cruz history project. Both men had worked for Loma Prieta Mill Company in its final decade—Bergazzi as a sawyer and Stoodley as clerk and eventually secretary. Stoodley was born in the Catskills of New York in 1873 and came to work at Loma Prieta in the same year as Bergazzi. Their recollections and contrasting experiences have provided texture to the interpretation of work at the mill. According to Stoodley, pay was rather low and highly dependent on skill level (Calciano 1964b). Crews were paid in gold and silver, with most workers refusing to accept paper money. The company occasionally received paper money in payment for product and tried to “get rid of it whenever they could” (Calciano 1964b, 80). At Loma Prieta Mill, alcohol was not permitted. However, lumbermen need only stroll up to the town or travel a bit farther down creek to Aptos to find spirits. The company “had rather wished” that Aptos was dry but lacked the political clout to effect such a policy in town. The company was “never sure they would have a crew on Monday” (Calciano 1964b, 44). Michael Bergazzi was born in 1887 and started work at Loma Prieta Mill at age fifteen. He recalls the ease with which workers could obtain wine from a local German wine maker for 25 cents a gallon (Calciano 1964a). Bergazzi also recalls that at the end of the day men would head directly to the cookhouse without stopping to wash up. They would eat then perhaps clean off. Men would then gather in small groups in front of their bunkhouses and chat or play games until dark. These leisure times served for more than a respite from work. Beaudry et al. (1991, 154) point out that, while the importance of work plays a major role in self-definition, “there is support for the contention that it is through leisure or non-work activities that the greater part of self-definition and self-expression takes place.” The loggers were immigrants to California from various locations representing myriad nationalities and ethnic groups (Barbour et al. 2001). The post–Civil War years in particular saw an increase in immigrant populations. Some arriving in California were recent immigrants, while others with roots in the East Coast were second- and third-generation Americans relocating to California in search of their share in rumored prosperity. Interestingly, captains of many of the schooners that hauled the cut lumber from the Aptos Wharf to markets in San Francisco prior to the use of railroads were largely of Scandinavian origin. So many northern Europeans worked these vessels that they were collectively referred to as the Scandinavian navy (McNairn and MacMullen 1973 [1945]). These lumber

22

Timber, Sail, and Rail

schooners varied in size and capacity, many overloading their decks to the point of risking capsizing on the haul to market. Prior to the gold rush, coastwise shipping was practically nonexistent. As fortune seekers began arriving in San Francisco, a great number of ships went in to service as a vital form of transport for every manner of merchandise ranging from farm produce to oysters, and from lumber to mining equipment, as well as passengers (Bean 1968). Ships anchoring in San Francisco often became derelict as their crews abandoned the vessels for the gold fields (Delgado 2009, 2017). There was money to be made, nevertheless, by skippering a vessel and charging high rates for freight, including lumber. Barks, brigs, and schooners worked the coast well into the late 1800s and into the period of steam-powered ships. Clipper ships of various types were important carriers of trade and people to California, some of which came to grief along the central coast (Hylkema 2018, 12). The ships serving the coastal communities north of San Francisco have received detailed scholarship from maritime historians (McNairn and MacMullen 1973 [1945]; Sullenberger 1980). The vessels and crews working the timber trade south of the bay, on the other hand, have been largely passed over by historians. Semones (2007) offers an exception, and while mainly focused on shipwrecks, her brief accounts of steamships serving dogholes, such as at Pigeon Point, south of our study area, highlighted the transport of cut lumber, tanbark, leather goods, and other merchandise. The Beadle Steamship Company in a single year carried more than five thousand tons of tanbark alone that was shipped from Pigeon Point to the tanneries in San Francisco (Semones 2007, 59). Tanbark oak was used to tan leather, including saddles, belts, and accessories. In Aptos this was an occupation mainly filled by Italian immigrants. In the 1930s and 1940s, Italian tanners contracted with the Loma Prieta Company for access to trees in the Hinkley basin and on ridges held by the company. The Loma Prieta Company was no longer milling, and finding ways to maintain a revenue stream were motivation enough to permit the activity (Amended General Plan 2005). Many vessels came to grief from overloading. Captains with surnames Halverson, Ellerson, Andersen, Johansen, Olsen, Carlson, to name only a few, hint at the ethnic/cultural character of the fleet, mainly consisting of Swedish, Norwegian, and Danish immigrants. Still others have German surnames (McNairn and MacMullen 1973 [1945]). These names were collected from shipping records posted in regional newspapers and may not represent the entire range of ethnicities involved in shipping; nonetheless, it is evident Scandinavians were abundantly represented in the trade. Understanding the manner in which these clusters of immigrants from northern European origins came to dominate this particular aspect of California’s labor landscape and timber industry deserves attention be-

Introduction

23

cause it may offer insights into the social mechanisms by which each stereotyped group came to populate the occupations with which they were associated. The same pattern was prevalent in mining where tasks were assigned according to ethnic and racial classifications. For instance, in his sweeping study of American mining landscapes Paul White found that the most recent immigrants were even more likely to rank at the bottom of the labor hierarchy with Italian, Finnish, and Mexican workers occupying the lowest positions (White 2016, 158). Mining companies were prone to hire according to labor stereotypes and perceived ethnic temperaments. This common practice tended to both reify ethnic categories while concentrating groups into labor patterns that were self-perpetuating (Glasco 1977). Living in enclaves served to intensify a sense of “otherness” (Mead 1995, 305). During the latter end of the nineteenth century and even into the early twentieth century the scientific community sustained such conceptions through “scientific” metrics that purported to distinguish ethnic and racial absolutes (Orser 2007). Swedish and Finnish immigration to America occurred in waves stimulated by political, religious, and environmental stresses, beginning during the Swedish famine of 1868–1873. While Swedes had been in California during the gold rush (and there were very few ethnic groups that were not there) their numbers were small. Immigration peaked in the years 1870–1900, and while most settled in the upper Midwest, a sizable number made their way to the Pacific Northwest, and to Seattle, a town founded on lumbering and sea-borne trade. More than 1.3 million Swedish immigrants had arrived in the United States by the early twentieth century. And, like their counterparts from other European nations, they brought with them a wide range of skills. Many were farmers but just as many came with maritime backgrounds. Sweden has a long maritime history and many immigrants brought with them their knowledge of the mariner’s art. Some found employment aboard ships in the Great Lakes operating in fishing and ore carriage. It was said that on the Great Lakes “every second sailor was Norwegian” (Tangeraas 1982, 146). By 1900 more than ten thousand Swedes were working in lumbering trades in Washington, representing one quarter of the total. Records show that large communities were settled nearby or in Seattle, and a significant proportion of the Swedish communities were engaged in fishing and ship building. Statistics from the Fishermen’s Protective Union reported that in 1908, of 6,775 members, 3,000 were Scandinavian. Swedes, Norwegian, and Finnish immigrants were bridging lumber and shipping occupations. Extant records suggest that the majority of men working inside Loma Prieta Mill were of Italian heritage (Calciano 1964a), and that lumbermen included a mix of Irish, Mexican, French, and other nationalities (Foucrier 1997). Albretto Stoodley recalled that there were some six

24

Timber, Sail, and Rail

thousand Italians in the greater Santa Cruz Area during his time of employment and several worked for the company. He also recalls “a couple Hebrews and a Basque” (Calciano 1964b, 73). Stoodley also mentions Mexican and what he called Spanish half breeds, meaning men of Spanish and Native American (Indian) parentage. In fact, he stated that the Spanish were not well regarded by the lumbermen and all were referred to as Indians whether they really were or not, and claimed he never met an actual Indian (Calciano 1964b, 79). The presence of French nationals is not unexpected. Large numbers of French immigrated to California beginning in the 1850s. Various organizations in France, some of them legitimate, convinced many to transplant themselves to California to help establish a French colony in the frontier (Chinard 1944). These operated as mutual shares companies with promises of profits to be distributed to workers. The association La Californienne boasted of having a gold mine in California and attracted enough travilleurs (workers) to fill a ship that sailed from Bordeaux in late 1849. This success inspired new associations to form. Not all emigrant companies acted in the best interests of the workers. In fact, many were encouraged by government and social reform societies to ship as many impoverished French citizens to California as possible as a solution to an unemployment problem in France and to vacate undesirables and potential revolutionaries (Chinard 1944, 9). Additional companies, Le Sacramento and La Société Immobilière de San Francisco, to cite but two, raised enough capital to send hundreds of emigrants from France. With very few exceptions, the French immigrants were men, and only a few wives traveled with their husbands. All told, however, the French population in California barely exceeded twenty-five thousand, a small number compared to German, English, or Italian. As the mines played out, many of the French immigrants gravitated toward other occupations. In San Francisco a Little France district emerged that offered new arrivals a sense of place. According to Andrews’s (1968, 55) study of lumber camps, the lumbermen were Finns, Swedes, English, Irish, and Welsh. Although Andrews’s descriptions are for timber camps in Oregon, the composition of the labor force in California was similar, with the added mix of Italian, Portuguese, and Mexican nationalities. A few were German. This is at least partially corroborated by Michael Bergazzi in his personal recollections, stating that Finns, Swedes, and Irish worked at Loma Prieta and that “all these ‘races’ were good men” (Calciano 1964a, 148). Adding to the kaleidoscope of groups seeking prosperity in California in this small region was the Lomas Prieta German colony of 1884. Nevertheless, tensions did exist among groups that occasionally came to the surface. The Evening Sentinel, a Santa Cruz periodical, reported “Italians brawling with Portuguese” over destroyed cordwood (Evening Sentinel 1896). It is tell-

25

Introduction

ing that newspapers regularly cited ethnicity in news stories, underscoring the racially charged character of the times. Each recounting of an accident, conflict, or dispute contained ethnic identifiers, serving more to reify stereotyped images than to add to the story. While men of African descent are rarely shown in lumber company photographs, they were, nevertheless, present, often in low-skilled roles, but occasionally as teamsters (Kilar 1980; Shofner 1975; Thurman 1973). Indeed, considering how much labor was provided to railroad construction by Chinese workers, there are regrettably few historical images to convey their contribution. The population of African Americans in California was actually quite small until well after the Civil War. On the other hand, black lumbermen were not uncommon in other parts of the country (Kilar 1980; Shofner 1975). Hundreds of black lumbermen were to be found in Michigan in various capacities, as teamsters, drayers, carpenters and edgers, but never as sawyers. Michigan’s timber industry employed twelve thousand men and produced “green gold valued in the 1870s and 1880s at a billion dollars more than California’s yellow gold” (Kilar 1980, 144). What appealed to blacks in the years after emancipation was the steady employment, even if at low wages. A few earned better wages with skilled work. However, one of the richest African Americans was William Atwood: He made his way north after escaping slavery in Alabama in 1839. After a brief attempt at gold prospecting in California, he returned to Michigan to seek his fortunes in the forests (Kilar 1980, 148). Atwood was a timber entrepreneur who became prosperous and eventually became an important figure in Republican politics. His success story is rare but underscores the presence of African Americans in lumber camps. Hundreds were employed in Florida as well. Yet in each case photographs are a rarity. Women were also not shown in company pictures, yet they too were in the camps, mostly as wives of lumbermen. Few are ever included in the lumbering narrative. This lack of recognition in the historical record fosters a false image of the past at sites of extractive industries that marginalize non-whites and women in favor of a trope that equates white men with the American West (Dixon 2002, 2005; Rose 2013; Purser and Warner 2017).

Identifying Ethnicity in Archaeology The terms “ethnicity” or “ethnic affiliation” are, broadly speaking, vague and a poorly constructed amalgamation of concepts. No single word exists in English for defining an ethnic group according to George De Vos (1995, 18). An ethnic group is at best a “self-perceived inclusion of those who hold in common a set of traditions not shared by others with whom

26

Timber, Sail, and Rail

they are in contact.” Furthermore, some “sense of genetically inherited differences, imagined or real, is an aspect of membership for some groups and held as facts by dominant groups” who are often seeking to prevent a group from assimilation (De Vos 1995, 19). Problematically, ethnicity and nationality are often conflated just as ethnicity is frequently equated with race (Orser 2007, 40) despite very real variation within bounded spaces. It is frequently the case that a person is ascribed to an ethnic group by the dominant society even when the individual has no actual or historical ties to the label. While some of this behavior is founded in ignorance, it is just as likely to be based on genuine bigotry. On the flip side, often an external definition of ethnicity is internalized by the group being defined. To paraphrase Orser on this issue, the linkage of race and ethnicity has been an obstacle for social archaeology, and archaeologists using material culture as a guide have had difficulty making distinctions (Orser 2007, 40). To this we might add that the ways material culture is used in daily habitus may not reflect ethnicity at all, but rather class association, economic reality, conscious assimilation, or mere practicality. In the 1964 case Jacobellis v. Ohio, Justice Potter Stewart famously ruled that, “I shall not today attempt further to define the kinds of material I understand to be embraced within that shorthand description [hard-core pornography], and perhaps I could never succeed in intelligibly doing so. But I know it when I see it, and the motion picture involved in this case is not that” (378 US 187; italics added). “I know it when I see it” became the epitaph on his grave. Defining ethnicity needs greater clarity and precision and must not be simplified in a Stewartian sense if it is to have any utility at all as a construct in archaeology. Sian Jones (1997) delivers one of the more salient perspectives on ethnicity framing the concept as often suffering from the tension of being too specific and being too general, as too specific for suitable comparisons and too generic to be of much analytical value (Jones 1997, 57). Jones further articulates the problem as it exists in anthropology, stating that “few people actually define what they mean by the terms ethnicity and ethnic group” (Jones 1997, 56). The concept as well as the term “ethnicity” is subjective and variable in both geographic and temporal terms (Orser 2007). The term also lacks plasticity to account for persons of mixed heritage. For instance, what to make of an Irish-Italian, Panamanian-Chinese, or Swiss-Libyan? These combinations mix so-called ethnic labels with national identities fused to racial designations, yet each is American born. I have purposely used as examples individuals whom I know personally with these lineages to serve a point. The ethnic label of the parents of each differs markedly. Further illustrating the insidious nature of social constructs, the Swiss-Libyan, on disclosing her heritage in a group setting, was astounded to hear one person say, “I would never have suspected—

Introduction

27

you don’t look Muslim.” The conundrum should never be thought of as isolated to America. An American friend of Japanese descent, who is fluent in Japanese, was never thought of as Japanese when she worked in Japan, but only as American. And what can one make of the label “ethnically American”? Is there such a thing? Why not? A new coworker of my wife recently inquired of her, “What are you? You look ethnic.” Aside from the impropriety, this is a question I still ponder. As opposed to nonethnic? Boundaries between groups frequently have historical-national roots that become enmeshed with the idea of ethnicity partly because of perceivable patterns of behaviors associated with specific components of material culture—hence, Stanley South’s German American, French American, and Spanish American patterns, wherein certain assemblages seem to be indicative of ethnicity (Garver 2015, 30). However, the way identity and ethnicity are viewed by archaeologists today has changed and recognition of the dynamic character of ethnicity has given rise to the understanding that locating ethnicity in material markers is both simplistic and futile (Orser 1996, 2007). To some degree, what archaeologists interpret as ethnic behaviors may instead reflect class behaviors, as in the case of consumer choices (Felton, Lortie, and Schulz 1984, 88; Praetzellis, Praetzellis, and Brown 1988, 195; Praetzellis 1999, 132). If Orser is correct, this study was compromised at the outset. Jones (2001) discusses this problem as having historical roots in archaeology where material culture correlates are based on patterns of production and consumption of material culture as a means of communicating ethnic identity. Where patterns are absent in local context the recognition of ethnic groups may be obscured. “The relationship between ethnicity and material culture thus appears to be intangible and fleeting, and particularly problematic for archaeologists and has led some archaeologists to adopt an extremely skeptical stance and to suggest that ethnicity is not an appropriate or accessible phenomenon for archaeological inquiry” (Jones 2001, 124). If, as Orser suggests, seeking ethnic markers is futile, why is there a renewed interest among archaeologists pursuing this line of inquiry? I wonder within the context of my own research whether the material culture recovered can be adequately analyzed at the necessary scale to see ethnicity. While it may to some degree be easier to materially identify archeologically groups who have been marginalized by virtue of phenotypic characteristics (e.g., Chinese or Japanese immigrants, or olive-skinned Southern Italians, or Americans of African lineage), and by historical circumstances forced into segregated communities or prevented from assimilation. How are we to archaeologically isolate those groups who were accorded greater accommodation by the dominant society? Moreover, when material culture components of the mainstream is found associated with an ethnic mi-

28

Timber, Sail, and Rail

nority, how is it to be interpreted? As a marker of assimilation? Of access? Of ideological aspirations to attain a particular class distinction? Simple consumer choice? Or something else altogether? As previously described, immigrants in the timber industry often found occupations in specified categories based on skills, but more often were grouped by perceived ethnic category (Glasco 1977). While an ethnic division of labor may be reflected in the documentary record the question is how it would be recognized in the archaeological deposits. The possibility that cultural markers of displaced peoples may not be present in the archaeological record materially, but might have instead manifested through language, food preparation, or nonmaterial fashion underscores how slippery the operationalization of ethnicity may be. Even if items having known cultural affiliation are found, there will still remain questions of context as Praetzellis demonstrated with his study of Old Sacramento Chinese and their appropriation of Victorian willow pattern transfer-printed ceramics for internal class distinctions (Praetzellis 1999, 132–34). In the context of labor, Silliman (2006) has argued that local context plays a pivotal role in worker identity and how identity is expressed in the material record. Silliman’s careful analysis strongly suggests that classbased identities may prevail or be subdued relative to local conditions and racial attitudes. The intersection of class and ethnicity will be considered further in subsequent chapters. Various categories of social groupings have been investigated by historical archaeologists that intersect ethnic boundaries or encompass many groups; using such heuristic classifications as working class, labor, working poor, recent immigrant, diaspora, overseas, and so forth. However, even these seemingly narrow definitions are fraught with nuance. As Mark Walker (2008, 116) makes clear in his analysis of labor categories, the term “class” is burdened with several abstract categories and the interpretation entails various levels of abstraction. While creating subsets of populations for study, these largely economic characterizations do not offer satisfactory units for studying ethnicity. While the term “ethnic” lacks clarity, its boundaries must also remain suspect. The foundation of archaeology is material culture, but the answer to when objects reveal aspects of class and when they reveal identity—particularly ethnic identity—is not readily forthcoming. Indeed, class consciousness and ethnic identity likely had their genesis in the Americanization process (M. Walker 2008, 117). Mark Walker’s insights into the processes that gave rise to ethnic categories for Irish, Italian, Greek, and so forth echoes De Vos’s (1995) analysis of definitions and informs Ross’s (2011, 2013) conceptualization of ethnicity as an outcome of process rather than a predetermined category. The use of material culture to gain insights into ethnicity and identity has been an important facet of historical and industrial archaeology,

Introduction

29

ranging from studies of mining towns (Hardesty 1988, 1998, 2002) and gold fields (Lightfoot, Martinez, and Shiff 1998), railroad construction (Polk 2015; Sunseri 2015; Voss 2015) to working-class neighborhoods (Cook 2011; Fitts 2002; Rotman 2000; Shackel and Palus 2006; and identities Linn 2010; Mills, White, and Barra 2013; Mrozowski 2006; Mullins 2008) However, historical archaeologists need to be cautious in ascribing ethnicity with material culture simplistically to avoid finding themselves complicit in essentializing groups or contributing to reifying the very stereotyping that they are attempting to dispel (Orser 2007, 7, 119). As Praetzellis (1999, 128) has argued, presence or absence of particular material culture among groups may have explanations external to ethnic identity, just as evidence of material culture associated with dominant societies are not reliable indicators of acculturation, but might instead reflect superior access, and are therefore more related to class distinctions emerging within a group. Immigrants to America have generally adopted regional material culture that enables them to blend in with the dominant society, if not to assimilate, with blending used as a strategy for negotiating their position in society at large. Fitts (2002) provided a sophisticated analysis of this behavior with Italians who used personal appearance and style to forge American facades on their path to American identity. The issue of race writ large is entangled in the conversation of ethnicity, but largely beyond the scope of this book. Race as a biological category does not exist and yet it shapes every conversation (Orser 2007; Sauer 1992) and exists as a construct in every society and culture. Just as ethnicity may be externally defined, racialization is also historical and contextual (Orser 2007). To state that race does not exist is not to say that what people perceive of as race has no impact on behavior or human interactions (Sauer 1992), only that such concepts as race, or ethnicity, and even nationality are not absolutes. Race is often used as a component of ethnicity and frequently serves as an organizing principle in social relations. The construct of race configures class and is embedded in class negotiations. Racial categorizations, however, are not immutable (Orser 2007), just as ethnicity is a moving target, racial designations and identification can change with class. The category of class is also a slippery subject and highly complex (Mrozowski 2005, 9; Orser 2007, 44). Invariably, when archaeologists refer to class, they will also raise the specter of capitalism. A person’s economic position may define their class, but their economic position may be unjustly bound to race. As first articulated by Marx, and expanded upon by various authors, capitalist ventures are exploitive of labor (R. Walker 2001). Numerous archaeologists have addressed the issue and the study of capitalism has become inseparable from the field of historical archaeology (Johnson 2017, 325; Orser 1996b, 72). The timber company owners controlled the modes of production, the tools, and

30

Timber, Sail, and Rail

the resource. The workers brought their muscle and willingness to work. Company owners were in positions of power and continuing waves of immigrants kept labor off balance as each new group represented a new source of cheap labor. The documentary record reveals that laborers (of all nationalities) were employed in extractive industries, but were not treated equally. What was true for men was also true for women and children. Children were regularly employed by industry in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Some immigrant communities perceived this as neither unusual nor unacceptable (Shackel and Palus 2006, 829). This book presents a study of timber, industrial process, and labor, in the context of a single mill company, but it is also an inquiry of immigrants negotiating their place in the evolving American sociocultural landscape against the backdrop of capitalism. The timber industry was just one of many where immigrants found employment. I have attempted in this chapter to highlight the complexities of investigating labor through the lens of ethnicity, and problematic nature of even operationalizing a clear definition of the term in an explanatory manner. This chapter also set the stage for examining some of the historical, technological, and sociological features of the timber industry. Jones (2001) justifiably argued that few in archaeology clearly state a definition for ethnicity. I will give it a go, accepting in advance that my definition will be disputed by those who also wrestle with this issue. For this study ethnic identity is self-determined by individuals through affiliation with others having a common or shared sense of historical roots. Permeable as these boundaries may be, at the core are suites of values, behaviors, and events that distinguish communities of praxis from one another. These complexities are compounded by overlapping categories of class and status. Chapter 1 begins with a brief history of logging in the geographic region where this study is focused with particular attention given to its early phases in California. I then turn to a synopsis of the composition of the labor force and the contribution to the industry from early immigrant communities with an emphasis on those connected to the lumber trades. I examine more closely the route to the timber industry taken by many immigrant groups in chapter 2.

Notes 1. Birth certificate provided to the author by Regina’s grandchildren during a public presentation about the mill given in Aptos, 2018. Name changed for this book. 2. Statistics regarding the funeral business are hard to come by, but even the mortuary business consumed trees. The Pacific Lumber Company of Oakland advertised redwood as “everlasting . . . will not rot.” The funeral industry used 21 million board feet of redwood for caskets in 1948 alone (Farmer 2013, 47).

CHAPTER 1

Logging History in the San Francisco Bay Area

A skilled axeman could plant a stake 30 to 50 feet from the trunk of a tree being felled and hit it every time with the falling tree once the final cut had been chopped through. Until the 1860s or early 1870s the crosscut saw was rarely used to fell the largest trees in California, the feller’s axe being employed instead. —Brian Dillon, “Archaeological and Historical Survey of Soquel Demonstration State Forest, Santa Cruz County,” 1992 The grit and dangers faced by men working in the forests and mills, the tensions of labor, and the life of timber milling are conveyed in a poem titled “The Filer,” by Charles Olaf Olsen (Andrews 1957, 156). Olsen was a blacksmith in Oregon who penned several milling-related poems that were published in Ralph Andrews’s book Timber. We find in his words the tensions of labor, the pain of the body, and a testament to workers’ character. The saws, the poem says, like men, sometimes fly to pieces in sudden rage. Three seasons of fieldwork uncovered tangible evidence substantiating Olsen’s words—broken saw teeth, worn engine parts, and coarse laborers’ housing. The tools as well as the men can lose their tempers. The approach applied to interpreting the context of mining labor in song by Young (2014) can be used to deconstruct the poem. Each of the occupations in the camps carried its risks and minor rewards. Throughout the poem are references to the class of skilled workers. Filers were considered the aristocracy in the lumber camps and could earn upwards of $100 a month (Hutchinson 1959, 22). The immigrant laborers in the forest were the first to see some of the great trees since the native peoples, and also the last to see them as they exploited the timber.

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Timber, Sail, and Rail

Humans in the Forest The greater San Francisco Bay Area has been home to myriad cultures for millennia. Stretching from the Santa Cruz Mountains in the south to the hills of Marin and Sonoma Counties in the north, and as far east as the Livermore Valley, tribes of Coast and Bay Miwok and Ohlone peoples exploited the rich resources of estuarine habitats and oak forest ecozones. The tribes organized themselves politically around paramount chiefs and subordinate chiefs who pay tribute.1 Captain Commander Fages (governor of Alta California, Monterey) in 1775 wrote firsthand descriptive accounts about aspects of aboriginal contact period political authority, social structure, and redistributive economy among the Costanoan-Esselen groups in the Monterey Bay Region: “Besides their chiefs of villages, they have in every district another one who commands four or five villages together, the village chiefs being his subordinates . . . Each of them collects every day in his village the tributes which the Indians pay him in seeds, fruits, game, and fish” (Fages 1937 [1775], 73). The various Ohlone tribes occupied the highly variable terrain of the eastern and southern San Francisco Bay Area, stretching as far south as Monterey Bay, and lived throughout the forests and coastal zones encompassed by this study (Margolin 1978). Through interaction with local ecosystems, the first inhabitants of the San Francisco Bay Area and Monterey Bay region left their mark on the landscape in subtle yet significant ways that impacted local ecology, ranging from selective resource extraction to indigenous environmental management through controlled fires that aided propagation of preferred vegetation (Clar 1957; Lightfoot and Valentin 2013; Margolin 1978; Milliken 1995; Parker 2002). The practice modified the landscape and reduced the intensity of natural fires. Zayante, Aptos, and Soquel are all indigenous place names. The tribes of the region are part of the Ohlone culture group who continue to have a presence in the region. Forests provided materials for constructing shelters and sources of food. Oak woodlands were a source of highly prized and nutritious acorns, deer, rabbits, and birds. The bay was a source of fish and sea birds, as well as shellfish, mussels, and marine mammals. The local tribes were collectively called Coastanoans by the Spanish who ignored distinct linguistic differences and actual tribal affiliations (Beebe and Senkewicz 2001; Jackson and Castillo 1995). Kroeber compounded the errors by ignoring firsthand accounts of tribal organization and lumping all the tribes into a single polity, creating a problem that plagues the Ohlone to this day.2 Milliken (1995) depressingly detailed the disintegration of cultures in California due to the onslaught of missionization. As missions were established, local populations were thrown together in servitude, while their

Logging History in the San Francisco Bay Area

33

native customs, language, and diet were forbidden. Indigenous cultures have at least eight thousand years of occupation history in the San Francisco Bay Area. Aptos village is thought to have been the last recorded Native American village in the Santa Cruz Area. The rim of the San Francisco Bay was once dotted with shell middens of considerable size, reflecting generations of wetland resource exploitation as well as sites of habitation. Some middens were so large they appear as navigation landmarks on early maps of the bay. One such mound was topped in the 1920s and a dance hall built on it. This mound has since been leveled and has disappeared under a parking lot for a shopping mall on Shellmound Drive in Emeryville. The missions worked their way up California one by one, first under Jesuit and then Franciscan management. With the arrival of Spanish colonists and the intrusion of the mission system in the region after 1775, new landscapes emerged, which defined and proscribed new social relations, concepts of space, and conflicting ideologies of productive environments. Each mission served as a central place for Spanish settlement and was charged with being self-sufficient. Conflicts arose between populations engaging in indigenous ecosystem management and the settlement patterns of the new arrivals with their nonnative animal herds. Ancient patterns of mobility and transport were modified or disrupted—replaced by models stemming from foreign lands and foreign practices (Beebe and Senkewicz 2001). European settlement was sparse at first, and exploitation of timber restricted, since the resource was largely ignored (Clar 1957, 13; Wendling 1915). In 1804 Russian traders established a commercial outpost at Fort Ross north of the opening to the San Francisco Bay (known later as the Golden Gate) in the Sonoma coast. The Russian enterprise concentrated on furs, and timber served mainly as construction materials for the fort, and, by 1815, for boat construction. The presence of the Russians, nonetheless, may have spurred Spanish authorities to continue expanding the mission system as far north as Sonoma in a gesture of asserting some sovereignty in what they believed was their frontier (Lightfoot, Martinez, and Schiff 1998). Independence from Spain came to Mexico in 1821, which ended the northward expansion of missions begun in Alta California in 1791, but even earlier in Baja California. The Mexican war for independence from Spain saw only peripheral and anecdotal action in California, yet set off a series of land disputes and opened the door for resource extraction to outsiders. Several factors contributed to slow development or exploitation of known timber resources, not the least of which was that Spanish Californians were mainly cattlemen and had “little reason to roam the forest” (Clar 1957, 2). The assessment seems fair, taking into account that gentlemen-ranchers considered lumbering beneath them; because

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they lacked skilled cutters or mills from which timber could be acquired, they did without. The nonexploitive approach to timber resources can be viewed as cultural rather than a result of a lack of enterprise, as later Anglo commentators often asserted. The forests were viewed through a different lens. Other colonists living in the vicinity of missions lacked the capacity for anything but small-scale lumbering. It should also be noted that many of the settlements were at considerable distance from the great stands of timber. When this fact is combined with the nonavailability of necessary milling equipment on the coast, it is not a surprise that, although some colonists wanted timber, lumbering was limited and difficult. Construction of homes and missions was mainly from adobe. Timber was mainly used by the missions for structural posts and roof beams (Allen 2010). Richard Henry Dana sailed to California aboard the Boston clipper Pilgrim during the Mexican period in 1837. In his classic narrative of sailing to California, Two Years Before the Mast, Dana described the astonishing abundance of timber he saw, speculating that an enterprising person could do well to exploit the resources (Dana 1948). He also mentions how little capacity local authorities have for doing so on their own. In one account corroborating Dana’s observations, soldiers at the Mexican Presidio in Yerba Buena (now San Francisco) were sent to the nearby forests to get wood for construction. Equipped with hand axes and ox carts to pull the timber, the “journey for timber,” as recorded by a diarist, took more than a week of labor and transport (Brown 1966, 16). The principal product of the missions was hides, which were traded illegally to American ships. This illegal trade was caused in part from official neglect of California by Mexican authorities, and limited enforcement of laws forbidding the commerce. Dana thought Californians “an idle, thriftless people . . . who make nothing for themselves” (Dana 1948, 62). What Dana did not recognize were the political constraints preventing the Californians from trading or the extended supply train. Dana explicitly suggests that anyone who arrived on the scene with the requisite skills could immediately find a place and purpose in “Californio” society. As history makes clear, an adventurous few did just that. Most of the earliest lumbering carried out in California was conducted at the missions, with neophyte Indians specifically designated as laborers. Documentary evidence for Indian labor from as early as the 1790s describes cutting in the arduous and dangerous whipsaw style (Brown 1966). As late as 1836, Indians were still employed to use this method (Clar 1957, 19). Whipsaw operations involved two men cutting timber. A timber framework was erected to support the log horizontally and a trench about the height of a man’s shoulders was dug beneath. The topman was usually a senior logger who stood on the log above and pulled a sash-saw

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upward, while the pitman, junior in rank, stood in the trench below and pulled downward, earning a face full of sawdust for his labors. If an accident were to occur, it usually befell the pitman. The timber produced was used for roof beams and supports in the churches and accommodations for mission authorities, with adobe serving the needs of the neophytes, as Native converts were called (Allen 2010). Only a few boards or beams could be cut per day by this slow and tedious method. The California gold rush has deservedly received critical attention from historians and archaeologists alike, but the timber industry of California has garnered far less study, although it had an equal impact on the environmental and cultural landscape and is filled with just as many colorful and dynamic personalities. To some degree idiosyncratic and anecdotal in scope, a review of some of these individuals reveals an underlying pattern relevant to the study of timber production and highlights the cosmopolitan nature of California enterprises. Of the many interesting characters to arrive in California who played a role in early timber production, was Joseph Chapman, a naval officer among Buenos Aires privateers engaged in the revolt against Spain. Prior to his adventurous maritime life, he had been a logger and carpenter in Maine, his place of origin. Chapman arrived in California to attack Monterey in 1818. Subsequently captured during a skirmish, he was brought to Los Angeles as a prisoner for trial. Realizing that there was a desperate need for timber cutting in the region, Chapman audaciously offered his services to administrators. The local magistrate, an obvious pragmatist, put Chapman to work felling trees, and soon afterward Chapman established a mill. Having equal hutzpah was John Cooper, who came to California from the East and married into the family of Governor General Mariano Vallejo in 1823. Cooper built the first mill on the Russian River in 1834 at a cost of $10,000 (Clar 1957, 20; 1959, 4). This water-wheeldriven mill had a short life when it was washed out by flooding in 1835. Cooper would persevere and build additional mills. The first known sawmill in the immediate San Francisco Bay Area was built by a John Reed in 1834 in the town of Corte Madera—meaning place where wood is cut—on the San Francisco Bay. Reed was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1805 and left aboard a ship at age fifteen. He made his way to Mexico and later Alta California at the age of twenty-one. There he married Hilaria Sanchez in 1836, daughter of the commandant of the Presidio in Yerba Buena (later San Francisco) and began work on a land grant at Rancho Corte Madera del Presidio (Boussy and Sliney 2018). This mill was driven by an undershot waterwheel (Clar 1957, 39). This mill most likely had a reciprocating sash saw. It was not until 1844, however, that the earliest sawmill appeared in Santa Cruz. Credit is given to Pierre “Pedro” Sainsevain. Born in France in 1818, he came to California in

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1839 and constructed the first mill in San Bernardino, before moving north to Santa Cruz. Sainsevain had big plans. In addition to constructing a mill, he also built a 150-ton schooner for transporting lumber and milled grain (Evening Sentinel 1904b). Another individual with important skills was shingle maker George Yount, who was given a land grant by General Vallejo for his services in 1843 (Clar 1957, 19; 1959). Yountville is today a modest-sized town in Northern California, still very much integrated with timbering. Shortly following the Bear Flag Revolt in 1848—a brief war engineered by a few Anglo residents of California supported by the U.S. government—Mexican California was annexed to the United States. A sawmill in Monterey from 1847 that was powered by four mules may represent the earliest use of a circular saw (Monterey Californian 1847). This saw was brought ashore by the U.S. occupation forces that captured the town 1847. It is an interesting historical footnote that the circular saw was invented in 1810 by a Shaker woman of the utopian community of Harvard Massachusetts (Dillon 1992, 112). Her intent was to create a device that would save labor and time, thus allowing more time for prayer. Yet another mariner turned timberman was Captain Stephen Smith, who built California’s first steam-powered mill in 1843. Captain Smith, whose mother was Spanish, hailed from Baltimore. Reports sent to the East informed would-be lumbermen that prices for cut timber in California were “outrageous,” and there were reports of men making $16.00 a day, several times greater than normal on the East Coast, with timber selling at ten times East Coast prices. Export of the resource drove prices high. John Dolbeer of New Hampshire sold his fields in 1850 and went into lumbering in California. His inventive and enterprising spirit led to a patent in 1863 for a mechanical device for calculating the footage of cut board as it was processed (Carranco and Labbe 1979; see also Humboldt Times 16 May 1863). More significantly, Dolbeer’s invention of the donkey engine, patented in 1882, dramatically increased efficiency of timber transport to the mills by replacing the need for teams of oxen for hauling cut trees (Carranco and Labbe 1979, 49; Hutchinson 1959, 22). The Dolbeer donkey engines were steam-driven winches with sufficient power to draw logs hitched to a cable. These engines pulled themselves into position through a combination of pulleys and steel cable; once positioned and anchored they could pull as much timber in an hour that a team of oxen required half a day to achieve. The machine also reduced the need for bull masters and teamsters, thereby reducing the payroll. One pattern to emerge from these episodes of development is that immigrants found opportunities to insert themselves into the fabric of California society prior to the American period, which fundamentally reordered society politically and socially along strict ethnic lines.

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With the announcement of the gold discovery a year later at Sutter’s timber mill, throngs of people began arriving from international ports to seek their fortunes. During the gold rush, landscapes were altered dramatically—not simply by sheer numbers of the growing population, but also through such dynamic process as hydraulic mining, farming, ranching, town development, fencing, timber cutting, salt manufacture, lime production, brick manufacture, shipping, railroad development, and dozens of other intersecting industries (McCrary 1981; Payne 1978). With the gold rush came a forceful demand for timber. An advertisement for a portable forty-eight-inch circular saw to be powered by horses appeared in 1851 (Sacramento Transcript 1851). The need for timber increased not merely incrementally, but profoundly, particularly since the newcomers were unfamiliar with adobe architecture. The mosaic of industries springing up in California was mirrored in the ethnic and national diversity of laborers in the industries. Seeing that miners were in need of timber and drink, one clever entrepreneur constructed a combined sawmill and distillery in the Sierra foothills. After an initial period of success, the operation was converted to a grist mill.

Milling in Santa Cruz before Loma Prieta The Santa Cruz region had an active history of logging since the Mexican period and saw milling as early as 1834 at the townsite of Zayante. A few mills continue in operation to this day, such as the Big Creek Lumber Company. The land that would eventually become a state park was once part of a large Mexican rancho belonging to Rafael Castro, a retired soldier of the Mexican army who, in 1833, petitioned and was awarded the land grant for services to the Mexican government. The six-thousand-acre Aptos Rancho became his major holding. Rafael was a resident of Villa de Branciforte, settled in 1798, on the San Lorenzo creek.3 This pueblo was located near Mission Santa Cruz. Rafael was a cattle rancher and did little to disturb the stands of redwoods. Rafael’s sister Martina, a widow, married Michael Lodge, an Irish sailor and ship’s carpenter. Lodge had come to California on a Boston whaling ship that shipwrecked in Monterey. Finding that his carpentry skills were in high demand, Lodge decided to stay. Anglo Americans were allowed to settle as long as they converted to Catholicism and became Mexican citizens. Lodge was an Irish Catholic. Settling in Catholic California presented no issue for Lodge, and he soon married a young Mexican woman. They moved to Villa de Branciforte in 1828, where tragically she and their infant died in 1829. Lodge thereafter married Martina around the year 1831 (Dillon 1992, 71).

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Together Michael and Martina lobbied the Mexican government for an augmentation to the original grant (Rowland 1980). The Soquel Augmentation added 1,600 additional acres to the original grant in 1840. Since he was not exploiting the timber resources himself, Lodge prudently leased his land to millwrights, farmers, and woodcutters, keeping the rancho intact (Amended General Plan 2005, 35; Dillon 1992). These land grants were not actual transmission of land but were more akin to use-permits for development. During the Spanish period such grants might be given for services to the Crown, but the Crown maintained ownership. After Mexican independence the character of the grant shifted, yet remained an instrument of the government. What eventually came of Lodge is unclear. Some sources state he caught gold fever and set off to make a fortune during the 1849 gold rush. It was rumored he had been killed by bandits. Others suggest that he was killed by a business partner (Dillon 1992, 72). Regardless of the circumstances, he never returned, and Martina was forced to manage the holdings on her own until she married a French sailor in late 1849. Louis Depeaux was apparently disliked by Martina’s children and stepchildren, resulting in Depeaux’s mysterious disappearance on a voyage to Hawaii in 1850. The family began feuding over the land holdings amid worries that the Anglos were confiscating Mexican land as they flooded into the region. Three-time widow Martina worked hard to keep the family holdings intact but was under steady pressure by her seven sons-in-law to split the inheritance while she was still alive. In her will Martina divided the land into nine parts, reserving one for herself while designating the remainder for her eight children (Dillon 1992, 72). The life of Martina Castro de Depeaux has been carefully detailed by Brian Dillon in his thorough archaeological and historical survey of land that became the state park. Martina’s efforts had vainly been to protect her land for her family, yet she was ultimately defrauded. Several intrigues transpired against Martina, carried out by family members. Sometime between 1850 and 1855 Martina was stripped of her control over her lands, and she ended her days in an insane asylum, committed by those who had defrauded her. The Castro family became important figures in Santa Cruz and San Jose. What is of relevance here is the fact that Irish, French, German, and other Anglo Americans, all of whom were bilingual, were inserting themselves into positions of control and the forested canyons becoming increasingly valuable (Dillon 1992, 72). Anglo Americans had been coming to California long before the gold rush era, especially during the Mexican period, including fur trappers and traders and assorted mountain men. Jedediah Smith is often credited by “patriotic” historians with being the first white man to cross overland into California. Smith was scouting for fur hunting prospects. Smith, however, was less a trailblazer than a route

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follower in this instance and used trails that had been blazed by De Anza, Fages, and other Spanish explorers before his time (Dillon 1992, 63). A mill opened in Aptos in 1851 on a small scale, ultimately converted in 1854 to a grist mill as larger mill operations moved into the virgin forests (Koch 1973). Rounding out the early industry was Grover’s Sawmill, which was shipping timber on schooners from Soquel Landing in 1879. By 1857 there were ten mills operating in Santa Cruz with a combined production of forty thousand board feet per day (Verardo and Verado 1987, 26). By 1868 at least twenty-eight mills were operating in just a single valley. Production surpassed 35 million board feet annually. A Chinese fishing camp in Aptos, near the landing from about 1880 at what was known as China Beach, and another in Soquel operated successfully until brutally restrictive laws enacted by the California legislature made life extremely difficult for Chinese immigrants. The local newspapers commented in 1875 on the flat-bottomed sampans as ungainly, yet these vessels made from redwood were ideal for the task and were easily brought ashore during storms, and therefore somewhat advantageous over the Italian fellucas (distinctive Mediterranean-style vessel) that came to replace them in the industry. More than sixty adult Chinese men and women were reported in the Monterey area as working in eight fishing companies (Lydon 1985, 47). Competition from Italian and Portuguese fishing interests had brought pressure to have the Chinese removed from Aptos. That population was eventually replaced by Portuguese and Italian fishermen, and no Chinese appear in the census records of 1900. Nevertheless, after being forced out of fishing, Chinese labor would remain important in the Santa Cruz region as they transitioned to railroad work, grading the steep canyons and setting rail for a network of narrow-gauge lines that served the mills. Numerous Portuguese were coming to California aboard whaling ships; after a period laboring as shore whalers they transitioned to farmers in one generation (Mistely 2013). These Portuguese immigrants became the foundation of communities in San Jose and central California. Many had signed on in the Azores as whalers with the explicit intent of jumping ship once in the United States (Mistely 2013). The Chinese did not vacate from fishing willingly, but were victims of official and vicious persecution from harsh anti-Chinese laws that pushed them from traditional occupations into marginal social and industrial areas. Such discriminatory rules even extended to abalone harvesting by Chinese (Braje, Erlandson, and Rick 2007). Abalone fishing camps appeared in Monterey in the 1850s in addition to other locations in the state and Chinese immigrants used traditional methods to extract the mollusks for markets both local and in China (Braje et al. 2007, 119). Legislation was enacted to protect abalone stocks that directly targeted Chinese. The 1888 Scott Act passed by Congress prohibited junk vessels from entering

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American ports on the West Coast for collecting abalone, followed by the Exclusion Act of 1890 and the Geary Act of 1892. Each law restricted Chinese business and employment. American, Italian, and Portuguese fishing increased, but Japanese abalone fishing soon threatened these interests (Braje et al. 2007, 119). Additional legislation in California was aimed at limiting Japanese participation in the industry by 1910. However, it was suppression of Chinese fishing that garnered the most attention. For example, anti-fishing laws were enacted against anyone deemed ineligible for citizenship. Combined with further legislation that explicitly classified Chinese as ineligible meant forced relocation and changes in livelihood for the entire group (Lyman 1970, 96). This shameful period in California history will be expanded on in subsequent chapters. It is sufficient here to relate that the Exclusion Laws of 1882 codified the already common practices of discrimination and race hatred directed toward Chinese immigrants that had festered since the 1850s. A cemetery set aside for Japanese is located near the Nisene Marks State Park. However, a few headstones suggest that Chinese were interred as well. The site was briefly documented in the 1980s by Sandy Lydon of Cabrillo College. The transnational experience for those of Asian origin varied significantly. Although the framing of Asian diaspora in terms of transnationalism remains controversial in archaeology, Ross (2013, 59) has concluded that this conception enables comparisons among diasporic groups and avoids the pitfall of treating groups perceived as similar in monolithic terms. Certainly, the Japanese and Chinese working in the forest near Loma Prieta had significantly different experiences from one another and from other diasporic groups. Although suffering from social stigma and discriminatory practices, Italian, Portuguese, and Scandinavian laborers did not have to encounter the relentless and withering legalized bigotry that their Chinese and Japanese counterparts withstood. Violence toward the Chinese was endemic across the west (Harrod, Thomson, and Martin 2012). By 1856 there were 151 sawmills throughout the state (Monterey Sentinel 1856a). Equipment was increasingly arriving at the wharfs in San Francisco. It was also reported that a wharf was built in Santa Cruz (Monterey Sentinel 1856b). The Daily Alta California reported in April of 1852 on the arrival of the 245-foot-long clipper ship Invincible, offloading “circular saws, of 36–48 inches, pit saws to 9 feet, mill saws assorted to 8 feet, cross cut saws from 5 to 9 feet, also files, and pit saws . . . all for sale at J.Y. Hallock and Co.” (Daily Alta California 1852). The same day it was announced that boilers and steam engines had arrived aboard the ship Harvard. A fifteen-horse-powered engine with a nine-foot band-wheel was ready for immediate sale. Advertisements for the equipment appeared in the local newspapers for several weeks (illustration 1.1).

Logging History in the San Francisco Bay Area

Illustration 1.1. Broadside from Marysville newspaper advertising a new shipment of circular saws for mills. Saws were regularly advertised in Marysville. Marysville Daily Herald, 1856. Extracted from California Newspaper Digital Archive.

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The first mills on Aptos Creek operated from 1867 to 1878. The forests were deep and the redwood seemed limitless. “The forests [of Santa Cruz County] are inexhaustible and furnish an abundance of materials for the different mills” (Pacific Sentinel 1859). The Nichols brothers, Benjamin, Uriah, and Merritt built a water-powered mill partway up the canyon about halfway between Aptos and where Loma Prieta Mill would one day stand. They cut four thousand board feet per day, which at the time was a significant output and a meaningful improvement over other operations. The Nichols Mill continued until 1878. Although timber mills could be roughly constructed and managed by only a handful of workers (Gordon and Malone 1994, 67), the demands of community growth quickly put strains on small operators. All lumber shipped out from Santa Cruz until the Castro Wharf was constructed. The Castro Wharf, also known as Aptos Wharf and Williams Landing continued in operation for shipping even as rail came to be the preferred method of delivering timber to San Francisco (Rowland 1947, 1980) Local periodicals, such as the Alta California, Santa Cruz Weekly Sentinel, and Pacific Rural Press, listed daily departures of schooners to ports along the coast and inland up the Sacramento River and as far as Marysville. The success of Loma Prieta Mill was based on its ability to get lumber to market (Spitzer 2015). The transport of timber to San Francisco could take two days either by land or sea from the Aptos, Soquel, or Santa Cruz Wharves. Once the railroad was completed, the delivery time was reduced to same-day shipping. The completion of the Castro Wharf in 1866 set off a shipping boom for local timber companies (Spitzer 2015, 82). The Pacific Rural Press reported that several sailing schooners were hauling lumber from Santa Cruz (Pacific Rural Press 1888). An additional fifteen steam schooners were active in the trade and “a large number of barkentines as well as fore and aft vessels had been added to the lumber fleet” (Pacific Rural Press 1888). The steam schooners were said to steam at nine to twelve miles an hour and were off “without waiting for tide or wind” (Pacific Rural Press 1888). The same article mentions Loma Prieta Mill in full operation. In addition to lumber crossing the Castro Wharf, flour, cheese, and other foods were being hauled. The Santa Cruz Railroad was eventually constructed to link the mills with the inland valley communities. Work began in 1873 with Chinese laborers working six 10hour days a week, and the line was completed in 1876. With this railroad, lumber could reach the shipping port of San Francisco directly by rail. At Loma Prieta the Dougherty-Bassett Mill went into action in the 1880s (Koch 1973, 158). Soon thereafter, two well-connected entrepreneurs from Watsonville began negotiating with Southern Pacific to invest in harvesting the untapped timbers farther up the canyon and along the ridges. Having purchased more than six thousand acres from the daughter

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of Martina Castro, Charles Ford and John T. Porter started Loma Prieta Mill in 1883. This mill, taking its name from the Loma Prieta Mountains of nearby Santa Clara County, would eventually be a significant employer for the nearby company town of Loma Prieta, with more than 150 workers (Clark 1986; Harrison 1892). The company attracted workers with what was considered good wages, at $2.50 per day (Pacific Rural Press 1884b). Warren Porter was secretary of the company and would eventually become lieutenant governor of California. Porter was born in 1830 in Duxbury, Massachusetts. Against the wishes of his parents he embarked to California to make his fortune during the gold rush. His goal was to amass $10,000. Arriving in San Francisco on the bark Herculaneum, he soon discovered how elusive his goal would be. He began working in drayage and later was elected sheriff in Monterey in 1855 owing, it was said, to his sobriety in a period of rampant vigilantism. He became Collector of the Port by appointment from President Lincoln. By 1874 Porter was deeply engaged in banking in Watsonville and became interested in investing in timber operations. On 1 April 1884 the Loma Prieta Mill Company was founded. His son, J. T. Porter, would follow in his footsteps as secretary to the company. Other officers of the company included prominent persons from Watsonville. Timothy Hopkins was president, A. C. Bassett served as vice president, and N. T. Smith as treasurer. In addition to these individuals the board of directors included James Severance, James Dougherty, and W. P. Dougherty. These men managed to establish a capital stock of $500,000 (Harrison 1892, 193). It should be noted that Bassett and Dougherty were already in the lumber business. More critically for this venture was the involvement of the Southern Pacific Railroad (Hamman 1980). The Porter family built a large estate house overlooking the town of Loma Prieta. The house was spacious, with seven bedrooms where each of the company board of directors would stay when conducting monthly board meetings (Thompson 1995, 12). The site of the Porter house is today marked with a sign put up by California State Parks. There is little to suggest a house of such grand scale except to the eye of archaeologists. Bricks, glass, ceramic shards, and bottle fragments are scattered about under the forest litter. When it went into production, Loma Prieta Mill turned out seventy thousand board feet per twelve-hour day, more than ten times the output of the Nichols Mill. Several mills were operating at the time Loma Prieta Mill started production. The Hihn Mill, located on Valencia Creek, also claimed to turn out seventy thousand feet daily. Hihn hauled lumber three miles to wharf using a horse railway. Frederick Hihn was an immigrant from Germany who arrived in San Francisco in 1849. After a few false starts in San Francisco and Sacramento, he eventually made his way to

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Santa Cruz at age twenty-two. From humble beginnings, Hihn would become one of the most powerful lumbermen in the county by 1860 and a self-made millionaire. His involvement in railroading and later banking connected him to powerful political interests in California. His turn to politics sent him to the state assembly from 1870 to 1872. According to Dillon (1992, 78) Hihn was as ruthless and opportunistic as any of the capitalist robber barons of his day, through various means coming to own vast tracts of land in the Santa Cruz Area, including large swaths of the former Castro holdings (Newhouse 2013, 25). White and Dehart (Watsonville) milled twenty thousand board feet daily, the Enterprise Mill thirty thousand feet, the El Dorado Mill forty thousand feet, Cunningham & Co. forty thousand feet, and Santa Cruz Lumber Co. forty thousand feet. This lumber was shipped off the coast by loading doghole schooners by cable (Harrison 1892). Ignoring for the moment the smaller mills, these five mills alone turned out 310,000 board feet daily, all of it needing to be shipped to market (Harrison 1892, 196). Figure 1.1 provides a map locating the various mills in the surrounding gulches relative to one another. Tanbark was also harvested and transported by fifty mules regularly, each carrying a quarter cord. For comparison, a truly huge operation in the Sierra was the Sierra Flume and Lumber Company, with five hundred workers who turned out 50 million board feet in 1877 alone (Pacific Rural Press 1878, 1). In the 1880s competition in lumbering in the Santa Cruz Area also came from the Asa Simpson companies, of which more will be discussed in the context of shipping. The Loma Prieta Railroad was incorporated in July of 1882 and opened soon afterward, running 3.7 miles from Aptos to the town of Loma Prieta (Dunscomb 1963). Around the same time, Frederick Hihn emerged as president of the Santa Cruz Railroad Company, competing in the industry at every turn (Dillon 1992, 79). The Loma Prieta Railroad was quickly reorganized into the Pajaro and Santa Cruz Railroad with an ownership heavily intersecting the Southern Pacific. Its governing board, according to Hamman (1980) who comprehensively traced the history of railroading in the region, was a who’s who of the Southern Pacific, and included Charles Croker, A. C. Bassett, N. T. Smith, and J. L. Willcutt, all Southern Pacific executives. Hundreds of Chinese laborers were brought in, and at an astonishing pace they cut and graded the railroad line three miles into the canyon. The Sacramento Bee reported in 1883 that “200 Chinese were doing the grading alone, following behind choppers, who were all Swedes” (Hamman 1980, 41). By 1890 the Chinese laborers had laid seven and a half miles of standard gauge track and built eleven trestles (Amended General Plan 2005; Dillon 1992; Lydon 1985). Many of the trestles were rickety and frequently were damaged during storms. The cost of rail, at

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Figure 1.1. Schematic map of the creeks, gulches, and locations of various mills mentioned in the text. By the author.

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roughly $100,000 per mile, strongly suggests that without the investment of Southern Pacific Loma Prieta Mill would not have been constructed. From there northward, the grade required bigger cuts, and multiple trestles to complete each mile. Figure 1.2 gives a regional view of the principal railroad lines based on Hamman’s study. It can be seen that workers could easily reach most of the major towns of the region. This line was “no delicate narrow gauge operation with tight curves and steep grades; this was an audacious, arrogant, broad-shouldered assault on some of the most convoluted and complicated landscape in all of California” (Amended General Plan 2005, 38). “They did not go around ridges, they went through them; they did not follow the twists and turns

Figure 1.2. This schematic map of the central California coast shows the various railroad lines serving the mills near Aptos. By the author after Hamman 1980.

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of Aptos Creek, they straightened it out with trestles” (Lydon 1985, 93). Long sections of the railroad had to be rebuilt every spring to put back what nature had removed during the winter washouts. Tunneling was considered easier than going over the mountains in some places in Santa Cruz but had its own dangers (Lydon 1985, 98). The lives of numerous Chinese railroad works were lost constructing Wright’s tunnel alone, from explosions and gas leaks (Payne 1978, 41). In some places the rail line and the railroad grades where they cut into the canyon walls have completely disappeared. However, signs of the work remain. Artificial cuts through slopes, unusual modifications in terrain, partially buried railroad ties, and the timber foundations for trestles can be detected. Erosion of the canyons over the past century has exposed timber fill and shoring of spur lines, and lengths of rail are visible in the bottom of the creek. During the late nineteenth century the Loma Prieta lumber mill located just downstream from the townsite was the largest in the Santa Cruz Mountains. A three-hundred-foot long cribbed log dam was built across Aptos Creek just upstream of the mill and the huge logs were rolled into the pond and maneuvered in position to be drawn into the mill (Amended General Plan 2005; Calciano 1964b). A second smaller mill, named Monte Vista, was built one and a half miles farther up the canyon above the town of Loma Prieta; this mill cut logs that were being brought down the steep-sided Aptos Canyon. The Monte Vista Mill was moved to its final location seven miles above Aptos in Aptos Canyon in 1888, where it operated until all the good timber in the canyon was cut in 1899 (Amended General Plan 2005). The Pajaro and Santa Cruz Railroad dedicated an engine to the route to Loma Prieta. Engine No. 72, a 2-4-2 built by Stevens Company in the Southern Pacific shops in Sacramento, regularly operated between Loma Prieta and the coastal railroad lines (Hamman 1980).4 The earliest available Sanborn Insurance maps for Aptos from 1888 show the Loma Prieta lumberyard dominating a significant portion of town with numerous intersecting rail lines (University of California Santa Cruz Library Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps 1888, 1B). In a comprehensive examination of Chinese labor in the Monterey and Santa Cruz Areas, following a thorough review of contemporary newspaper reports, Lydon calculated that for every mile of track laid, one Chinese worker died (Lydon 1985, 88). Lydon describes a single incident when an explosion while tunneling for Wright’s Station near Santa Cruz cost thirty-two Chinese laborers their lives (Payne 1978, 41). In Santa Cruz, anti-Chinese sentiments were so strong that city managers responded to public intolerance of the presence of Chinese railroad workers in town by instead contracting thirty-two Cornish miners to dig the Santa Cruz tunnel, at a cost of $20,000. This was five times what the same work would

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have cost using Chinese laborers—the price of bigotry. The work lasted six months (Lydon 1985, 90). Homes were also built by the company for the “most important employees” (Clark 1986, 189). Throughout the logging operations in the Santa Cruz Mountains, clusters of temporary single-wall cabins clustered around the sawmills. Such logging camps were common in the mountains. The Loma Prieta operation, however, resulted in an actual town coming into existence. The town was an official destination on the Southern Pacific line, which meant anyone could purchase a ticket in Chicago that would list Loma Prieta, California, as the final destination (Amended General Plan 2005). Founded by the company in 1883, the town of Loma Prieta eventually achieved a population of more than three hundred. Loma Prieta was not a company town in the classic sense of being run by the company, but grew to serve the needs of the mills and the workers. The town was at the end of the Loma Prieta rail line that ran through the center with boardwalks on either side of the tracks. A letter from a resident dated May of 1891, cited by Hamman (1980, 52), describes an orderly place, with a post office, Wells Fargo Express office, taverns, a general store with a millinery, and “thirty-six houses painted and papered inside” (Hamman 1980, 52; see also Harrison 1892).The town comprised approximately sixty buildings, none of which remains today.5

Expansion of Operations In 1887, after sugar baron Claus Spreckels acquired interest in Loma Prieta Mill, the wharf was expanded to one thousand feet in order to accommodate his schooners shipping redwood timber to Hawaii (then named the Sandwich Islands) (Rowland 1947). Spreckels, who was born in Germany in 1828, had immigrated to the United States at age nineteen, settling first in South Carolina. In 1853 Spreckels was in California, where he established a brewery. He gradually realized that he could make a better living providing brewery supplies to brewers. After selling the successful business, he started the Bay Sugar Refinery, again selling in 1866 to open the California Sugar Refinery in San Francisco, with a plant that incorporated numerous technological improvements that shortened refining time. Spreckels developed and patented special centrifuges that enabled cube sugar to be processed directly from curing in twenty-four hours, rather than the usual several weeks required (Bay of San Francisco 1892, 354). By the 1870s his plant had an annual output of five hundred thousand pounds of sugar. Not content with these successes, Spreckels opened the Western Beet Sugar Manufactory in the Pajaro Valley of Watsonville, Santa Cruz County, while also investing in sugar plantations in Hawaii.

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It is at this juncture his commercial interests and capitalist enterprises intersect with timber. As detailed previously, in 1883 the rail line running up Aptos Canyon required 225 Chinese to cut, fill, grade, and put down track connecting the timber operations to coastal rail (illustration 1.2). The China Ridge in the park is named for the railroad workers who had been camped there (Lydon 1985, 105). Spreckels was responsible for importing Japanese workers to the Santa Cruz timber camps from his sugar operations in Hawaii. The wharf was further extended to 1,300 feet by Spreckels in the 1870s, but storms and tides had reduced the wharf to six hundred feet by 1889 (Newhouse 2013). The wharf expansion had been part of a plan to accommodate the largest schooners, including the future steamer trade. It is unclear how the Southern Pacific originally came to offer financial backing to the Loma Prieta Company, but it can be surmised that Spreckels, who also had financial interests in the Southern Pacific, may have had a hand in the negotiations. His business interests in Watsonville would have brought him into close contact with the local bankers and, as we have seen, the future founder of Loma Prieta Mill was well established in Watsonville banking. Spreckels acquired 6,600 acres of the former Castro holdings in 1872, and became interested in the idea of shipping timber south to the rapidly growing town of Los Angeles. To do so would require cutting a rail line through the rugged mountains linking to the Southern Pacific. He

Illustration 1.2. A rare period photograph of Chinese railroad workers in the Santa Cruz Area. Courtesy Aptos History Museum. Originally Pajaro Valley Historical Association.

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invested in the rail line and brought in five hundred Chinese laborers to cut through the canyons and set track in just six months. By 1892 the company had more than eight and half miles of railroad in the forest. The change was profound, with one contemporary author gushing, “One who had seen these forests in their virgin condition unacquainted with the possibilities of railroading would never have dreamed that the whistle of the locomotive would someday break the deep stillness of the wild and rugged mountains” (Harrison 1892, 194). This cavalier approach to rail construction with its complete disregard to environment came at a cost. Just as had been found to be the outcome before, each winter the rains washed out portions of the grades and trestles, both of which had to be continuously rebuilt each spring. Nonetheless, Loma Prieta Mill sent 140 railcars of timber, totaling 2 million board feet, to Watsonville for the construction of the beet sugar factory (Lydon 1985, 216). The arrival of Southern Pacific also signaled the beginning of Big Lumber. The mill operation was first rate, with many comfortable buildings for workers and families. In an 1888 contest with a mill on Valencia Creek, Loma Prieta Mill produced 181,000 board feet in six and half hours (Amended General Plan 2005, 39).This competition was reported by the local press between 17 August and 19 August as each mill tried to outdo the other (Hamman 1980, 59). The twelve-hour workday was common in the timber industry until the 1890s when workers began demanding a shorter workday. The Pajaro Valley Railroad connected with Watsonville, where Spreckels had established his sugar factory, with tidewaters at Moss Landing to the south. This line also linked to Aptos Rancho. In addition to these enterprises, Spreckels and his sons formed the Oceanic Steamship Company in 1881, operating between San Francisco and Honolulu. In 1881 King Kala¯kaua of Hawaii visited Aptos and rode the line to Watsonville as Spreckels’s guest.6 The Aptos Wharf was expanded to accommodate the ocean-going schooners. Spreckels’s son John became president of the Pajaro Valley Railroad Company, linking their Watsonville sugar refinery, shipping, timber, and general commodity shipping to the regional wharf, thus establishing a regional monopoly (Bay of San Francisco 1892, 354). In this context, the vertical integration of businesses by Spreckels, Porter, and the railroad interests can be understood as a classic example of the capitalist monopolies that were a hallmark of the Gilded Age. Walker refers to regional capitalism and resource bonanzas related to mining as being strengthened through integration (R. Walker 2001, 171–72). These concepts have applicability to the timber enterprises. While the character of resources capitalism is complex, in simple terms the control of each element of an industry, from resource to distribution and everything in between, allows for the complete control over market and price.

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Timber from the Santa Cruz region was used to build San Francisco, perhaps more than once since the city was prone to fires. However, owing to a lack of mills in the first years of the rush, many buildings in San Francisco were built with expensive boards brought in from China and Australia or around Cape Horn from the east (Hutchinson 1959, 3). Cut wood also fed regional lime kilns and brick factories such as the Adams Creek works in Santa Cruz (Kindon 2018, 73). Although these twin industries often had acreage of their own set aside for cordwood, those resources were rapidly depleted. Timber was cut into railroad ties and enabled rapid construction of rail lines throughout the Santa Cruz Area and San Francisco Bay Area. Rail and shipping lanes established future transportation corridors that affected local and distant development and served to link multiple industries and towns. Many of these corridors remain as the transportation networks in use today throughout the region. For example, Redwood City in the southern end of the San Francisco Bay was once a pivotal shipping center for timber arriving from both the San Francisco Peninsula and the Santa Cruz Area after rail lines were established (Spitzer 2015). It also was a principal site for rendering whales, and for tanneries. Whales were processed in Redwood City into the 1960s. Segments of modern freeways and the Caltrain commuter rail today follow the original routes toward San Jose and into the vibrant Silicon Valley.7 Shipping was a critical vector in timber delivery; while lumbering in the Sierra was common, there were no easy corridors for transporting it to population centers. It was logistically easier and more economical to bring timber to Sacramento or San Francisco from Oregon and Washington by schooner than to get it from the mountains less than a hundred miles away (Hutchinson 1959, 5). In 1887 the Loma Prieta Railroad spur line ran up the Aptos Creek drainage to serve the town and the lumber company. While most of the rail in the area was narrow gauge, of less than thirty-six inches wide, the main line was standard gauge, served by a single engine. Engine No. 72 was later supplanted by engine No. 80. Abandoned in 1928, the rail bed today has been repurposed into a popular hiking trail that passes within a few feet of the Loma Prieta Mill site and continues up to the site of workers’ housing. According to the Mountain Echo 8 April 1899, storm damage was so severe that the company elected to shut down the railroad and move operations closer to their Camp 2 deeper in the canyon. The mill was completely dismantled, and equipment sold off (Hamman 1980). The meager amount of timber remaining uncut in the area simply did not warrant further expense. Only a few years before, the Loma Prieta Mill Company had been in a fierce battle with other mill companies for supremacy in the market. In 1893 the Loma Prieta combined with the Hihn Company to force out Grover and Company in the Santa Cruz Area, and

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eventually prevailed (Evening Sentinel 1897). The newspapers reported on the expense of the battle. The same edition ran an article that, in Illinois, Chinese workers were being brought in to replace white miners and asked alarmingly what such a precedent might mean in California. Fires were a major problem for the mill. Although burning was a regular practice in timbering at the time for clearing brush and debris or removal of trees considered a hindrance to operations, a fire would sometimes get out of control or be sparked by lightning. The barren slopes were vulnerable to slumping and slides as a result. Fires at the mill could occur for many reasons. In 1904 the planning mill and other buildings, along with two hundred thousand board feet of lumber, were destroyed by a fire that started at the boiler. In 1876 a building originally owned by Grover & Co. was a victim. The loss was estimated at $20,000 (Evening Sentinel 1904a). In 1905 and early 1906 the winters were particularly wet and flooding caused damage in the pond, while sliding washed out the mill and camp. However, a new mill was built at the same location of the original in 1906 and would operate until 1917 with contracted work. This was the mill that our investigations revealed. The Loma Prieta Company rebuilt the mill just before the 1906 earthquake. During the 1906 earthquake nine men died at the mill camp when landslides buried them “as they slept in their bunk house” including the camp’s Chinese cook (Calciano 1964a, 1964b; Koch 1973, 160). So violent was the shaking that the railroad bridge in Aptos was damaged. The Evening Sentinel reported on the day after the earthquake that four men’s bodies were recovered, and work was underway to recover the others. The newspaper corroborates the account by Albretto Stoodley stating the men were sleeping in the cookhouse and in three cabins, which were buried by as much as twenty-five feet of debris. In naming each of the victims, the paper reported Charlie June, singled out as Chinese, among the missing (Santa Cruz Weekly Sentinel 1906a, 6). The Santa Cruz Weekly Sentinel reported a week after the event seventeen men dead in the camps and nine in Hinkley Gulch where the Loma Prieta Camp was located. “The landslide . . . hundreds of feet wide . . . was an avalanche of earth and forest that swept bare the vegetation.” In describing the environmental damage, the paper reported, “[The] stream filled with the avalanche which blocked the gulch and the damming caused the water to rise to 60 feet in places. Loma Prieta company executives estimated damages at $25,000” (Santa Cruz Weekly Sentinel 1906a, 6). At the time there were forty men employed at the mill. It is significant that the cook was living in the bunkhouses rather than isolated from other lumbermen or in the Chinese camp, suggesting a modest civil accommodation in a period rife with segregation. It is sad that the newspapers reported that all the men lost were married and had children.

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The town of Loma Prieta was badly shaken by the quake. Belatedly realizing that the hillsides were unstable, the Loma Prieta Company began a reforestation effort and planted fifty thousand eucalyptus trees. Ultimately these trees were found not to be commercially useful and the program was ended; stands of eucalyptus remain in the park today, however (Amended General Plan 2005). According to Stoodley, the cook had to be up early to get breakfast ready for all the men and would have been the first to notice the quake (Calciano 1964b). “His body was never found so no one is sure,” Stoodley states. Some said he probably was “frightened and ran off with his pigtail flying—you can never tell with a Chinaman” (Calciano 1964b, 76). Aside from the tone of these comments, taken at face value there is a hint that the cook had not suffered the indignity of having been forced to cut his hair as so many had in the early years of Chinese immigration. “There was no compensation for families in those days” and “many families were distressed. . . . They may have husbands or sons working up there” (Calciano 1964b, 77). Few in any industry had benefits if they were injured. The dilemma faced by workers in dangerous occupations was that injury could lead to dismissal. In fact, complaining about hazards could get a man fired. Medical facilities were often a great distance away if they were to be found at all. Loggers generally had a dollar deducted from wages for “hospital insurance,” but care was often mediocre or nonexistent (Asher 1986, 119). The account of a logger in Minnesota is illustrative of the situation: “A man who gets badly hurt in that camp bleeds to death before any assistance” (Asher 1986, 119). Often foremen were reluctant to provide aid and men had to treat themselves. Knott (2011) relates how one lumberman in Michigan performed an amputation on a fellow cutter. In the pre-workman’s compensation era the most unsafe industries were mining, transportation, and logging. A week after the earthquake the papers reported that the M’Abee Mill and Bloom Mill in Santa Cruz were racing to see who could be up and running again first (Santa Cruz weekly Sentinel 1906b). The goal was to produce timber for the many bridge repairs needed in the town. In an unrelated instance, the press reported that an Italian worker at Loma Prieta Mill by the name of Michael Cruce had his fingers crushed when caught in a belt-wheel (Evening Sentinel 1906a). Stoodley’s comments substantiate that many married men had families in town rather than in the camps. In fact, many workers at the mill had property nearby where they farmed during the winter months when the mill was not operating. Work in the mills usually was from spring through the summer because conditions worsened with rain and shorter daylight hours. On the other hand, fallers, buckers, and timbermen worked through the winter. Most of the Italians and Portuguese owned land away from the

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mill. Home, whether near the mill or at considerable distance, was an important focal point for maintaining social and cultural values, especially while married men were away living in industrial zones. The way in which cultural values were kept stable in immigrant households was the subject of Yans-McLaughlin’s study of Southern Italian immigrants in Buffalo, New York. Most Southern Italians, skilled and unskilled, faced discrimination in the nineteenth century that was nearly as harsh as the Irish. Yans-McLaughlin found distinct differences among Italian and nativeborn workers related to children’s roles in the family income stream and the ready acceptance of fathers’ absences in various industries. She suggests that, although men were considered in control and that households were “father dominated,” the home was nevertheless “mother-centered” (Yans-McLaughlin 1977, 70). Wives helped define the cultural continuity in the home when men were away. Building on this analysis, YansMcLaughlin further argues that men working in industries far from home were supported by their wives by a sense of duty and family loyalty, and that men were viewed within this social group as meeting their chief responsibilities to family by laboring. This was found to be an especially strong ethos among Sicilian immigrants and considered an important cultural trait. Italian immigrants who left family behind in Italy were risking much, but were understood to be fulfilling family responsibilities rather than escaping from them (Yans-McLaughlin 1977, 3). For Italian families where husbands worked in the seasonal trades there was opportunity every year for renewal and revival of ethnic and cultural values in the home. For instance, one might consume traditional foods at suppertime as opposed to the cookhouse fare provided by the company where volume took precedence over any sensitivity to ethnic diet. Nonetheless, seasonal work meant unemployment for an uncomfortable period and cities in California often were “crowded with unemployed Italians” (Giovinco 1993, 24). In the agricultural sector, Italians experienced unemployment even during peak harvest times. According to Giovinco, discrimination was worse on the East Coast and may have inspired migration west, but conditions had deteriorated by the turn of the century. In 1904 John Fugazi, founder of San Francisco’s first Italian bank, noted that unemployed Italians were scouring the area for work (Giovinco 1993, 25). The 1989 earthquake in the San Francisco Bay area that damaged the Oakland Bay Bridge and interrupted the World Series game between the San Francisco Giants and Oakland A’s had its epicenter at the Loma Prieta fault and is referred to by geologists as the Loma Prieta earthquake. The epicenter is marked by a sign on a hiking trail, but the zone is otherwise unremarkable—just a steep canyon with a stream. This quake led to the demolishing of the Cypress freeway structure in West Oakland. The resulting archaeological investigations by Sonoma State University of the

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area before new freeway construction began has provided extensive evidence of the culturally diverse community that had lived in West Oakland at the end of the nineteenth century (Mullins and Warner 2008). Many of the insights from the interpretation of material culture emerging from that project have been applied in this study, although our assemblage is considerably smaller. The final phase of the mill’s profitable run was from 1917 to 1922. According to reports in the Santa Cruz Weekly Sentinel, September 1922, more than seven thousand acres burned in the forest, forcing the final closure of the mill. This event brought an end to operations that were already winding down after 1920. It had become too expensive to open up the remaining stands of timber. Only a handful of men remained employed at the company, Michael Bergazzi among them. The company was facing economic failure and tried to lure buyers. A formal offer to sell the land to the federal government in 1934 at $28.50 per acre went unanswered. Albretto Stoodley went on to become a partner and board member of the Molino Mill, just half a mile from the Loma Prieta. Rumors that oil might be resourced in the region briefly enabled the company to sell prospecting rights and improve their balance sheets. It is not clear where these rumors began.8 However, oil was not discovered and again the land was left alone. High on China Ridge in Nisene Marks State Park there are remains of a Japanese camp (Thompson 1995). Toponyms such as these are important aspects of the landscape that hint further at the mosaic of cultures making a living from the forest, but also more darkly of the segregation into enclaves of immigrant communities affiliated with the timber industry. Although some Japanese woodcutters from Hawaii had been brought to the region by Spreckels at the end of the nineteenth century, most arrived at the timber operation after 1915 and played only a minor role. Although not directly stated, Japanese workers may have helped fill out labor vacancies brought about by World War I. Stoodley stated that finding good men during the war years was difficult even as demand for lumber increased (Calciano 1964b). Of course, Japanese Americans in California suffered the indignity of Executive Order 9066 that led to the relocation and internment of Japanese into concentration camps during World War II. This deplorable episode in U.S. history was not reasonably addressed until 1982, when a degree of compensation was provided to Japanese Americans who had been wrongly removed during the war or who had been convicted of resisting removal. Less well known is that thousands of Italians were also impacted by the Executive Order (Scherini 2000, 216). Italian immigrants who were not citizens had to file as registered aliens and many encountered job-site hostilities. In yet another intersection with these events, the paternal grandfather of my wife was required to register; in order to prove his loyalty to America, enlisted

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in the Army. He was sent to Japan for the occupation. My father, an American-born son of Italian immigrants, was in the Army and part of the Normandy invasion forces. Timber from Loma Prieta Mill not only went to San Francisco and local communities for construction, but also into the many regional lime and brick kilns. Maker’s marks from several kilns are represented at the site although, curiously, the majority of firebricks can be shown to have originated in England (Perry et al. 2007). This finding seems at first glance surprising because there were numerous local manufactures. Several lime kiln operations are to be found only a few miles away in Santa Cruz and brick companies within sixty miles. Cost was likely an important factor in selecting brick source. Of course, recycling can account for the incorporation of older bricks into more-recent construction. It is possible that bricks came to the location as ship ballast (Perry et al. 2007). Bricks were not the only artifacts found at the site with English pedigree, suggesting a direct trading relationship between mill owners and shippers.

Work Inside the Mill Former sawyer Michael Bergazzi recalled that the saws needed to be exchanged out and sharpened every two hours (Calciano 1964a). Two workmen were stationed in the mill solely to sharpen the fifty-four teeth. He also noted that the mill used a double saw arranged in a vertical stack. Details of this arrangement will be described later when I turn to mill operations. It is possible the saw was manufactured by the Pacific Saw Works in San Francisco, which began operations in 1865. The Pacific Saw Works patented a circular saw with detachable teeth in 1861 and in 1876 advertised a fully automated shingle-cutting machine. It is evident that the company was supplying many of the mill operations in the Bay Area. The tree felled in 1876 for the centennial celebration in Philadelphia, at more than ninety feet in circumference, was too large to ship in one piece and had to be sectioned and reassembled at the fair. It was declared a fraud and hoax by the newspapers, stating that no such trees could exist (Andrews 1958, 55). The cutting of a similar tree in 1859 aroused the anger and vitriolic denouncement of a frontier journalist. Writing for the Hutching’s California Magazine, the unidentified author proclaimed the cutting of the 92-meter-tall, 29.5-meter-circumference redwood a “sacrilege and desecration” of God’s handiwork (Anon 1859). While the tree cut in 1876 was cut with a thirty-two-foot-long crosscut saw, the great tree felled in 1859 was actually brought down by auguring and jacking over a period of five days. It was Pacific Saw Works that produced the saw that cut the giant sequoia (Sequoiadendron giganteum) in Tulare County

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for exhibit at the 1893 World’s Fair. As I examine the links of ethnicity and labor, my wife’s grandfather, returning from the war, came to work for Pacific Saw Works as a sharpener until he retired. Mill work produces its own assemblage of archaeological deposits. Broken detachable teeth were recovered at the mill site, but nothing to indicate the manufacturer, and they are of the incorrect size for the saw described in historical sources, so they may have been from saws in the shingle mill not mentioned by Bergazzi. Albretto Stoodley, who was the secretary of the company at the end of its run, also related how other resources on the landscape were used, such as hazelnut branches harvested for barrel staves, and tanoak bark being specifically gathered by local Chinese for the laundry in town and in San Francisco “to heat their irons” (Calciano 1964b). Tanoak bark was also a mainstay of the local tanning industry, which was an exclusive domain of Italians, and was an important trade in Aptos into the 1950s. Stoodley makes minor reference to the steam boiler that powered the saw. He also describes the use of two saws, corroborating Bergazzi (Calciano 1964b, 21) Fortunately for this research, Bergazzi described at length the arrangement of the saws and how these were powered. Such blade arrangements are rarely described although photographs from the early twentieth century are extant for mills in Humboldt and Mendocino Counties. A double saw arrangement is described by Praetzellis (1993) for Nelson’s Mill in far Northern California. Stoodley’s recollection concerning the waste location of the furnace used for disposing of branches and other waste wood as “across the creek from the mill” and that the structure was “bricked in the side of the hill” was critical in working out the orientation of the mill on the present landscape, which was anything but straightforward (Calciano 1964b, 20). Following near complete deforestation by 1899, coupled with the brief depression of that era, Loma Prieta Mill was no longer commercially viable and shut down. As mentioned previously, this led to dismantlement of the mill. The second mill closed down in 1922. Nonetheless, several artifacts, including ceramics and bottles with post-1930 manufacturing dates, suggest people living at the site in the 1930s. A caretaker by the name of Clarence Strock lived nearby in 1925 (Hamman1980, 79). Unable to find a buyer for the logged-out land holdings the final owners of Loma Prieta Mill allowed the acreage to return to a wild state. A general pattern among timber firms in California was to sell clear-cut lands for housing or ranch development, but the rugged and difficult terrain made such development untenable. Machinery from the second mill was sold and parts of the mill dismantled. The structure of Loma Prieta Mill itself burned to the ground in the late 1940s, possibly a result of arson, according to local lore. As development continued elsewhere, the fallow land where timber had been resourced gradually began to repair itself.

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The state first considered incorporating the land into the park system in the late 1940s but did not follow though. The land was purchased in the 1950s by the Marks family of Salinas, who gifted it to the state on the provision that it be maintained as a park and named after the conservation-minded family matriarch, Nisene Marks (Amended General Plan 2005). The California Parks and Recreation master plan set forth in 2005 recommended archaeological investigation of the park’s cultural heritage resources, historical and prehistoric (Amended General Plan 2005). Ironically, one reason standing architecture and remnants of the town and mills are absent from the park was due to the action by the Parks Department themselves who removed all vestiges of the industrial landscape in a well-meaning, but shortsighted, attempt to restore the landscape to its natural pre-industrial state.

Environmental Factors Redwood stands in California are chiefly along the coastal range, what has been termed the fog belt, where a steady diet of fog saturates the leaves and drips to the ground in great volumes of water. Dense forests of redwood can be found in both the southern mountains and the northern coastal zones. Writing about the difficulties of surveying the Loma Prieta mountain range in 1858, John Wallace, deputy United States surveyor, emphasized the chief characteristic of the landscape: its steep ravines. “The nature of the ground over which the exterior lines of this survey extended rendered the work one of the most arduous character. The mountains are very precipitous, the ravines steep and rugged and the whole covered with chemisal or timber and underbrush of the densest character, in many places impenetrable except by great labor in cutting through” (Wallace 1997 [1858]). A critical geographic factor has played a key role in the lumber trade of Northern California—the proximity of the forests to the sea and navigable waterways that allowed easier transport to markets than was possible in the south of the state. So impressive were the redwoods in Mendocino that a German traveler in 1852 wrote, “California for centuries will have virgin forests, perhaps to the end of time!” (Farmer 2013, 45). In 1882 a botanist with the California Academy of Sciences wrote, “Only a suicidal and utterly abandoned infanticidal policy, wantonly and untiringly practiced, can ever blot them out” (Farmer 2013, 46). Such a practice was soon to unfold. Redwood was cheap and plentiful. Jared Farmer cogently points out in his analysis of timber in the history of California, “All classes of people came into regular contact with it” [redwood] either through construction or in death (referring to the redwood coffins then

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popular) (Farmer 2013, 46). Redwood and oak were two of the many commercial trees that sustained the growing lumber industry. In the Santa Cruz Mountains great stands of redwood filled steep canyons, while oaks covered grassy hillsides. The geology of the region is one of deep faults, including the San Andreas and Zayante faults, sandstone deposits from a shallow sea some 7 million years ago, and shales. The past several million years has raised the Santa Cruz and Loma Prieta mountains. Fossil marine shells in sandstone formations are visible in horizontal bands in the surrounding hills, road cuts, and in the creek beds, and are concrete reminders of the seismic uplifting experienced by this jagged landscape. These poorly consolidated sandstones are unstable and prone to slides. Before the introduction of railroads, logs were transported by teams of oxen in heavily loaded carts or were “dogged” together to be dragged along skid roads. Timber skids were embedded in the grades to facilitate dragging the logs to the mill or to areas where they could be dumped into the millpond (illustration 1.3). Clear-cutting of the hillsides and steep canyons made sheet erosion inevitable, while the practice of allowing logs to slide down the slopes to the millpond cut deep scars into the exposed topsoil tenuously clinging to the slopes. With introduction of the Dolbeer steam donkeys even greater damage to the land occurred. As Hutchinson (1959) describes it, at the time there was no planning for sustainable

Illustration 1.3. Oxen pulling saw logs along a skid road. Before narrow-gauge railroads, this was the only means of delivering logs to the millponds or directly to mills. Courtesy Aptos History Museum.

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harvest or regeneration in the future in the forests. And why should they? The resource was believed to be inexhaustible. The act of dragging the timbers over the land left deep gouges. Donkey engines were basically steam engines with a vertical boiler that would wind up cables on large iron drums. Most stood eight to ten feet tall at Loma Prieta (Calciano 1964b). The Willamette ten by thirteen roader donkey engine, built in 1905, was a giant and an example of how the new technology was use by timber companies not only for moving logs but also for road construction. The engine is displayed at Sturgeon’s Mill in Sebastopol, California (illustration 1.4). Dolbeer’s invention was slow to be adopted despite its obvious value mainly because it was technology ahead of its time. Not until reliable steel cable was developed could the engines be applied fully to the jobs for which it was designed. The immense logs could not be dragged with rope nor could the donkey effectively pull itself into place. One-inch diameter twisted steel cables, and some even larger, enabled the engine to pull logs along the skid roads without breakage. The engine fireboxes were fed a steady supply of wood to maintain the pressure. Levers allowed the donkey boss to control the large drums around which the cables were wound. Loma Prieta Mill was still using oxen as late as 1892 rather than a steam donkey (Harrison 1892, 193). Sturgeon’s Mill has a similar physical layout and comparable scale to the White and DeHart Mill in Watsonville and has been useful for comparisons of mill configurations. The cutting routine followed was fairly standard throughout the industry. Fallers began at the creek bed and worked their way up the steep-sided canyons. The larger, better-grade redwood and Douglas fir trees were cut first. Smaller trees and those considered poor grade or with twisted grain were bypassed. Many of the larger second-growth forest in the canyons are these survivors that were spared the ax. In many cases, trees were cut merely to serve as a cushion for the larger trees to be felled. The preferred method was to have the tree fall uphill to avoid splintering from impact. The saw logs were peeled of bark and cut into sections. Cut logs were chained together and transported to the creek by oxen teams. The logs were skidded directly to the mill if it was close by but otherwise were loaded aboard flatcars and taken by rail. According to Bergazzi, gravity was a logger’s greatest ally (Calciano 1964a, 17). However, these dogged logs could sometimes get out of control on downslopes. Bergazzi describes one accident at Loma Prieta where the logs ran down and killed three oxen (Calciano 1964a, 41). All of this cutting, skidding, and hauling impacted the land on a grand scale. Water had formed the gullies and ravines that etched the canyon walls, and the logs were pulled down these natural watercourses to the railroad. Side canyon gullies were scraped clear, and the dirt, rocks, and

Logging History in the San Francisco Bay Area

Illustration 1.4. Donkey engine. This particular engine is the Willamette engine on display at Sturgeon’s Mill in Sebastopol, California. Still functional. Photo by author.

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other debris rolled into the streams. Sawdust from the mills was discarded directly into the creek. Sawdust was also burned to heat the boiler. Some was packed to be used in the boilers of small steamships (Calciano 1964b). Although the timber companies efficiently exploited the timber resources, lumbering in the period before 1940 was highly wasteful. An 1885 report of the California Board of Forestry estimated that rarely more than 29 percent of any felled tree was sent to market, the remainder was waste and found no market (Farmer 2013, 56). In other words, 71 percent of a tree was either burned or left to rot. Trees that had twists or did not split evenly along grain were abandoned. Road construction was expensive, and the cutting of rail grades was generally expedient rather than sensitive to terrain. Narrow-gauge lines transported timber to dumping locations above the millpond. Stoodley recalled that the rail used for these short lines was of special dimensions and had been imported from Essen, Germany, by ship (Calciano 1964b). Rather than follow contours, grades were often cut straight through hillsides with hastily erected trestles installed to traverse canyons. In one place the grade was so steep that trains were pulled up by powerful donkey engines from the top of the grade. Historical records detail how winter storms regularly damaged trestles and washed out rail beds, while the washed-out sediments clogged the streams, causing backup and subsequent flooding. As a measure for addressing these problems a permanent village of Chinese railroad workers was established to accommodate the need for constant repairs. Stratigraphic profiles extracted from each excavated unit in addition to core sampling reveal an interesting story of episodic flood and landslides inundating the site at irregular intervals. Silts and sand deposits reflect periods of flooding at the site; such events are known from historical records. Denser clays and muds were deposited at the mill site from eroded hillsides and the slides brought on by heavy rains and overflow from behind the dam. Such events undoubtedly created havoc and damage at the mill. In two locations of the mill excavations revealed brick floors buried beneath dense silty-clay deposits. New construction capped these deposits. Silty-sand deposits from the creek are layered over coarser mud deposits from the hillsides mixed with granulated sandstone. To carry out our environmental assessment, systematic core testing to a depth of one meter was carried out using a five-meter grid over the entire site. The team was unable to core in the immediate area of the burned timbers but managed to obtain samples on all sides. These forty cores confirmed what was evident in the unit profiles, that episodic flooding of the creek and mudslides impacted the mill site. The forest at Nisene Marks State Park is a rare recovering and historical landscape. As an essentially undisturbed century-old second-growth

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redwood forest, the area represents a unique laboratory for witnessing the process of natural rejuvenation. A section of the park has been set aside by the state and is monitored as an experimental forest (Amended General Plan 2005; Dillon 1992). This forest, however, is different from the original growth from which it has sprung and has a distinct and somewhat unnatural ecology with limited species diversity. The seeds of plant species that blew in or were transported to the barren slopes include many invasive (nonnative) plants. This was made even more evident during site mapping by using a camera mounted on a remotely piloted drone to view the landscape from six hundred feet above. Our project team used a custom-built drone for the purpose. Three-dimensional images provided useful insights into forest regeneration and the method could prove vital for future forest management. Where the forest is primarily redwood, deciduous trees cover and distinctly outline the mill site and other areas of past activity. This variation may stem from different soil conditions brought about by compaction and regular maintenance during the life of the industry. The immediate period of post-abandonment of forest harvesting, like that of agricultural fields, significantly influences patterns of plant invasion and succession (Christensen 1989, 122; Farmer 2013). Ecologists are increasingly aware of the longevity of environmental impacts of human activities (Christensen 1989, 116). The trees one views today are densely packed, sprouting from mother root stock in unnaturally tight clusters where natural spacing of trees is significantly greater (Amended General Plan 2005; Merriam 1915). These clusters are commonly referred to as cathedrals, and occasionally people are married within the circle. The individual trees within the cathedral compete for light, water, and nutrients. Redwood grows fast and tall, only slowly increasing circumference. Eventually one will dominate. The redwoods themselves, with time, will prevail over other species as they commandeer the water and shade out other plants. In his essay on landscape histories, Christensen (1989) points out that even segments of landscape that may have not been directly disturbed are influenced by factors affecting surrounding areas and that past events influence the properties of current ecologies (1989, 119). As the environment heals from the onslaught of industrial scale cutting, a weedy understory of succession species cloaks the remnants of historical industry, laborers’ camps, and historical technologies. Concern for the health of the industry and the rapid pace of deforestation was expressed as early as 1909 at a meeting of the Commonwealth Club of California. The deforestation was compared to the outcomes evident in other countries that then lacked forest resources. Despair over the damage to fisheries and creeks were also on the agenda that day. Trees retain water. The reduction of the forests resulted in year-round streams becoming seasonal, disrupting spawning and reducing the livelihood of

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fishermen. It was pointed out that, although great stands of redwood remained in the state, some were in protected zones and would not be available to industry, while the timber in the Santa Cruz Area was “largely cut over” (Walcott 1909, 37). Despite this report, the industry friendly California Magazine in 1915 cited statistics from Department of Forestry in California counting eight hundred thousand persons employed in the lumbering business, taking into account everyone touching the timber from transport to carpentry. Of those not cutting wood or directly milling, eighteen thousand were male clerks, and eight thousand were female clerks. The estimated standing timber was given as 381 billion feet. That is correct: nine zeroes. With a value at the time of $3.00 per thousand feet it remained a vital resource from extraction (Wendling 1915, 107).

Hollywood and Loma Prieta Mill In 1919 actress, film producer, and femme fatale Edythe Sterling starred in a silent Western movie called One Way Trail. The film was shot on location in Aptos and at Loma Prieta Mill. No reels remain, probably the victim of time, studio loss, and the fragility of the cellulose film on which so many silent era movies were shot. Sterling was a maverick in her day, not only as a female producer but also as the heroine of her own films. Rather than the winsome victim of villains waiting to be saved by her leading man, the opposite was often the case. Her leading man was likely to be the one tied to the railroad tracks hoping she would rescue him in the nick of time, turning the cliché on its head. A few studio shots and posters remain, but no copy of the movie has been found. The Library of Congress has only a record that the film was made. Edythe Sterling was fond of train wrecks and stock footage was shot whenever one occurred. At Loma Prieta a narrow-gauge engine would occasionally derail and, on learning of the event, Sterling was quick to get in a shot, perhaps with herself shown melodramatically sprawled across the engine.9 To see Loma Prieta Mill as it looked before ending operations would go far in answering several questions. Sterling’s femme fatale character can be seen as metaphor for both the wildness of nature with which women were commonly equated during the Victorian Age—not entirely dissipated in the new century—and defiance of the category. The men in the films always sought to tame her nature. It is fitting she chose the Loma Prieta location to make her stand of resistance. This chapter provided a brief background of lumbering in California, and the context and character of labor in the timber industry. In the next chapter the roles of historical immigrant groups, their various routes to the forests, and their diverse motivations for laboring in the forest indus-

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try are examined. The conceptualizations of ethnicity and the intersections with class are also considered.

Notes 1. Alan Leventhal, personal communication regarding the character of Ohlone social structure and misuse of the term “triblet” in referring to the Ohlone, 16 August 2018. See also Milliken 1995, 36–48. 2. Ibid. 3. Today Villa de Branciforte is remembered only by a roadside marker along Highway 1. 4. 2-4-2 represents the wheel arrangement of two leading wheels on one axle, four powered and coupled driving wheels on two axles and two trailing wheels on one axle. 5. Much of what had remained of the town was dismantled by California State Parks and hauled away. 6. By 1877 Spreckels had gained control over all sugar production in Hawaii, and even the king was in debt to him (Newhouse 2013, 40). 7. The original Spanish trail from Monterey to San Francisco remains as Highway 1. 8. Mentioned in the Amended General Plan (2005, 45) as stemming from a letter by Percy Wood, Wells Fargo Bank Trust Officer, to Albretto Stoodley, 4 August 1948. 9. I raise this episode to the reader in the hopes that one day a copy of the film may turn up. It would show the mill still standing.

CHAPTER 2

The Immigration Mosaic of the West

Not one in twenty among the adult Californians to be met with in the larger towns is a native of the State. —John Hittell, The Resources of California: Society, Climate, Salubrity, Scenery, Commerce, and Industry of the State, 1879 California was a culturally and ethnically diverse place to live even before the arrival of Europeans. Prior to waves of Spanish, Mexican, and Anglo fortune seekers, the mosaic of indigenous cultures that thrived in the state demonstrated remarkable adaptability to the many diverse and contrasting ecosystems. More than ninety languages and three hundred dialects were spoken throughout the geographic area between Baja California and the Oregon border. In the greater San Francisco Bay Area extending from Sonoma and Marin Counties in the north to Santa Cruz Mountains in the south, several indigenous cultures developed complex societies, and exploited the bountiful natural resources of the area while engaging in sophisticated trade networks that ranged from raw materials, such as obsidian, shell, and cinnabar, to crafts and manufactured objects, beads, and baskets (Beebe and Senkewicz 2001; Margolin 1978; Milliken 1995; Pavlik et al. 1991). Oak woodlands in particular served several needs in the San Francisco Bay Area, from construction materials to food source. However, it should not be imagined that the region was an idyllic Eden as it has occasionally been portrayed. Conflict between groups occurred prehistorically and with regularity as much for resources as for territorial control (Milliken 1995). In this chapter I examine the panorama of cultures that have contributed to California history, those that immigrated to the West from various backgrounds and circumstances, seeking to improve their lives. The variety of ways in which different immigrants came to labor in the timber

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industry is suggested, and the degree to which labor, class, and ethnicity are entangled. First contact between Europeans and indigenous Californians begins with the explorations of Juan Cabrillo. Departing from Navidad, Mexico, in 1542, Cabrillo’s voyage up the coast reached as far north as Mendocino at latitude 39 degrees. There is no evidence he came ashore in this rocky region. Cabrillo never completed his exploration, ingloriously dying on Santa Rosa Island on the return portion of the journey from an infection brought on by a leg injury. Contact with the Channel Island Chumash is a certainty. The Island Chumash were part of a larger social network and tribal affiliation that included powerful centralized chiefdoms on the coast in the area of modern Santa Barbara. Cabrillo was just the first European to reach the West Coast shores. English privateer Francis Drake arrived off California in 1579 aboard the Pelican (later renamed the Golden Hind) after successfully navigating around the tip of South America in a voyage intended to harass and plunder Spanish shipping. Drake was the first European to contact the Coast Miwok north of San Francisco Bay for a brief period before embarking westward in what would eventually be the first circumnavigation of the globe by an Englishman (Bancroft 1963 [1886]; Drake 1966 [1644]; Aker and Von der Porten 2000). Drake sent scouting parties into the interior and noted that the forested land was strikingly different from the coastal hills (Drake 1966 [1644]). This early description of timber resources suggests Drake was considering the political implications of his voyage back home. In the usual way of European explorers among indigenous peoples, he disregarded the natural inhabitants and took possession of the land in the name of Elizabeth I, christening it Nova Albion. Since the Spanish had already claimed the land, Drake’s declaration really served only political purposes. Before departing, Drake abandoned several mutineers ashore with only a small boat. Their fate remains an unsolved puzzle, although intermarriage with local tribes is a distinct possibility. The Manila galleon San Agustin under command of Rodriguez Cermeño arrived in the waters of what is known today as Point Reyes in 1595. Cermeño’s mission to explore and locate a safe anchorage on the California coast was inspired in part by Drake’s boldness at infiltrating the Pacific, a realm the Spanish believed was entitled solely to themselves based on the Treaty of Tordesillas in 1494. With this treaty, the pope divided the globe between Catholic Spain and Catholic Portugal. Another important motivation was the desire of Manila merchants to ensure safe passage of their cargos. The voyage of Manila galleons from the Philippines to Acapulco was among the most severe sea journeys on record and could last six months. Ships arriving off California often were low or depleted of food supplies or drinkable water, with crews withered and weakened by disease or from weather exposure, with two thousand miles

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of sailing still ahead of them. Finding and securing a safe anchorage and harbor along California’s treacherous coast was Cermeño’s mission. Ironically, Cermeño’s ship, San Agustin, was wrecked by an unexpected storm that left him and his crew stranded on the California coast among native peoples for several weeks (Bancroft 1886; Heizer 1941; Schurz 1939; Von der Porten 1972; Wagner 1924). Interaction between indigenous peoples and the crews of these various European ventures had significant impact on local tribes and may have introduced European diseases, and quite possibly DNA (Erlandson et al. 2001). The crew of the San Agustin included Chinese, African, and Philippine as well as Spanish sailors. In 1601, Sebastian Viscaino returned to Point Reyes in search of the wrecked San Agustin. Again, interactions between Europeans and Coast Miwok occurred. This encounter had tragic results. In a span of no more than twenty years the coastal people of Point Reyes had experienced three encounters with Europeans and other ethnic groups that likely affected their material culture in addition to their spiritual understanding of the world (Russell 2007). Owing to the wrecking of San Agustin, the Spanish Crown shied away from further seaborne exploration in California and settled for northward expansion from Baja California by land. All of the explorers mentioned here missed discovering the entrance to the San Francisco Bay. They appear to have all been drawn to the Farallon Islands located twenty-five miles west of the entrance to the bay. The entrance is difficult to find even when one knows where it is owing to regular banks of fog and a shoreline profile that blends in with distant hills. The great timber stands of the north coast, Santa Cruz Mountains, and the San Francisco Bay itself went unexploited by Europeans for another 170 years, leaving indigenous groups of the San Francisco Bay unmolested until the arrival of the Portola expedition in 1769, and Father Serra who led Franciscan missionaries soon after. The mission system, which began in Baja California at the end of the seventeenth century, functioned politically to solidify Spain’s claims of sovereignty to the California frontier. The Franciscan order established its first Alta California mission among the Kumeyaay in San Diego in 1769, and the system expanded northward until it reached as far as Sonoma, just north of San Francisco, in 1804. By 1823 twenty-one missions had been founded (Beebe and Senkewicz 2001). The system of the missions was a coordinated effort to pacify, convert, and subjugate the native peoples, and to obliterate indigenous culture while using Indian labor for the commercial interests of the mission. With forced relocation to the missions, native peoples were virtually enslaved as laborers (Borah 1970; Jackson and Castillo 1995). Each new mission was located at a day’s horseback distance from the next, and control was enforced by small military garrisons. Although never a large force, soldiers

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were routinely called upon to collect native peoples at the missions, which can only be interpreted as an indication that conversion or participation was anything but voluntary. The occasional uprising further underscores the coerced nature of the mission enterprise ( Beebe and Senkewicz 2001; Jackson and Castillo 1995; Lightfoot 1997; Milliken 1995). The Mexican War of Independence brought an end to the mission system and a plan to secularize the missions was set in motion. However, native peoples from San Diego north to San Francisco and deep into the Sierra foothills had been subjected to forced acculturation and servitude as Spain sought to remake them into a second-class peasantry (Beebe and Senkewicz 2001; Lightfoot 1997; Milliken 1995). On the eve of the gold rush and the global invasion to follow, the composition of California was largely indigenous with a Mexican/Spanish minority and a few Anglo Americans scattered about. To some degree the long-term plan for missions to form the core of population centers was achieved and many former mission towns are now major metropolitan areas in the state. The history of the mission system is outside the scope of this study; however, it is important here to note that the missions were the scene of the first timber cutting. As previously described, the influx of humanity to the state in a mad rush for gold had a profound impact on the environment and on native peoples, and threw together people of vastly different cultural and ethnic composition. The sleepy port of San Francisco with its rundown Presidio was transformed practically overnight (Bean 1968; Delgado 2009; Dillon 1959; Schwendinger 1984). Tens of thousands of immigrants arrived by ship from the American East Coast, as well as from Argentina, Australia, China, Hawaii, and literally dozens of other international locations. The gold rush era, as a unique period, has been the focus of countless studies from various perspectives and analytical approaches and we will not attempt to replicate those efforts here. This study focuses instead on aspects of the period often ignored, and those laborers not in the mines or gold fields.

Immigration and Conflict Just prior to California’s gold rush and coinciding with the 1840s copper rush in Michigan, the United States was already experiencing a general immigration from Europe, primarily from Ireland. From 1815 to 1860, 40 percent of all immigrants to the United States were Irish. Many were concentrated in urban industrial centers and Anglos viewed the suspiciously as competition for work in the mills (Brighton 2008; Orser 2007; Rotman 2000). Many sought new opportunities in the West in the years

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before the Civil War. Another great wave of low-skilled immigration would occur with the opening of the Panama Canal in 1910. Congressman Julius Kahn believed this would help California’s agricultural sector since “the Oriental never found favor,” and that the canal would enable Europeans to immigrate easily and provide cheap labor (Kahn 1915, 184). Kahn’s comment regarding “the Oriental” in retrospect was an astounding understatement. California had regularly legislated against Chinese immigration since at least 1882 and the Exclusion Acts passed by Congress that forbid Chinese land or business ownership, and strictly regulated immigration. California laws went further, legalizing physical abuse and levying taxes on occupations or business operated solely by Chinese. Constitutional amendments prevented Chinese immigrants from gaining citizenship, bringing their wives over from China, or of repatriating their dead back to China for burial. Immigration of Chinese women, which had been relatively unrestricted in the 1860s, was effectively barred completely by 1875 (Peffer 1999). Violence was perpetrated against Chinese miners in California as early as 1849 in areas outside San Francisco. In Chinese Camp an uprising occurred against sixty Chinese miners by white miners. In 1852 at Marysville, north of Sacramento, miners drafted a resolution prohibiting the Chinese from holding any mining claim in the neighborhood and penalized anyone who would sell a claim to a Chinese person (Lyman 1970, 72). The Chinese community, however, persevered and the oldest Buddhist temple in California, Bok Kai Temple, dating to 1854, remains active and an important spiritual center in Marysville. In this instance the concept of community refers to the diaspora generally. Annual festivals draw members of various Chinese communities from over much of the state and beyond for whom the term “diaspora” has more than academic significance. The original temple was destroyed by a suspicious fire. A new temple was constructed in 1880 about two blocks from the former site and represents both continuity and stability of the community writ large. The first Bok Kai Temple was built upstream on the Yuba River from the present structure. It was appropriately named the Bok Kai Mui, which means temple (mui) of the north (bok) side of the stream (kai). When the original temple was destroyed, the present one was built at the site of a bathhouse near the river (illustration 2.1). Bok Kai is believed to possess powers controlling floods, waters of irrigation, and the rains (Bok Kai Temple 2018). During a brief period in the early years of the gold rush, the Chinese were viewed as simply one of the many international fortune-seeking populations (Lyman 1970). Writing passionately about the cosmopolitan character of San Francisco, Lyman cites an 1875 observer who noted, “If you go to the theater, you may find yourself sitting next to a lady from

The Immigration Mosaic of the West

Illustration 2.1. Bok Kai Temple in Marysville. Interior view through front door. First built in 1851, it is the oldest temple still serving the Chinese community at large. Marysville was the scene of significant anti-Chinese violence during the gold rush era. Photo by author.

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the Sandwich Islands . . . [and] during pauses in the music you may hear French, German, Italian, Spanish, Russian, Swedish and Greek” (Lyman 1970, 88). Yet the Chinese seemed to arouse only alarm or disgust. By the late 1850s, however, sentiments had changed toward Chinese who were routinely and systematically driven from land, out of gold fields, and from their town sites until they had been marginalized into urban ghettos called Chinatowns (Hittell 1879). Writing of labor movements in America and conflict with Anglos in California, McNeil offered the opinion that it was natural the races should clash and that “history had given warning and that writers should be pardoned for their extreme views,” continuing in the same vein about the debauched and depraved character of the “Chinaman” (McNeil 1892, 432). McNeil’s writings, influential at the time, further complain of “the Chinaman invasion of the cigar factories, shoe factories and anywhere the serfs can sell themselves” (McNeil 1892, 434) exhorting against “the evils of Chinese immigration” (McNeil 1892, 435). The Daily Alta California reported in 1852 that the state was undergoing a sudden change of heart toward Chinese workers, from one of welcoming to being antagonistic, and the governor was recommending measures be taken to prevent “further increase of Chines or other Asiatics” (Daily Alta California 1852). An explicit rationale was that the Chinese were temporary residents and did not spend their gold in the state, but instead sent it to China (Daily Alta California 1852). Officially classified as Indians, Chinese were legally barred from testifying in court or from standing as witnesses against white defendants (Lyman 1970; Bean 1968). Chinese immigrants, nonetheless, remained a source of cheap labor and still found work in and around mill operations, canneries, and railroad construction throughout the West or in the fringe occupations of timbering (Ross 2013). A sympathetic tone respecting the Chinese and their contribution to California’s early prosperity can be found in John Hittell’s remarks from 1879: It is said the Chinamen are Pagans. . . . The Paganism is brought up only as an excuse for persecution. If industry, economy, sobriety, fidelity in service to the extent of their knowledge, humanity, peaceful disposition, good order, kindness of manner, prompt payment of debts, and attention to their business, be immoral, then the Chinamen are” (Hittell 1879, 45). Echoing the attitude was the editorial of the Sentinel, a Monterey periodical, reporting from Mariposa; “The Chinese throughout the mines are a sober, honest, industrious class . . . seldom interfere with others and content to work where Anglo-Saxon will not labor. (Sentinel 1856)

Writing in 1856 in an official dispatch to the Sardinian Ministry of Foreign Affairs extolling the virtues of immigration to California, Federico Biesta, who was serving unofficially in San Francisco with the consulate and who was prominent in the Italian Mutual Benefit Society stated,

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“Truthfully, in its products, climate, mineral wealth, freedom of speech, California has no rivals. . . . Thus California can attract immigrants and withstand competition.” Addressing problems, he argued, Among the causes that have stopped immigrants from coming . . . among lack of legal protections and injustices . . . mostly with reference to the Chinese, who, not knowing that though they be in a free land, their situation was almost the same as slavery. . . . The Chinese people are serious, intelligent, and hardworking. Treated kindly and fairly they are easily guided; if allowed to work in agriculture and industries, they would certainly contribute more to California than the mob of shiftless idlers of all nationalities who are, nonetheless, welcomed with open arms and who uselessly crowd the cities and cause trouble and disorder. (Falbo 2000, 72)

Biesta’s optimistic enthusiasm for Italian immigration contrasts starkly with the sentiments of the president of the Italian Chamber of Commerce in 1904, who suggested that encouraging Italians to immigrate to California would be a “grave error with dangerous consequences” owing to discrimination and unemployment (Giovinco 1993, 25).

Organized Labor against Chinese The Workingmen’s Party at the California State Constitutional Convention in 1879 strongly voiced opposition to Chinese labor and argued, “The Chinese coolie represents the most debased order of humanity known to the civilized world. . . . No amount of association or example can change in the least iota his repulsive filthiness or wean him in the slightest degrees the ways of his race.” This lengthy Workingmen’s Party diatribe of race hatred continues until it arrives at the issue of labor: “Disgusting and nauseating as is the contemplation of personal habits of this trait, it is however, to the influence which their completion with intelligent and civilized labor of the state in all our industries will have upon the future that the people are looking with most concern” (Lyman 1970, 92, citing The Workingmen’s Party of San Francisco). Similar sentiments were expressed by the Know Nothing Party in its quest to realize political power by stirring up working-class outrage (Bean 1968). It can be seen that the racialized fears were as much tied to labor issues as any other factor. Only thirty years earlier the same vitriolic attacks had been levied on Irish immigrants. In a period of growing wealth among the capitalist elite, finding ways to instigate working-class strife by pitting ethnic labor groups against one another, and linking labor threats with racial identification, served only the interests of the captains of the Gilded Age while yielding to the working class nothing. In a careful study of ethnic antagonism in la-

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bor markets, Bonacich (1979, 75) identified ways in which labor can be split where the cost of labor differs for any two groups capable of doing the same work. This cost of labor is not simply wages alone, but in addition the cost of recruitment, transportation, and in some cases housing, meals, and health care. At least two of these were factors in the timber industry. The cost of policing the labor might also be considered. Ethnic labor splits might not occur if groups enter a labor market having similar resources or goals. Labor splits might not fracture along ethnic lines, but could be based on gender, for example, where women are priced lower than male counterparts. The motivations of workers also play a role in labor markets, which is a factor that industrialists can also exploit (Bonacich 1979, 81). As immigrant groups of differing backgrounds and historically grounded motivations enter the labor market, they may present different costs, which provides an opening for using one to undercut another. These may be seen as along ethnic lines, even when ethnicity was not the principal factor. Employers “as a class want as cheap and docile labor force as possible” (Bonacich 1979, 81). The ethnic antagonism does not arise from an oversupply of equal-priced labor. Under such circumstances there is no advantage for an employer to hire one ethnic group over another. The antagonism surfaces when competition is fostered and one group is cheaper than another (Bonacich 1979, 84). The Chinese immigrants, arriving in California with motivations differing from Irish, Italian, or German laborers presented a convenient wedge group. Laws restricting employment of Chinese might have been conceived of as reserving employment for non-Chinese, but in reality served to keep them a cheap work force. Such legislation influenced in which industries the different immigrant groups could find a niche. Those arriving with desired skills might find they could navigate these troubled waters more easily than unskilled laborers, yet the latter could be used to suppress wages. Although many of the laws and amendments were eventually overturned by the courts as unconstitutional, this did little to change practice of discrimination or race hatred in the daily lives of Chinese (Lyman 1970, 77). The assumption of the day was that all Chinese were poor unskilled peasants, but evidence from excavations of laundries in Stockton, California carried out by Praetzellis and the Archaeological Center at Sonoma State University demonstrated that immigrant Chinese came from many social classes (Orser 2007, 138; Praetzellis 1999; Praetzellis, Praetzellis, and Brown 1988). Furthermore, not all Chinese lived in Chinatowns, opting often to reside in their businesses. Chinese laborers were not simply in California, but in the South, Midwest, and Northwestern states as well, where they also experienced similar suspicion and discord (Lyman 1970). Although in the earliest years of immigration until 1860

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nearly all Chinese lived in California, by 1870 only forty-seven thousand or about 75 percent of the total Chinese population in the United States were to be found there. Violence against Chinese was not only accepted, but was also encouraged at the highest levels. One Montana journalist of the Montanian, 27 March 1873, wrote, “We don’t mind hearing of a Chinaman being killed now and then, but it has been coming too thick of late . . . soon there will be a scarcity of Chinese cheap labor in the country” (Lyman 1970, 76). The state’s governor went farther, suggesting that Chinese came from a vile and debased country and the West did not need more Chinese, and that “[the] state needed more Norwegians, Swedes and Germans” (Lyman 1970, 76). Sounds all too familiar and modern.1 Southerners had a very different view of the Chinese and did not view them as a threat, but in fact as a contender to replace emancipated African Americans in field labor (Orser 2007, 132). Unlike the Japanese, who managed a few agricultural settlements, the Chinese tended to be concentrated into urban or small-town settings. Even when working away from the cities on railroad lines they returned to the cities when the work was completed (Lyman 1970, 77). A factor that must be examined and that sustained prejudice of the vilest and vitriolic nature is the fact that Chinese immigrants were viewed as competition by organized labor (Lyman 1970, 90–91). Labor unions were the most vocal against Chinese and many of these labor groups represented workers of Irish descent. Even African Americans took up the banner of anti-Chinese rhetoric, contrasting the Chinese inability to assimilate contrasted with the “rapidly Americanizing Negroe” (Litwack 1965, 168 (quote); Lyman 1970, 91; Woods 1968). Many anti-Chinese societies formed from labor groups in San Francisco suggesting the fears of the working class that Chinese laborers were too willing to work harder than Americans for less remuneration, thereby undermining unions. Of course, this is exactly what industrial capitalists desired, and using Chinese as strikebreakers was a strategy they used more than once (Orser 2007). In 1877 Frank Pixley of the Senate committee investigating Chinese immigration gave the following testimony before Congress (edited here for the sake of decency): The Chinese are inferior to any race that God ever made. . . . I think there are none so low. . . . Their people have got the perfection of crimes for 4000 years. . . . I believe the Chinese have no souls to save, and if they have, they are not worth the saving. . . . The Burden of our accusations against them is that they come in conflict with our labor interests; that they can never assimilate with us; that they are a perpetual unchanging and unchangeable alien element that can never become homogeneous . . . that they degrade and dishonor labor . . . [and] are a degraded labor class. (Lyman 1970, 94, citing testimony of Frank Pixley in Report of the Joint Special Committee, 44th Congress, 2nd Session No. 689, February 1877, p. 22)

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Despite all that, the Chinese as a group persevered and were accorded a degree of respite from daily oppression when they were insulted within the Chinatowns or work camps—although even these places were subject to anti-Chinese urban reformers who deemed them dens of immorality. Laws restricting the wives of Chinese from immigrating or legal immigration of women in general led to serious gender imbalances in the communities. Stanford Lyman provides stark demographic data from 1850 to 1890 that more than 100,000 Chinese men entered America while only 8,448 women immigrated in the same period. Not until 1920 did a ratio of ten to one begin to change. Several cultural factors contributed to this unfortunate aspect of life, but legal restrictions on immigration after 1882 did not help. Many women who did come to America were under the control of Chinese secret societies that had conspired to bring them (Lyman 1970; Orser 2007; Peffer 1999).

Railroads and Timber Chinese labor on the railroads is noteworthy and has recently garnered serious scholarship by archaeologists of relevance to this study (Dixon and Smith 2017; Polk 2015; Sunseri 2015; Voss 2015). These and other studies have investigated the nexus of material culture and identity. Much of the railroad construction through the West was carried out by immigrant Chinese (Voss 2015). This was certainly true at Loma Prieta (Hamman 1980; Lydon 1985). This component of labor and the prosperity of the West has become an important line of research in historical archaeology that links labor, ethnicity, immigration, and capitalism. Such a study deserves its own volume. The Historical Archaeology Journal devoted an entire issue to the subject in 2015, addressing a wide range of topics (Voss 2015). Of particular note with relevance to the study presented here are the efforts of scholars to frame the analysis by the materiality of identity and agency in the context of the Gilded Age (Dixon and Smith 2017; Shackel 2004; Shackel and Palus 2006; Sunseri 2015; Wurst 2006) and capitalism (Shackel 2009). Authors Dixon and Smith, and Sunseri have investigated the labor setting in the Sierra for Chinese laborers associated with railroad work and timber cutting. Dixon and Smith describe how Chinese, French Canadians, Italian, and Portuguese laborers were engaged in cordwood cutting, rather lowly work in the hierarchy of lumbering trades, and that conflict arose when an alliance of anti-Chinese Irish and French Canadians formed what they called an “anti-coolie brigade” to drive out the Chinese (Dixon and Smith 2017, 149). Only action by the sheriff and a posse of twenty men prevented violence—a rare occasion where authorities acted

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on behalf of laborers, and Chinese laborers at that. Dixon concludes that the actions of the sheriff underscore the vital and recognized value of the Chinese woodcutters to local interests. Sunseri’s (2017) work at the Mono Mills site in the eastern Sierra and its relationship to Comstock mining revealed unique alliances among local Piute and Chinese ethnic groups that directly influenced the material culture at the site. Sunseri found that racism was a daily reality that shaped labor relations and employment opportunities for railroad workers and those no longer employed in railroad work. Such experiences may have played roles in social identity and their resistance among marginalized groups. It is significant that both Chinese- and British-imported ceramics were recovered, as well as materials recognized to be related to traditional Chinese foodways, such as soy sauce containers and imported food containers. In his comprehensive analysis of Asian transnationalism, Ross (2013, 107, 110; Ross 2017, 190) describes the importance of diet for communal identity, noting that often traditions were tempered by local circumstances, such as the lack of availability of particular ingredients, requiring substitutions that led to a modified cuisine. Nearly all of the construction of railroads in the Santa Cruz Area and particularly in the Hinkley Gulch and forest being harvested by the Loma Prieta, Molino, and other mill companies, was completed by Chinese workers. As the company pushed deeper into the forest, more and longer narrow-gauge grades had to be cut. Grading was arduously carried out by shovel and pick. In some instances, long curving trestles were constructed through the forest rather than grades, although documentary sources suggest these were built by Cornish or German labor. Such a line was advertised by the Sothern Pacific in their promotional materials for the Pajaro and Santa Cruz Railroad (Thompson 2003, 36). As described previously, the degraded environmental conditions created by clearcutting led directly to unstable hillsides and constant winter washouts. The establishment of a village for Chinese railroad workers ensured laborers were always on standby to make repairs or to construct new lines. This village within the park has not yet been archaeologically investigated and awaits inquiry. An interesting contrast is evident when one steps back and views how the anti-Chinese perspective played out in the years between 1870 and 1920. Not everyone in America shared labor’s concerns nor viewed Chinese in the same terms. Paradoxically, a second trope was common across much of America—that of the “mysterious Oriental, “the celestials” from a mysterious place, and the Chinese as curators of ancient wisdom. Many Americans who had never had contact with Chinese immigrants fashioned a mythological image of China in their minds. Chinese décor and bric-a-brac could be found in stately Victorian homes as Chino-esque

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styles came in to vogue, especially in theater where such notions were reinforced through imagined Chinese décor. One of the more bizarre contrivances of the period was the popularity of Chinese magicians on stage and in theater, which both fed on and further crystalized the characterization of the mysterious Oriental trope well into the 1930s, if not to the present. At the close of the nineteenth century the great Ching Ling Foo was such a popular entertainer that his performances regularly sold out in major venues in large cities and several imitators followed. An ironic twist of the period in light of the discussion above regarding various immigrant communities was the popularity of another great Chinese conjuror, Chung Ling Soo. This silent performer, who communicated only through a female interpreter, was also a sensation wherever he played. Only after his death on stage during the famous bullet-catching illusion was it discovered he was actually not Chinese, but in fact, a Scottish American named William Robinson (Steinmeyer 2005). Robinson was the son of Scottish immigrant parents. His father had been an entertainer in the popular minstrel show circuit, a form of primitive vaudeville theater where white performers painted themselves in blackface and sang with mock Southern accents to imitate Southern blacks. While blacks were not permitted on stage in much of America, white men portraying black men was accepted. It is a cruel irony that many African American entertainers could also work the same circuit by putting on blackface. White America seems willing to have allowed black entertainers in the guise of white men pretending to be black. Masterful and skilled though he was, it was only as a Chinese performer could Robinson achieve the fame and accolades he had been unable to achieve as a white performer. He did so by capitalizing on the misconceptions and racialized imagination of the American public pertaining to Chinese the exotic other.

Italian Workers While Chinese laborers struggled against racial bigotry among the working classes, other immigrant groups such as the Irish and the Italians also experienced intense discrimination, even as they sought to elevate themselves above the Chinese. What Irish and Italian immigrants shared was that both groups occupied some of the lowest rungs on the social ladder of nineteenth-century America; those two nationalities were not categorized as white until at least the turn of the twentieth century (Di Leonardo 1984; Lothrop 2000; Orser 2007). Indeed, Italians occupied a middle zone between Caucasian and Negroid, in a quasi-racialized status termed Dago, and were not fully categorized as white until World War II (Luconi

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2016, 181). Both Italian and Irish were likely to be Catholic, itself a category denigrated by mostly Protestant America. It should be remembered that as late as 1960 there were those opposed to John F. Kennedy’s nomination for president—not on the grounds of party, but rather because of his Irish and Catholic affiliations. Arguments against the Irish as tools of the papacy current in the 1860s were reprised for the 1960 election. While those of Irish heritage were divided by American society into groups based on when they arrived in America, Italians were more frequently sorted by where in Italy they had originated. Northern Italians were generally viewed favorably by Anglo American society compared to Southern Italians. This distinction was in part due to skin tone, but principally due to skill levels. The stereotypic image that many Italian immigrants were peasants is baseless. Immigrants brought with them a wide assortment of skills and many industries actively recruited Europeans as a docile work force (di Leonardo 1984; Giovinco 1993, 2000; Yans-McLaughlin 1977). Italians were among the earliest immigrants in California, arriving soon after the Spanish although they were few in number (Sensi-Isolani and Martinelli 1993). Those arriving during the gold rush came from a variety of backgrounds with differing skill sets. Discrimination forced many Italian miners to become shopkeepers, but many prospered, leading to the quip, “The miners mined the gold, the Italians mined the miners” (Sensi-Isolani and Martinelli 1993, 9). Italians were attracted to numerous occupations, including quarry work near Santa Cruz. Those with agricultural backgrounds seasonally engaged in olive picking, hops harvesting, and lumbering. It is evident from these accounts that, as with other minorities, class and ethnicity emerged in parallel. The designations of Irish or Italian are not inclusive and homogeneous. The use of these ethnic classifications requires deconstructing so as not to apply them too loosely, as if national origin and ethnic history are interchangeable. Modern understanding of the terms may also not apply, owing to how ethnicity is constructed and the fluid character of such definitions (Brighton 2008; Fitts 2002; Luconi 2016; Orser 2007; Ross 2001). There were as many different populations in Ireland as there were in Italy. Migration is a result, suggests di Leonardo (1984), and not a cause of linkages among nations. It is “part of the changing global economy in which demand for labor itself migrates and alters with uneven capitalist development” (di Leonardo 1984, 48). Migration of labor was a factor early recognized by labor critics as influencing stable patterns of industry (McNeil 1892). Italians, like Irish, like Chinese, were, in various locations and at various times, used as pawns of capitalist interests to undercut organized labor. In a study of working-class industrial labor history at Virginus Island, West Virginia, near the town of Harper’s Ferry, Shackel

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and Palus (2006) found that capitalist managers used various racially constructed tactics to keep checks on labor, in essence maintaining the fear that one labor group was a threat to another. One result was the further racialization of organized labor “until hard won labor entitlements were exclusively white privilege” (Shackel and Palus 2006, 832). Shackel and Palus link these tactics to the broader corporate paternalism of the Gilded Age that strategically nurtured labor allegiances to the company. Similar tactics were applied on the West Coast in various labor venues, including timber camps. Using coal labor as an example, Wurst and Mrozowski (2016, 81) found that the ideology of capitalism reinforced the acceptance of inequalities. The company town model was widely practiced and has been investigated by archaeologists in many urban settings. Through provision of housing, services, and goods in company towns, corporate paternalism inculcated a set of values while suppressing labor discontent with working conditions. In the timber industry a practical tactic was the provision of food for workers, ensuring them a full belly (Franzen 1992). Archaeology at Virginus Island revealed that working-class households acquired the material culture reminiscent of middle-class Victorian ideals and exercised similar ideologies related to personal health and hygiene, a topic to be considered further in a discussion of Irish practices. In addition to Victorian ideals relating to behavior, rising consumerism and consumer values played a role in the inculcation of working-class values (Jelin 1979). This concept has also been explored by Hardesty (1980, 1998). Important values of Victorian ideals were social attainment and ambition, and a way in which this could be broadcast was through consumer goods associated with class mobility. These findings have bearing on the labor population at Loma Prieta. Jelin’s (1979, 246) critical examination of the embourgeoisement theory of the working class sheds light on the trends of consumerism at the turn of the nineteenth century as improving standards of living combined with expanded spending power in the general population. While most purchases were of practical use-value, a significant percentage was focused on status-oriented value. Tangentially, a shift in lifestyle made possible through consumer practices led to subtle changes in political consciousness. While embourgeoisement theory suggests a shift away from collective action toward defense of personal interests, this was not always the case and working-class movements were strengthened as unionization locked in labor-oriented values (Jelin 1979, 254). From this analysis it is evident that caution must be exercised when assessing material culture associated with workers’ households and assigning ethnic or cultural meanings. The Italian state finally unified in 1861, and during the nineteenth century the records on Italian immigration were erratic on both ends of the

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journey. It is estimated that between 1869 and 1875 more than a hundred thousand Italians illegally entered the United States, many travelling with falsified passports (di Leonardo 1984, 49). Many came with the intent of returning and some evidence exists that many immigrants returned back and forth several times, often being recounted as new immigrants. This was an old pattern in Europe for Italian laborers, practicing a seasonal migration strategy enabling them to work in various industries as labor demands required. Development and integration of capitalist world economy served to create an environment in which labor became fluid. Largescale industrial growth in the United States after the Civil War created a demand for inexpensive labor. It was not just famine and environmental calamities that brought labor to America. Heavy inducements by industry and collusion with shipping fueled the immigration boom in the 1870– 1880s. However, the first choice for the mainly young male immigrants was not the United States, but rather Argentina, Brazil, and other South American destinations. Italian ethnicity is a complex matter. There was no Italian state until unification. Regional distinctions were of greater significance to individuals, with unique historical foundations, dialects, traditions, and political affiliations. Rather, those immigrants from geographical Italy more readily identified with the region from which they originated than from a nationalist consciousness (Romanucci-Ross 1995, 74). The Italian label was as foreign to them as the American label well into the early twentieth century. In deconstructing Italian ethnicity, Lola Romanucci-Ross (1995, 75) questions how group affiliation and consciousness of that affiliation come to be identity markers. How was it memorialized and remembered? One element for consideration is that identity is not simply what one is, but what one is not. This awareness and constant contrasting of self to others impacts how groups strategically react to the dominant social group—either by attempting to assimilate (adopting language, habits, attitudes, and display of appropriate material culture to reflect aspirations of acceptance), as Fitts (2002) deftly demonstrated, or through intensification of differences to form a distinctly different minority marked by pride in origins (Romanucci-Ross (1995, 76). As such, the once heterogeneous immigrant groups gradually become homogeneous through a tacit historical and cultural editing that transcends the regional distinctions to create a new cohesive identity. In many respects the immigrants from Italy did not consider themselves Italian until they arrived in the United States and were so labeled. The implications for the archaeological record are that adoption of material culture common to the dominant society and serving as identity markers to class may mask the presence of minority ethnicity. Not unlike the Chinese, many Italians sent significant portions of their earnings home as remittances (Giovinco 2000). Women who immigrated

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also defy the stereotype of the peasant girl; most had craft skills, were shopkeepers, or had engaged in home production. Others had domestic service skills or familiarity with industrial operations (di Leonardo 1984, 52). However, skill levels varied greatly depending on which regions the immigrants came from. On arrival, Italians found themselves at or near the bottom of a hierarchically ordered white labor force that included Swedes, Irish, Germans, and Eastern European Jews. These diverse groups spread out from East Coast ports into the Midwest, finding lowly positions in mining, manufacturing, and agriculture. The record for Italians in California is as incomplete as for the rest of the country and in some ways more problematic. According to di Leonardo (1984, 55), lost census records and inconsistent identification of ethnic Italians makes accounting of immigration inaccurate and historians must rely heavily on unreliable secondary sources. Nevertheless, it can be calculated that California was one of the major destinations for Italians in the United States and counted more than a quarter million immigrants at a time when California’s population was only 1 percent of the national total. The first immigrants arrived during the gold rush along with others. And like so many other non-whites, they were driven off mines by white miners. Mediterraneans, as they were classified, were not initially perceived as part of white America, similar to the experiences of Irish immigrants (see Orser 2007). Gradually, Italians from various origins inserted themselves into agriculture domains, orchards, timber, and railroad work. In urban areas such as San Francisco, Italian capitalists and bourgeois established themselves as an elite class among the more proletarian leaning immigrants. The founding of the Bank of Italy (later Bank of America) serves as an example. Two different patterns of immigration are apparent from first- and second-generation arrivals in California that contrast with strategies used elsewhere for settling. One pattern involved migrants sending the bulk of their earnings home, and these individuals largely ignored property acquisition or improving literacy in English. It can be surmised most had the intentions of returning to Italy. The second pattern involved minimizing Italian connections, learning English, and purchasing property, while attempting to achieve higher status for themselves or their children (di Leonardo 1984, 58; Fitts 2002, 8). One manner of signaling the Americanization was through material culture, especially clothing (Fitts 2002, 5). Using 1890 census records, di Leonardo found the Irish in Massachusetts overwhelmed Italians thirty-three to one, but in California they outnumbered Italians only four to one. Gradually these numbers evened out, while Italians outnumbered Irish in San Francisco two to one. A second wave of Italian immigration occurred after 1900. Most came directly to California from Italy. The term “chain migration” has been

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used both as an explanation and pejoratively to describe a process wherein new immigrants are drawn to a region because of kinship or other links to immigrants already in place. Often work and lodging have been guaranteed. Early migrants cushion the arrival of the next migrant. Di Leonardo (1984, 61) examined this phenomenon among Italians in California in terms of labor and capitalist development. Italians were encouraged to immigrate as a means of union-busting with cheap labor the same way Irish, Chinese, and other non-Anglo groups were exploited. Italians joined groups all over Northern California, including in Oakland, San Jose, and San Francisco. In San Francisco Italians formed the nucleus of a robust fishing community and introduced a distinctive Mediterranean-style vessel (the felluca), for working the bay. However, these would be principally Southern Italians. According to Stoodley, the Italians at Loma Prieta Mill were mostly Swiss-Italian (Calciano 1964b). The Swiss Italian were characterized as having Teutonic blood by Hittell (1879) and grouped ethnically in the late nineteenth century with Scandinavians; they make up a distinct identity among Italian immigrants (Raup 2000). Sicilians, on the other hand were categorized among the dark races. Research of Italian immigration suggests that an important European port of embarkation was Marseilles in Southern France. Some Italians were misidentified on arrival to the United States as French, especially if they were French speaking. This fraction tended to be unskilled compared to the farmers or skilled workers arriving directly from Italy. In yet another personal intersection, my wife’s maternal great-grandmother of Italian birth was sent as a young girl to Marseilles to become a domestic servant. Many teenaged girls had the same fate. She was fortunate enough to return to Italy for her embarkation to the United States. After marriage she waited eight years until her husband in America had saved enough wages to bring her over.

Portuguese at the Mills Embedded in the Bergazzi interview are statements concerning the ethnic groups working at Loma Prieta Mill (Calciano 1964a). In addition to Irish, Italians, Finns, and Swedes, he makes mention of Portuguese. He jests that the Japanese were too smart to work in timber, although this comment may simply sidestep the very real segregation that existed in the industry. From his perspective, each of the different nationalities were different races and the terms “ethnicity,” “race,” and “nationality” were interchangeable. Bergazzi comments that all the men intermingled and got along fine during labor hours (six ten-hour days, down from the twelvehour days in the late 1800s), but tended to go their own way on their day off. Albretto Stoodley remarked in his interview that the Portuguese were

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the least likely among the workers to learn English or try to assimilate, suggesting they constituted a discrete group in the camp. From the perspective of archaeology, the ongoing debate about how immigrants become incorporated into mainstream society has implications for the interpretation of material culture, since a site is seen as a repository of everyday immigrant experience likely representing a dynamic rather than linear process of adaptation in response to the host society’s definition of national identity. Kathleen Hall (2004) discusses this problem in the context of ethnography, noting that processes of assimilation and acculturation continue to underpin analyses of cultural change, based on subjective choices made by groups about which cultural features they considered important to keep, and that were no longer meaningful. This implies that ethnic identity is created within bounded national identity, a reified institution that does not account for the dynamic nature of national-identity formation itself (Hall 2004, 109). A study of Portuguese shore whaling in California in the greater San Francisco region was undertaken by Meniketti, Mistely and Johansen in 2012 with particular focus on the gradual assimilation and transition of the maritime community into San Jose (not yet published). This work is extrapolated by Mistely (2013). Their work is closely followed here. Whaling is yet another extractive industry since the harvest of whales, like fishing, mining, timber cutting, relies on the creation of wealth through commodification and extraction of naturally existing products. Shore whaling was an important industry in California and whale oil had a wide array of applications. The main purpose of the study was to understand how immigrant populations came to California and to examine how these groups have changed over time. While still acknowledging the intracultural diversity of Portuguese enclaves in the United States, many Portuguese-speaking immigrants originally came from the Azores rather than from mainland Portugal. The immigration history of people from these islands is partly a reflection of their geographic isolation from Portugal’s mainland, but is also shaped by socioeconomic, political, and natural forces that have contributed to a uniquely Azorean culture. For example, the Azorean connection to the whaling industry might be interpreted as a consequence of their island way of life, one that was always associated with their close proximity to the sea. Whaling was a means for Azorean young men to reach America, rather than a continued way of life once they became established in locations such as California, where fishing was not the main contribution to the state’s economic growth (Mistely 2013). Whaling opportunities were created when a strong market for whale oil emerged to meet the demands of machine lubricant and domestic lighting during the Industrial Revolution in the early nineteenth century. Additionally, overhunting of coastal

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whales necessitated longer trips to locate new whale stocks, even as ship owners in the industry’s New England base found it more difficult to recruit crew members (Bertão 2006, 4–7). From the perspective of ship’s captains, the waters around the Azores were known to be a good hunting ground for whales, and the islands, a convenient place to stop for ship repairs and low-cost supplies. Thus, Azorean young men were provided with an opportunity to improve their economic chances by working as seamen on the whaling vessels and the possibility of work in America once their ships docked. Although their emigration was driven by a bleak economic outlook in their homeland where a lack of land could not support a growing population, the loss of their large numbers to emigration meant that this hiring practice effectively undermined the number of recruits needed to maintain the Portuguese military. Although emigration of this demographic was barred by the government, an illegal market thrived, perpetuating the smuggling of Azoreans onto American ships known as “stealing Portuguese” (Bertão 2006, 11). While Portuguese immigrants on the East Coast chose urban destinations, Alvin Graves’s study of the Portuguese in California reveals the significance for agriculture as a preferred rural settlement pattern that had its roots in the Azores (Graves 2004, 4). Subsistence in the Azores consisted of a land tenure system of tenant farmers that formed a peasant class in which most of the population experienced chronic poverty and social stratification (Graves 2004, 10–12). Rather than contradicting their role as fishermen, Graves interpreted their adoption of agriculture as a logical projection of a traditional way of life that had combined shore whaling with off-season agriculture. Many who came to work in the shore whaling did so for less than a generation. The transition to agriculture and timbering was relatively rapid. The physical landscape of the San Francisco Bay Area and beyond has changed significantly through years of development, industry change, and environmental modification. Yet in places there remain hidden elements of the maritime past. Both Nichols (1983) and Fox (2001) reference early works by Scammon and Starks citing at least eighteen locations that existed along the coast of California during the early period between 1854 and 1900 (Fox 2001, 12; Nichols 1983). The literature, however, is inconsistent and confusing (Fox 2001, 13). Some scholars credit John Pope Davenport with setting up the earliest whaling station in Monterey, listing his name as captain of the Monterey Bay Whaling Company. Other records assign that title to different individuals. Adding to this confusion, it was common practice for whaling stations that had been closed by one captain to reopen under a different authority, a person who would likely bring an entirely new crew of sailors to that location (Bertão 2006).

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Understanding the mobility and ethnicity of workers at different whaling locations is complicated by the fact that names, when available, may cloud rather than clarify the record and the fact that places of occupation dynamically changed (Mistely 2013).Some whalers changed their names, and groups of shore whalers, as is indicated above, moved from one location to another as whaling activities varied with changing maritime conditions (Bertão 2006). The census and tax records from San Mateo list names that reflect this complication of identity. John Bennett at the Pigeon Point whaling station was also known as John (João) Bernard, originally from Ponta Delgada, in the Azores. The announcement of his death in 1902 listed his name as Capitão Bennett, a resident of Gazos Creek (Bertão 2006). Stations operating along the central coast during this period included Half Moon Bay, Pigeon Point, Santa Cruz, Carmel, Point Sur, and Bolinas Bay, and Crescent City to the north. Stations south of Monterey included San Simeon, Port Harford, and Cojo Viejo. Two stations were located in San Pedro Bay, one at Dead Man’s Island and the other at Portuguese Bend (Nichols 1983). Bertão also cites controversial references to a station at Pillar Point, north of Half Moon Bay, noting that an 1861 coastal chart included an annotation of a Whaleman’s Harbor at that location (Bertão 2006). Members of communities where shore whaling took place include whalers who over time were represented by different cultural groups, their descendants, and unrelated individuals subsequently living in shore whaling locations. Immigration to the United States in the shipping and fishing industries included a rich amalgamation of multinational participants from “Africa . . . Hawaii . . . the Caribbean . . . [and] the British Empire” (Fox 2001, 15 [quote]). For example, fishing on the Monterey Peninsula involved several separate competing groups. Portuguese whalers established the Monterey Whaling Company in1855, but by 1880 they were providing local and San Francisco residents with fish. Previously, in 1873 and 1875, Italian fishermen competed with Chinese who were settled in the area in prior to 1870 to harvest abalone. Competition in the abalone market eventually forced the Chinese to become squid fishers moving south to Point Pinos, Point Lobos, and Carmel..Abalone was also being harvested from a camp at the Aptos Wharf and at Capitola (Lydon 1985, 31). Before Chinese communities experienced the full assault of labor restrictions, they had worked in several capacities including as cigar rollers at a Watsonville factory in 1863 and as hops tenders for brewers in 1871 (Lydon 1985, 66. For a comprehensive account of the industry see Braje 2016). The presence of multiethnic groups of workers at given locations indicates a cultural complexity not necessarily captured through a historical lens (May 1986, 7). For example, archaeological work conducted in the

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early 1980s in San Diego revealed activities of European mariners resettled in California after first arriving in the East (Kelly and May 2001, 1; Nichols 1983). Artifact recovery during excavations at the Point Loma district site reflects this complexity, revealing that, although different groups worked together, they lived in distinct communities that were racially and ethnically segregated (Kelly and May 2001, 12). Descendant communities illustrate similar complexities. As an example of a Portuguese community today, the Five Wounds area known as Little Portugal in East San Jose provides a good background for understanding how different waves of immigration have contextualized individual and family histories of people connected to this historical neighborhood. By 1892 present-day West Oakland was considered the unofficial capital of the Portuguese in California, with the national church of St. Joseph’s being the community’s nucleus, and their splendid festivals an exemplar to other Portuguese societies (Mistely 2013). California shore whaling among the Portuguese was based on a cooperative business model from the Azores where each member of the crew received a share of the business profits based on their level of participation. The amount of oil processed after each whale capture measured the success of a station. Records from the Monterey station suggest that it was a relatively large operation, capable of producing more than eight hundred barrels. A smaller station would likely have produced half that volume (Fox 2001, 16). Shore whaling took place in small boats launched from beaches or wharves that were similar to those used to launch the large industry ships for sea voyages. These were likely a type of rowing vessel that also accommodated a single or double mast with a lateen-type sail when needed. Portuguese anglers on the Grand Banks of Newfoundland used a similar type of boat (Nichols 1983). These craft typically held a crew of six sailors, while four others remained on shore to scan the horizon for whales, later tending the boiling blubber in the tryworks’ pots (Bertão 2006). The boat and its occupants were at significant risk during each session. Fox provides a detailed summary of the weaponry used by California shore whalers, noting that two firearms, the bomb-lance gun and the Greener’s harpoon gun, helped mitigate this danger (Fox 2001, 13). The Greener’s gun, mounted on the bow, released a harpoon that remained attached to the boat. This invention replaced the more unpredictable, hand-held harpoon (May 2010). In California history, particularly in the context of mining, we find Portuguese in gold fields and at camps usually in association with Hawaiians (often referred to derisively as Kanakas). In part this association stems from Portuguese enclaves in Hawaii resulting from whaling activities. Portuguese laborers in lumber camps are less well documented than in

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whaling or farming. Portuguese presence in lumber camps signifies less about assimilation than it does about the transition into agricultural and related occupations away from maritime communities and reflects one of the few areas of employment opportunity. Catherine Mistely’s examination of the Portuguese transitions from maritime to agricultural, and finally urban neighborhoods, illustrated that while evidence of ethnic markers are not readily apparent archaeologically, social events demonstrate the curation and celebration of ethnic identity collectively through festivals and community gatherings (Mistely 2013). “As a quintessential cultural event for Azorean people, the Holy Ghost Festa is both a religious and secular festival that takes place all over California throughout the summer months. They require considerable effort on the part of families who sponsor the event, as they accompany their daughters who act as festival queen in honor of Queen St. Isabell as well as family members who play in the marching bands that accompany the parade” (Mistely 2013, 27). On a local level, in June 1915 a San Jose Mercury Herald article reported on a large celebration of the annual fiesta for the Portuguese of East San Jose as “one of the most successful affairs of the kind ever held in the state” (Mistely 2013, 27). During this festa, contributions are made to the church and participants reaffirm their Azorean roots. Portuguese laborers took full advantage of the seasonal nature of lumber work and pursued farming in tandem. Workers at Loma Prieta could easily attend the festa by taking one of the connecting railroad lines. It is suggested that such festivals facilitated cultural continuity even as labor assimilated to the dominant culture.

The Schooners and Scandinavian Immigration The Portuguese were not alone in following a maritime path to the forests. Captains of many of the vessels working the coast lumber trade were of Scandinavian heritage. Although skippers and crews were from many nationalities, so many were of Scandinavian origins that the schooners fleets were referred to as a Scandinavian navy (Kortum and Olmstead 1971). The history of Scandinavian contributions to American seafaring trades is well documented. Norwegian immigrants, for instance, found a secure place in the American maritime industry and thousands served aboard American ships. The tapestry of Scandinavian immigration was tightly woven by the threads of European politics. In 1814 Norway was transferred from the Crown of Denmark to the Crown of Sweden. Internal strife led to the first emigration from the region. The nascent step in this phenomenon can be traced to 1825, when the ship Restaurationen arrived in New York from Norway with fifty-two immigrants. A local paper

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announced that the captain intended to stay and enter into the American merchant service (Tangeraas 1982, 139). This was the first, and many more followed over the next forty years. By the 1860s Norwegian shipping in American waters was commonplace and an important facet of Atlantic trade. Norwegian sailors were highly regarded in American maritime communities (Tangeraas 1982, 141). The American maritime trade was in constant need of sailors and Norwegian sailors were enticed to join. American sailors earned twice as much in a month as Norwegian sailors, and the inducements to ship on American vessels were strong. Between 1870 and 1880 eleven thousand Norwegians joined American ships. As the American economy boomed in the 1880s, economic crisis struck Norway. An important sector of the Norwegian economy—shipping—declined sharply as steamers replaced sailing ships. According to Tangeraas (1982), whose study of Norwegian maritime history demonstrated the economic and labor intersections of Norwegian and American maritime interests; at least a thousand Norwegian sailors deserted from Norwegian ships annually during the 1880s and 1890s, and were a major component of the immigrant population that had previously been mainly farmers. The U.S. commissioner on navigation wrote that Norwegians, and Scandinavians generally, were preferred because, “they are a hardy race, of submissive temperament, and less liable of insubordination, and, they are generally better sailors [than Americans]” (Tangeraas 1982, 144). More than seventy thousand were employed on American vessels. Norwegians were given preferential employment and those that did not sail were hired as chandlers, shipyard carpenters, and ship riggers. Norwegians also served as longshoreman until that occupation came to be dominated by Italians at the turn of the century. It is then no surprise that Scandinavians arriving on the West Coast brought with them both a skill set and a reputation in maritime trade. In 1885 only 285 Norwegians were registered in maritime occupations in California. This number rose dramatically in the 1890s and continued until 1920 as Norwegian mariners increasingly dominated as captains, mates, and crew. In addition to hauling timber, ships themselves were voracious consumers of wood (Carroll 1981, 216). While redwood was not frequently used in construction, Douglas fir (Oregon pine) was a favorite in the shipyards of California. Wooden ships continued to be built into the early years of the twentieth century until steel-hulled vessels came to dominate. Shipbuilding on the East Coast, along the shores of the Great Lakes, and in Canada relied heavily on the local timber industries to provide the raw materials, such as white oak, Virginia oak, pine, and cedar (Carroll 1981, 215). Before the railroad connected Loma Prieta Mill to shipping locations the milled lumber had to be hauled to the Aptos Wharf using oxen teams.

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Once at the wharf the lumber was loaded aboard schooners, often stacked high on decks. Two types of vessels were used in the lumber trade: relatively small shallow-draft schooners able to come in close to shore, and deep-draft long-haul ships that required deep-water piers. The former were commonly referred to as doghole schooners in California, owing to their ability to maneuver in the small harbors and inlets on the coast from which timber was loaded. The small inlets, really little more than gaps in the rugged cliffs, were so small that it was said that only a dog could turn around in them. The skippers of these vessels displayed a combination of masterful sailing and sheer guts or folly approaching the rocky shores and anchoring close enough to take on loads of lumber that were transferred from shore by any of several ingenious methods, including chutes and loading cables (see, e.g., Harrison 1892; McNairn and MacMullen 1973 [1945]; Sullenberger 1980). Passengers were even brought aboard using seating platforms suspended from loading cables. Norwegian lumber trade in the Baltic since 1800 had taught skippers traditions of how to handle the narrow inlets. California dogholes were not much different. Swede, Norwegian, and Finnish immigrants arriving between 1870 and 1910 established strong communities on the West Coast and many became engaged in ship construction along with fishing. One notable example was John Lindstrom, a Swedish immigrant to the United States in 1867 at the age of twenty. Laboring in the lumber industry and ship-building trade first in California, then Washington, he eventually settled in Eureka at the northern border of the state and established a shipyard of his own. His employees included many Scandinavian natives, suggesting a bias in hiring. Lindstrom’s shipyard built numerous steam schooners of the lumber trade until his accidental death in 1908 (Aberdeen Herald, 1908). The transition from fishing to hauling freight and lumber was natural for the coastal mariners. Many were already closely associated with timber communities. In several cases, only minor modifications to existing vessels were necessary to take aboard lumber. Specialized lumber schooners were not being built until the 1880s. The largest three-masted schooner ever built in North America was constructed at the Bendixsen shipyard in 1897. The Wawona worked for seventeen years hauling lumber from California and the Pacific Northwest before being converted for the cod fishing industry. It is either an ironic twist or a product of sardonic wit that a vessel hauling timber would be named Wawona. Among the Yosemite Indians, wawona is the word for the spotted owl, believed to be guardian of the forest. The northern spotted owl was a catalyst of the environmental movement in the 1990s when it was declared an endangered species. Efforts to preserve the few remaining ancient growth forests in California were

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opposed by the timber industry. This emotionally charged issue could be measured by where one stood on the issue of protecting timbering or environmentalist concerns for habitats and each was linked to attitudes toward the protection of the owl species itself. The northern spotted owl is deemed an indicator species by biologists, meaning that the health of the owl is a sign of the general health of the ecosystem that is its habitat. As goes the owl, so goes the forest. During the conflict that arose between environmentalists and supporters of the timber industry, the spotted owl appeared on t-shirts, either with preservation slogans or as seen through the cross-hairs of the scope of a hunting rifle. For those supporting the timber companies the issue was livelihood and the survival of entire towns whose lifeblood was lumber. Environmentalists were viewed as a threat and as outsiders. The controversy also stirred up ugly class confrontations as the lumber industry portrayed the conflict as one of traditional working-class communities pitted against spoiled urban college-educated elitists putting birds and trees ahead of people. The Wawona, built for the Dolbeer Lumber Company, was not the only lumber ship coming out of the Bendixsen yard. That yard turned out numerous vessels for the lumber trade, including the C. A. Thayer, on display at the National Maritime Museum in San Francisco. Steamships had begun to take over the trade by the 1880s, yet Bendixsen continued to build sailing ships that were competitive. Hans Bendixsen had arrived in San Francisco from Denmark in 1863, eventually establishing a shipyard on Humboldt Bay, and is another example of the Scandinavian influence on ship-borne traffic in California’s early years. Contrasting with the doghole schooners were the long-haul vessels that could only load at long wharfs in waters with sufficient depth for their hulls. By comparison to the doghole schooners, loading lumber from a wharf was a walk in the park. Hedging their bets on weather and fuel, hybrid vessels were also being constructed. The Pacific Rural Press (1888, 304) describes a four-masted steam schooner under construction at Port Madison as “the largest on the coast with carrying capacity of 450,000 feet.” A prime example of the type of lumber schooner in use was the Jane L. Stanford, a three-masted barkentine that carried lumber along the coast to larger ports. The Jane L. Stanford was built a few years later in 1892 by Bendixsen at the shipyard in Fairhaven, California, near the village of Eureka; it ended its days ingloriously in 1929 off the Southern California Channel Islands. The Jane L. Stanford was something of an anomaly working the coast by sail in the age of steam schooners, but it was not alone. With an official capacity of 1.2 million board feet, this was no doghole schooner (Meniketti 1995). A photograph of the Jane L. Stanford in the shipyard can be found in Carranco (1982), and photos of it under sail with a load of lumber from Eureka can be found in Andrews (1958, 160;

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Morris and Lima 1996, 97–98). The Humboldt Standard announced the ship’s launching on 20 December 1892: “The vessel presented a beautiful appearance this morning. She is painted dark green on the outside to the waterline, below which she is copper painted. . . . The cabins are elegantly finished in maple, walnut, and oak . . . [and there are] six staterooms with bath and toilet, pantry, etc.” (Humboldt Standard 1892). Such a vessel was designed to carry passengers as well as cargo and sailed to China and Hawaii on several occasions with loads of lumber. Its first voyage was to Australia to provide timber for mining operations. It is likely the ship came back with coal and sugar bound for San Francisco from Hawaii, a fairly common triangle trade. Around 1920 the vessel ceased work as a lumber ship and was converted to a fishing barge near Santa Barbara. In 1929 it was rammed by the passenger steamer Humboldt of the White Flyer line as each captain was negotiating a serious fog. The collision opened a nine-by-fifteen-foot hole in the Jane L. Stanford and she was subsequently declared a complete loss. But she would not sink. The Coast Guard was called in to dynamite the drifting hulk. According to the Santa Barbara Morning Press, twelve 94-pound TNT bombs were set off on the ship. Quoting from the Santa Barbara Morning Press, “The terrific force of the blast hurled parts of the ship over a space of two miles . . . [and] the boiler was blown twenty feet into the air. ‘It was quite a scene’ stated Captain Lucas, commander of the Coast guard cutter Tamora” (Santa Barbara Morning Press 1929). Undoubtedly. However, most of the vessel stubbornly refused to sink and now three sections were adrift in the channel, posing a significant navigation hazard (strong testimony to the builders in Fairhaven). Eventually two sections came ashore on Santa Rosa Island after application of an additional ten bombs. A third portion of hull was reported sixteen miles south by the captain of a Standard Oil tanker and is presumed sunk in the channel.

Survey and Documentation of the Jane L. Stanford Forgotten since 1929, the remains of the vessel on Santa Rosa Island were rediscovered in 1990 by Channel Island Park Service archaeologist Don Morris. The Jane L. Stanford is one of six lumber schooners known to be wrecked in the Channel Islands. As a barkentine the vessel was rigged with square sails on the foremast with after masts rigged with fore and aft sails. The idea of this rig is to combine the downwind abilities of a square rigger with the handling and maneuverability of a schooner (see Chapelle 1935). A row of seven knees were exposed in the sand in the area indicated on map produced by Captain Lucas in 1929. The vessel was archaeologically investigated in 1994 with a volunteer crew from the non-

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profit San Agustin Institute for Marine Archaeology, in partnership with the Channel Islands National Park Service. The archaeological significance of the research lies in the key role the ship played in the early California timber trade and the need to inventory such sites within the park system. Beneath the sand are extensive hull remains. The section exposed was more than thirty inches thick at the level of the main deck knees. Knees were spaced forty-two inches apart and measured six feet eight inches long. The knees were notched to fit snugly with thick ceiling strakes. As many as twenty-four iron bolts fastened the knees in place to the planking. The keelson assembly consists of nine timbers sixteen inches square (illustration 2.2). An eighty-foot-long section was exposed and evidence of a double keel was documented, but seawater flooded the lower portions of

Illustration 2.2. Archaeological reconnaissance of the barkentine Jane L. Stanford. Exposing massive hanging knee. The vessel, built at Bendixsen shipyard, hauled lumber on the coast and overseas. Photo by the author.

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the excavation, and without pumps the issue could not be resolved (Meniketti 1995).

Shipping, Timber, and Entrepreneurialism Timber and shipping were wedded in California as nowhere else. An example of the capitalist entrepreneurial combination of these industries can be found in the fortunes of Asa Meade Simpson. Arriving in California in 1850 at the height of the gold rush, Simpson built a fortune in timber milling and shipping by integrating the operations of each. The son of a shipbuilder in Maine, he set up timber mills at several locations in California from Coos Bay in the north to Stockton and Santa Cruz farther south. Simpson was first and foremost a mariner, serving as captain on one of his ships, and had no real knowledge of the timber business. Through the 1850s Simpson built a shipping empire transporting lumber the length of the state, acquiring mills and timberland. By 1880 Simpson was operating sixteen schooners carrying lumber to the markets in San Francisco (Cox 1970, 17). This digression is intended to provide a framework for understanding the capitalist environment in which Loma Prieta Mill was conceived and operated. The Simpson enterprises were a strong example of the capitalist approach to extractive industry described by Walker (R. Walker 2001) in the introduction. Simpson holdings were integrated vertically and horizontally; they supplied the timber, milled the lumber, and shipped to market. In all, his mills employed an estimated five hundred workers, with others working in different aspects of his enterprises. In 1882 Simpson had fifteen ocean-going vessels, two shipyards, logging camps, mills, and an office on Market Street in San Francisco to manage it all (Cox 1970, 19). During the 1880s Simpson clashed with managers at one of his mills in Oregon who had replaced all the Chinese laborers with higher-paid white workers, a sign of deteriorating racial relations (Cox 1970, 24). An important facet of the company prosperity had been built by the use of low-cost immigrant labor. Simpson also designed the Western Shore, the only clipper built on the West Coast. This five-masted vessel was on a greater scale than the barkentine Jane L. Stanford. The ship returned its construction costs many times over in its brief life before finally running aground outside the Golden Gate and was lost. By the turn of the century, despite years of success, it was apparent the Simpson business model was too specialized and unable to compete for new international markets. Rail transport superseded shipping, and none of his vessels were suited to compete with large steam-powered cargo ships crossing the Pacific. Simpson had also been

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slow to upgrade his mills. He had succeeded in California’s early prosperity by being cheaper than his rivals, but his failure to invest in new milling technologies and adapt to new transportation modes eventually consigned him to a niche market. While numerous schooners came to grief in the coastwise trade in the course of conducting the lumber trade, some driven ashore or into the cliffs, with their demise becoming important features of local lore, others were worked until they wore out and were abandoned. Although once a vital component of timbering, ships yielded to the innovations in transportation technology, and served other needs. As transport of timber by rail replaced shipping, and roadways were improved for trucking, schooners lost their importance and gradually disappeared from the landscape of industry, deteriorating into the archaeological landscape of Northern California. The decline impacted shipyards and numerous other industries employing skilled laborers of various ethnicities who were forced to compete for opportunities in the manufacturing and canning sectors. This chapter examined the ethnic composition of labor in California’s coastal development and the many significant challenges that immigrants faced in finding and maintaining employment in the racialized and fractured labor force. The varied pathways taken to laboring in the timber industry were briefly compared. The next chapter narrows the focus to laboring at Loma Prieta Mill itself and explores the various roles and occupations that existed within lumber production. My emphasis is on the technological aspects and the material culture, but I do not neglect to insert labor in the mix where it is revealed by archaeology.

Note 1. President Donald Trump was roundly assailed in 2018 for having decried immigration from “shithole countries” (widely taken to mean non-white nations) and stating, “We should have more people from Norway.”

CHAPTER 3

Laboring at Loma Prieta

Fallers and buckers were the heaviest eaters. —Anna Lind, “Women in Early Logging Camps: A Personal Reminiscence,” 1975 The site of Loma Prieta Mill is not difficult to find. The remains of floor timbers, obscured by shrubs and fallen fir trees, lie between Aptos Creek and the former rail grade that ran to the mill, today repurposed into a popular hiking trail into the park. A Forest at Nisene Marks State Park sign informs the public of what was once at the location. However, the orientation of the structure and location of the many ancillary buildings on the landscape are not immediately obvious, leaving many casual observers and not a few archaeologists puzzled by the landscape. Local lore has it that once a steam locomotive tumbled down a gully from being overloaded and the engine has never been found. If we had a proverbial nickel for every time we were asked about the engine we might be able to fund another season at the site. Nevertheless, the mystery of the locomotive underscores the significance of timbering within the forest sustained in the local imagination. Anna Lind’s recollections of working as a flunky in a Northern California timber camp in the 1920s brought to life the important role the cookhouse played in logging (Lind 1975, 132). The cookhouse was one of the few places in the forest or during the long workday where most laborers interacted with one another, and the only time they might encounter a woman during the long week. An important objective for the first of three field seasons at the site was determining what physically remained of the mill and its orientation on the landscape, and assessing whether any material culture deposits might inform our understanding of the lives of workers in their labors, at the

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dining hall, and during personal time. The latter objective required locating the bunkhouse areas. Understanding the correct orientation of the mill was deemed necessary to enable an accurate determination of the industrial operations, and spatial organization while helping in finding associated structures, such as the carpenter shop, smithy, or the location of the saw. Our secondary objectives included assessing site integrity and collecting preliminary data informing on relevant environmental changes. Historical sources mention floods and landslides and we hoped to gather subsurface evidence corroborating these accounts and perhaps data concerning their frequency and intensity. Understanding the spatial dimensions of the mill and its operations—indeed, the organization of space itself as a place of production, are clues to the social dynamics that manifested at the mill and its surroundings. In capitalist terms, space is a means of production (Lefebvre 1979, 287). The mill was the site of extractive industry producing lumber for regional markets. Mapping the patterns of labor within the mill and the extractive zones were all necessary steps toward understanding labor in its many facets. As previously discussed, workers’ status was not determined only by skill level, but also by industrial hierarchies, labor traditions, ethnicity and immigration status, and nuanced class distinctions fostered by unbridled capitalism. Goals for the second and third seasons included locating the site of workers’ housing and determining the spatial arrangements of the mill/ housing complex so that a broad characterization of the landscape could be established. Each of these objectives was at least partially facilitated by historical photographs. In finding the laborers’ housing we hoped to recover evidence of daily life of the workers as well as, possibly, components of material culture that might offer evidence concerning the cultural or ethnic identities of the workers. A more thorough discussion of the issue is found in the conclusion. Archaeological remains that inform on daily life and workers’ relations may include specific artifacts, the spatial distribution and ordering of material culture, or the workplace and work site organization (Beaudry et al. 1991; Hardesty 1985; Lankton 1991; Lewis 1993; Orser 1996b; Shackel and Palus 2006; Shackel 2009 to cite but a few). Furthermore, there are rhythms of work to which labor becomes accustomed and around which laborers structure their daily, weekly, and annual routines. Some are work related while others are more social in character. For example, the configuration of the mill confines and proscribes movement. The length of the workday restricts free time for socializing, and the layout of company facilities dictates to some degree where, how, and when socializing will occur, as, for instance, at mealtimes (Conlin 1979; Franzen 1992; Lind 1975). These are obvious rhythms. Seasonal work tends to also condition

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patterns of life as some workers depart in winter and others stay. Fallers will work through the rainless summer cutting trees that will remain on the ground until winter rains pass. Buckers will return to the trees to cut them into sections called saw logs. Piece-workers remain in isolated places to carry out menial tasks. Other rhythms are observable in the milling process: movement of logs through the mill and movement of workers against the backdrop of machinery. Spatial ordering may be a product of concepts of industrial efficiency but can also be used to reinforce class distinctions (Delle 1999, 138) and reduce interactions. This was especially true during the Gilded Age and throughout nineteenth-century industry when architecture served to reinforce capitalist ideology (Albrect 2012; Kostof 1985; Lefebvre 1979). Landscapes can be manipulated to reflect control and order, and to impose a physical manifestation of hierarchy, as when laborers dwell near their work in the forest, divided by pay grade or skills, while owners and company executives live in town. The quality of food and how it is served also reflected labor relations between employers and workers. The lumber industry was one of the few that offered hearty meals to its workers as a form of compensation and meals were one of the few areas of labor negotiation within the industry (Conlin 1979). As such, dining halls or cookhouses constitute a special space in the laboring environment. Architecture in union with placement on a viewshed can be used consciously to signify class stratification and separation (see especially Leone 1995). From historical records it can be surmised that workers of like skills also were of compatible and similar backgrounds, including immigrant status, class level, and similar ethnic origin. At Loma Prieta Mill, workers’ housing was separated from management physically and was distinguished by relative quality. Owners of the mill did not live near the mill and were physically detached from it. Stoodley lived in Capitola several miles away (Calciano 1964b). In his capacity as company secretary he had no need to be near the mill. Bergazzi, a sawyer, lived much of the time near the mill, leaving only in response to the patterns of seasonal employment (Calciano 1964a). Much of this is, of course, a practical arrangement, but it also stems from managerial concepts and capitalist ideologies of spatial separation. From such an overarching construct, arrangements of workers’ housing might then be expected to convey subtle or even overt messages of order and division, skills-based distinctions, or group affiliation just as where one sat in the cookhouse and with whom one ate could reinforce distinctions even as everyone ate the same grub (Conlin 1979, 172; Franzen 1992). Subtle clues to ethnicity that might be deducible from dietary distinctions problematically fail to make their way into the archaeological record as a result of this mealtime democratization that stemmed from self-serving corporate paternalism.

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Production Operations at the Mill In order to understand the logic of how the site was configured it is first necessary to understand how milling the lumber was undertaken. A detailed account of the milling will be provided later in this chapter; here the process is simplified to make a point regarding patterned work. There were three chief areas of labor: in the forest, in the mills, and in the lumberyard. Each area had its own foreman and crew. A fourth area can be construed as the part of the lumberyard where the railroad extended. The cookhouse represents a separate domain with its own character and rules detached from work at the mill, and yet integrated within logging to a degree not found in any other industry. At direction of the foreman, carriage men maneuvered the logs to be sawn on the log deck onto flat carriages that moved on narrow rails. The carriage was pulled by a steam-powered winch from inside the mill. While this winch might be powered by the main steam engine, at Loma Prieta it was powered independently by a donkey engine separate from the main steam engine and enclosed in its own shed (Calciano 1964a). This suggests a donkey boss was also working inside the mill. The sawyers braced the timber for cutting using steel bars that held it fast. This work required considerable upper-body strength. The sawyer engaged a belt on a flywheel to link the carriage to the drive and the carrier-car was drawn toward the saw for the first cut along the outer side of the log to create a flat side. The sawyer had to be cognizant of the speed of this movement so that he did not bind the saw as it cut through the timber, a skill acquired through experience. According to sawyers interviewed for this book, the telltale clues to speed were less visual and more auditory as the saw protested with specific squeals. One of many potential undesirable outcomes was breaking teeth or the saw itself warping. In a worstcase scenario the saw could even shatter and send steel shards careening through the mill. The outer curved piece with its bark removed was set aside for uses other than boards. The car was withdrawn by an assistant sawyer and the entire log turned to present a new side to the saw, again braced firmly in the carriage by the sawyer. The process was repeated four times to create a square timber. A tool referred to as a “niggerhead” with a hook (similar to a marlin spike; the origin of this name is disputed) was used to turn the log (Carranco 1974). The timber was now ready for cutting into boards. This part of the process wasted a significant amount of wood, upwards of 20 percent of the log. The teeth of the saw took out a bite at least one-third-inch wide so that each milled board represented loss of a fair percentage of the timber. According to Bergazzi, the mill was at “the edge of the mill” so that lumber could be easily removed to the lumberyard for stacking and loading to railcars (Calciano 1964b, 60). The

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coordinated process was only as efficient as the skills of the men and safety allowed. Safety was not a limiting factor, however, and men commonly worked in relatively dangerous circumstances. A considerable volume of lumber, nevertheless, could be turned out in a day by a skilled crew. All of the power at the mill was provided by steam. There was a steam engine for the saws and, through use of transfer belts, there were steam-powered winches and other equipment such as the edger or planer. A small steam generator powered electric lights inside the mill with a dim glow. The light was dim, according to Bergazzi, but helped: “We were young and our eyes were good” (Calciano 1964a, 84). We recovered a single unbroken lightbulb among a brick pile in our first season. These various tasks inside the mill proscribed movement and were carried out by different men at their stations. In the day-to-day work stream the mill personnel had little to no contact with the cutters in the forest or with management. Workers’ houses and cookhouses all used kerosene lamps or candles. No electric power was extended to them, and so men lingered outdoors after working hours to socialize. “They sat around talking or playing games while sitting on small benches made from wood; there was lots of wood available . . . the glow from the fires in small stoves added to the scene” (Calciano 1964a, 138–139). The scene after hours as described is one of laborers gathered in discrete groups enjoying a brief period of social interaction. There was little opportunity for much else until Sundays when workers might go to one of several nearby towns. Mealtime at the cookhouse was tightly regulated and may have been a manifestation of what Shackel (2009, 28) calls the surveillance landscape of nineteenth-century industry. While the workers enjoyed the privilege of eating all they could put down, meals tended to be hurried affairs with little conversation. In many mills conversation was forbidden, and silence was practically an industry tradition (Conlin 1979, 178). Ostensibly this practice avoided slowdowns at mealtimes, but also served management by reducing speech that could be deemed political or focused on labor organizing. Conlin’s deep research into lumber-camp food suggests that men might have consumed upward of six thousand calories in less than thirty minutes. The demands of the job had high caloric requirements.

Sawing Trees were selected for cutting by a grader who determined which of them were of commercial grade, which too small or gnarly, and which should be cut just to get them out of the way. After the trees were felled, a process that might take several days for the large-diameter trees, peelers went to

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work prying off the redwood bark. Five-foot crowbars with a flattened bit at the end were used to remove the bark because the bark was said to be fuzzy and could not be sawn without causing the saw to overheat. The bars were hexagon steel and about an inch or more in diameter. The bit would be flattened out slightly by the blacksmith. The men who carried out this task were referred to as peelers (Calciano 1964a, 38). After peelers were through stripping bark, the buckers would get into action on the trees. Buckers used crosscutters to cut the logs into lengths of twelve-, fourteen-, sixteen-, eighteen-, twenty-, or twenty-four-foot logs. Buckers worked singly or in teams, and it was difficult wearisome work as the men pulled the saw back and forth for hours. The lengths were based on whatever size was most popular in the market at the time. The standard cut was sixteen feet; occasionally twenty-four footers were prepared to be made into telephone poles. The cut logs were transported on skid roads. The roads were constructed of parallel logs set into the grade three feet apart with each skid five feet wide. These skids were greased using blackjack grease to reduce friction. This procedure created another job: the skid greaser, whose responsibilities included applying grease ahead of the log, or throwing dirt on the skids to slow down the log if it was being worked downhill. Bergazzi recalled that one time the skid was too slippery on a downhill grade and the load got away and ran down the oxen, killing three of them (Calciano 1964a). Not until 1902 did the Loma Prieta get a donkey engine for this task. The oxen were managed by a bullmaster or drover. The donkey engines at the mill were enclosed but not those deep in the forest. The donkey boss was responsible for the cables and steam, maintaining the fire in its belly. Some donkeys were on skids and pulled around the forest for various hauling and moving jobs. With cables attached and properly arranged a donkey engine could pull itself into a new position. Logging operations were overseen by two foremen—the logging foreman and the mill foreman—each of similar rank with differing responsibilities (Calciano 1964a, 51). Eventually most skid roads were replaced by narrow-gauge rail and small steam locomotives. Once the timber had been cut and dragged or dumped into the millpond, the cut logs would be stored in the pond until readied for sawing. To prevent scarring the hillside too much, log chutes were constructed. These allowed logs to roll downslope into the pond from the side of the skid roads without gouging the slope. Several are still in place today, as are rail ties. Storage may last weeks or even years if the logs sank into the depths of the pond. Redwood is highly resilient and moisture resistant. Sitting in the pond, even for a year, will not harm the wood. However, with the rate at which timber was processed during the sawing season there were very few logs that remained in the water for long. Logs in the pond were hoisted onto carriages using a chain connected to a cable at-

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tached to the bull-wheel of the donkey engine around which the cable was wound. “The sawyer pushed a lever which tightened a belt to run the cable overhead” (Calciano1964, 53). Two full-time log deck men managed the process of getting the logs up a chute from the pond into the mill. The carriage man hooked the logs into place on the carriages. Logs had to be secured firmly on the carriage against vertical steel plates to prevent the log from shifting or rolling during the sawing—a procedure known as dogging. Bergazzi started at the mill as a dogger in 1901 (Calciano 1964a). He recalled that he used a mallet to drive the three-foot “dogs” into their ring slots. The logs were moved to the saw on tracks. The carriage had steel wheels on bearings. One of these iron wheels was recovered during archaeological testing and measured just under six inches in diameter. Before the logs were drawn to the saw the carriage setter would make fine adjustments on the position of the log to prepare it for the desired board thickness. The carriage setter braced the log against a standard by the dogged poles. This entire assembly could be adjusted laterally on the carriage using an iron plate that was moved by a worm screw. The turning of the screw pushed the logs sideways relative to the carriage as it aligned with the saw. A dial with set numbers allowed the setter to adjust the position of the squared log to any of several preset thicknesses. The saw was stationary and the log was run toward the saw. Once the log was secure, the carriage was drawn to the saw and a board cut off. As each board was cut away, the log carriage would be retracted, and the log readjusted and re-dogged. The carriage was run back and forth using power transferred by belts from the main drive. The squared logs were often rolled between cuts and reset. Once the sawyer had cut the board, it was pulled over on to rollers to be taken by additional men, usually unskilled labor, to run through the edger. The process was repeated until the sawyer determined the final piece was too thin to safely cut. Sawyers would often cut to within two inches of the steel dogs on the last board. This final board was not suitable for commercial lumber and would be pulled off to be used as firewood. The pace was fast and rhythmic, with the speed determined by the sawyer. Bergazzi suggests that the most physical job in the mill was that of the carriage setter, and “he had to do all the math” (Calciano 1964a, 59). The sawyer used judgment, but the saw did the work. The sawyer attained his ranking through long experience and tended to be among the older of the labor force. Loma Prieta Mill used two five-foot-diameter saws set in a vertical stack. The bottom saw was bolted on a shaft set in its center with a sixinch collar. Bergazzi described the sawing: Your bottom saw is bolted on the shaft; the shaft is in the center of it. That only leaves twenty-five inches of space above, after you put that collar on. You see they

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put a six-inch collar on with a nut that screwed up tight. The inside collar was straight as a die against that, and then the outside collar was bolted right against it to hold them steady, and the top saw the same. Between those collars—well on the top saw they had to have the chipper. That would cut a furrow for that top saw collar so the board, when it was sent off, wouldn’t hit that collar. But the bottom saw only sawed to the bottom center of the saw. You couldn’t go below that. (Calciano 1964a, 65)

With the combination of the two saws one gets fifty-two inches of cutting. The teeth of the saws tended to dull quickly, and the saws had to be changed twice a day. This is where the filer came in, to refit or sharpen the teeth. The big circular saws we had at that time had about 50 teeth, or 54, something like that. Every so far there was a saw bit, or tooth, in other words. They had inserted what they call a ring. It went into a groove there, with a wedge and a little steel pin to hold it. They could lift that ring out and take the old bit out. The bits were grooved, too, to fit in the groove in that ring. They would pull them down and set them right back in the groove, in the saws. (Calciano 1964a, 67)

The privately owned Sturgeon’s Mill in Sebastopol, California, is one of only two remaining mills in California still using steam power to saw wood. Like the Loma Prieta, Sturgeon uses a sixty-inch saw set in a double stack. Sturgeon’s Mill uses a Joshua-Hendy head rig with a sixty-inch and forty-two-inch diameter double saw that would be a close match for the Loma Prieta saw, although the upper saw was larger at Loma Prieta (illustration 3.1). A similar rig is shown by Kortum and Olmstead (1971) in Mendicino. The scale of the mill is comparable to the Loma Prieta and serves as an excellent example for comparative purposes. Sturgeon’s opened in 1912, during the final decade of Loma Prieta Mill. Sturgeon’s was originally in a different location in Coleman Valley, and in 1924 the entire mill was dismantled and moved to its present location. Sylvia Fisher, a member of the Sturgeon family, grew up at the mill camp in the late 1920s and spoke to me about her experiences. Her recollections will be discussed in the conclusion. Because the collar and chipper on the second saw cut away as much as one-third of an inch with each pass, the process was highly wasteful of timber. Every three cuts in essence lost a board. The sawyer at Sturgeon’s Mill confirmed for me the wastefulness of the circular saw compared to a continuous band saw.1 Furthermore, the band saw could take on much larger logs. Although the layout of the mill was designed to minimize hazards, there were many to be mindful of as one worked, ranging from moving belts, cables, saws, low-hanging beams, tracks, hanging tools, steam venting, and additional dangers lurking in the spaces beneath the deck where the engine operated.

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Illustration 3.1. The author standing next to the double sixty-inch circular saw at Sturgeon’s Mill, which is comparable in size and layout to the saw at Loma Prieta Mill. Photo by Lisa Meniketti.

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Bergazzi described the many hazards faced by the men in the mill including one occasion where a length of narrow-gauge rail had somehow become embedded in the log (Calciano 1964a). The saw hit the rail and bent around the rail, sending steel teeth flying throughout the mill. In this instance no one was injured, and Bergazzi commented that in all his days he never saw anyone get hurt badly, apart from one foreman killed by a bear. After the accident with the rail, the saw had to be ground down so that the teeth could be made even. Bergazzi remarked that about a quarter of the saw was cut away by the blacksmith (Calciano 1964a). Other problems encountered included wet wood, sawdust, knots, and gravel that could become embedded in the log from it being dragged along the skid roads. The speed of milling also presented dangers and depended on which type of wood was being sawn, pine and fir requiring a slower rate compared to redwood. The saw typically ran at six hundred revolutions per minute, according to Bergazzi (Calciano 1964a). At Sturgeon’s Mill the sawyer had to slow down the log carriage while cutting a fir because it caused the blade to shriek. A telltale sign, he informed me, of going too fast (Calciano 1964a). The engineer and fireman had responsibilities to maintain the steam engine. “Oh, yes, the fireman—he had to shovel sawdust. They had big doors there where the furnace was built up, and they had the fire boxes underneath” (Calciano 1964a, 87). This statement had important implications for the archaeological investigation because it indicated a stationary boiler and housing. The fireman “had to shovel the sawdust in from the front there. Later on they got so they ran little conveyors up over the top of the furnace. They had little openings up there where they could open up those little small metal buckets that went up there on the conveyor and drop the sawdust down those holes” (Calciano 1964a, 84–85). This innovation in delivering fuel to the fireboxes informs on the boiler arrangements. This description is at variance with the boiler at Sturgeon’s Mill where all fuel entered from the end of the boiler. “The fireman could look in from the front and see how much was there and how much he needed. He just shut it off when he got plenty in there. When it burned down and got ready for some more, he’d start the conveyor again” (Calciano 1964a, 87). Although a newer boiler is currently used at Sturgeon’s, the original boiler is still intact next to the mill and is fully housed in brick. The boiler house is protected under the eaves of the mill house. The iron cleanout doors were manufactured by Caton’s Foundry of San Jose. The stacked four-door firebox of the boiler was manufactured by Risdon Iron Works of San Francisco in 1900. The base is rectangular and constructed with red brick, whereas the boiler is insulated with yellow firebrick from the Stockton Brick Company. The top of the boiler is enclosed in brick forming an arched dome above. The boiler was obtained originally from an

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older mill and is contemporary with Loma Prieta Mill boiler. Within its housing the boiler stands close to twelve-feet high. The base dimensions closely match what we have surmised for the boiler housing at Loma Prieta and it serves as a useful model. Steam is passed through steel pipes to the engine that is stationed beneath the deck of the mill. The boiler at Sturgeon’s Mill is not directly adjacent to the engine as was the case at Loma Prieta Mill, but this spatial arrangement can be explained in part by the fact that Loma Prieta Mill is shoehorned into a space between Aptos Creek and a rail grade that is itself abutting a steep canyon wall. There is far more room at Sturgeon’s Mill to spread things out. Indeed, the smithy, tool shed, and company office are each at some distance from the mill, and there was necessity to accommodate for railroad lines. Timber for Sturgeon’s Mill was trucked in. The waste furnace and process for removing the debris at the mill were described by both Bergazzi and Stoodley (Calciano 1964a, 1964b). This exchange between interviewer Calciano and Bergazzi gives important information about the placement of the furnace that aided in our orienting the mill on the archaeological landscape. They built up a brick kind of furnace-like. They cleaned a place out a ways from the brush, so there wouldn’t be any danger of setting any fires, and they left little air vents in the four different sides, I guess. Then they ran a blower out from the mill. They had a belt there, and a fan that blew air through a pipe out to this thing so you had a draft in there pushing air out of the holes in the brick. Then that sawdust, and all these sticks and trimmings off the end of the lumber that came from the trimmer saw, went out on this big conveyor. They went out (on a big endless chain—in a big conveyor they went out and around) and pulleys dropped them over the end and down into that fire pit. And that blower kept blowing that air. Why it burned up that stuff about as fast as we could put it out with those saws. We burned all those broken pieces of scantlings and short ends and things that were too short for slab work. They kept most of the four-foot wood and loaded it on carts or wagons and hauled it out. Then the shorter pieces went out into the fire pit and were burned up there. (Calciano 1964a, 87)

The lengthy quotes I have just culled from Calciano’s interviews contain a wealth of information and several components of interest for the archaeologist in the field. The accounts of equipment and operations as well as details about the arrangement of the mill facilitate interpretation of the extant remains of the mill and help explain the concrete channels relative to the brick enclosure for the steam engine. These concrete channels are where the engine flywheel would turn. The positioning of engine mounts and concrete channels match closely with the arrangement at Sturgeon’s Mill. The location of the waste furnace relative to the mill described by Bergazzi also helped position the mill building during analysis (Calciano 1964a).

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Other workers at the mill having established roles and higher rank included the millwright and mill foreman. The millwright cared for the steam engine, the shaft the large drive-wheel, the pulleys belts and shafting. “The mill was tied together with belts here and there because the entire mill was driven by the main engine” (Calciano 1964a, 87). It was difficult to get around in the mill, and “that’s the way it was” (Calciano 1964a, 87). The mill foreman was a site manager, but the sawyer was really in charge. He was among the highest paid of the workers. A retrospective thought by Bergazzi adds a tinge of melancholy: “If I get around a mill now and hear the sound of those saws, why it’s just like music to my ears. I like that type of work. There is something about it. You’re destroying those beautiful trees, but what of it; you have to have the material to build your houses and bridges and what not; we still build houses out of lumber. It’s a very important product” (Calciano 1964a, 89). The recollections of Bergazzi and Stoodley of the many roles and graded occupations further support analysis of a skills-based hierarchy that would segregate the men during a working day (Calciano 1964a, 1964b). There is no mention by either of any occupation having an overtly ethnic basis, but the foreman was described in the context of a strike by the workmen for higher wages as a wily Scotsman, which plays on the stereotype of a Scot being tight with money. Higher wages were not forthcoming, but a concession on a longer lunch break was achieved. According to Conlin (1979, 169), wages were never as important to lumbermen as food and it was a rare labor dispute in the forest that could not be resolved by improvements in the cookhouse. One should not construe from this exchange that the foreman held his position because he was Scottish. Such a position requires long experience coming up through the ranks of the skilled.

Diverse Occupations A sawmill operation had many different occupations that were fairly standardized throughout the industry. These specialties included sawyer, engineer, fireman, filers, cutters, fallers, edgers and trimmers, yard stackers, stockmen, bullmasters and drovers, carpenters, blacksmiths, cooks, and railroad gangs, to name just the principal roles. Some of these occupations were categorized as skilled labor, while others could be filled with untrained workers. Some of these occupations intersected in the forest while others required solitary work. Some in these roles would likely interact only occasionally in a daily work routine but would be thrown together in the dining hall. Until narrow-gauge railroads replaced the ox carts, a few men might interact with the schooner crews when delivering lumber

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to the wharf, particularly the teamsters. Once the railroad was functioning, railcars were pulled up next to the mill yard for loading directly. Two distinct classes of laborers would interact in the yard: railroad workers, who ranked well above lumbermen in the working-class hierarchy, and the lowest-skilled lumbermen. Railroad workers were organized, had unions, and had a rigid internal hierarchy. Lumbermen were among the leastorganized, lowest-paid, and least-respected workers (Conlin 1979). Although the documentary record is vague on the issue of housing, enough exists to suggest separation of skilled and unskilled workers, more or less in accordance with pay grade, and married men with wives in camp separated from bachelors. This pay grade division might well fall along ethnic lines or coincide with national origins, if not language. New immigrants hired at the mill could easily be grouped in cabins with others speaking the same language that would then link that individual with the particular occupation of his cohort. A shared bunkhouse was another story. It is well established that the Chinese were secluded in a separate camp, yet the Calciano interviews (1964a, 1964b) make clear that an exception was made for Chinese cooks living among other laborers in camp. Chinese cooks were a common sight in the timber camps. The 1880 census lists six cooks in different mill camps. Their pay ranged from $25 to $40 per month, with at least one earning $55, suggesting they were highly valued (Lydon 1985, 234). One cook having a long affiliation with Loma Prieta Mill and a close friend of the superintendent was Mock Get, who worked for the Loma Prieta Company for fifteen years (Lydon 1985, 234). Since there were several camps belonging to the company, it could have been a company policy to hire Chinese. This was a different cook from the Chinese man who lost his life during the 1906 earthquake. The historical photograph that guided our investigation shows a row of wooden bunkhouses facing the millpond. These cabins might have housed married men or up to as many as four single men. At one end of the row there are larger buildings set perpendicular to the housing row that were likely the cookhouse and the communal bunkhouse. The cookhouse location is suggested by the artifacts recovered and a large cellar pit. The cookhouse is located 160 meters from the mill buildings but does not escape from the smoke that fills the canyon and is less than one-eighth of a mile from the Loma Prieta town site. Despite proximity, workers did not frequent the town during the six-day workweek. Each workday often stretched from six in the morning until six in the evening. At the end of the workweek men had a choice of places for entertainment; one informant told me that her grandfather would go to the dance hall in Aptos on Sundays for dry social events.2 Others went to their favorite tavern. Bergazzi describes an outing where he and several men borrowed a handcar to run on the narrow rail into Aptos, getting up too much speed for a

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curve and derailing, spilling the men down a ravine. Local historians have suggested that Aptos city leaders had encouraged the mill company to build the town of Loma Prieta with taverns so that the laborers would be more inclined to go there during their day off from work rather than come to Aptos. This has not been confirmed by contemporary documentary sources and seems a charming piece of local lore that nonetheless hints at the relationship between workers and townspeople. However, it is evident from newspaper accounts that lumbermen were not usually welcome in most towns (Andrews 1954; Carranco 1974; Conlin 1979).

Lumber and Capitalization Loma Prieta Mill was designed from the outset to be a major producer. The company did not begin small and gradually increase its production as so many others did in the industry, but with the capitalization available to it, instead built on a large scale from the outset with the intent of being a primary supplier. A number of factors favored the enterprise that signal the capitalist nature of the industry, including strategic vertical integration and capital investment. The Loma Prieta Mill was aided in this endeavor through affiliation with the Southern Pacific and the capitalization made this possible. The integration of related industries, such as railroading, shipping, and milling, under the control of a single company ensured early success and the increasing demand for product-sustained operations until the forests had been cleared. Many mills applied vertical integration to feeding their men, maintaining steady supplies of meat and dairy by operating their own farms (Conlin 1979, 174). The numbers given in historical accounts for the amount of timber cut deserves another look. A twelve-hour day comprises 720 minutes. This means that to cut the estimated seventy thousand board feet daily the mill had to saw a bit more than ninety-seven board feet per minute. The pace must have been furious. While viewing the sawing at Sturgeon’s Mill, the average twelve-foot board was sawn in just under thirty seconds. This does not include the time for dogging the log into place or removal of bark or squaring the log. Two cuts averaged more than minute. Mindful that none of the volunteer sawyers were in a hurry at Sturgeon’s Mill, it nevertheless suggests that to produce seventy thousand board feet the crew in the mill had to carefully choreograph and coordinate their work patterns to avoid mishaps. Seventy thousand board feet should be taken as a potential productive capacity rather than a daily output. The 1888 account of cutting 181,000 feet in six and one-half hours in competition with the Valencia Creek Mill cited by Hamman (1980, 59) seems incredible, although it was documented by local newspapers.

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Considering that the saw had to be changed regularly for sharpening increases the questionable nature of this assertion. Extra blades were available to be changed in and the process can be carried out quickly by a simple lever that disconnects belts from the saw, yet slowdowns were inevitable. If we accept the numbers for average daily output it is evident that efficient operation was highly dependent on an uninterrupted flow of logs onto the log deck, proficient dogging onto the sleds, and an efficient running of the sleds past the saw. Big logs, those with diameters upward of seven feet, required both blades simultaneously. Such large boards would need a crew to haul them away to the lumberyard as they came off the carriage, requiring a second or even third crew to be ready for the next board. There would be little room for errors or unanticipated circumstances that would slow the pace. The Bergazzi interview suggests they experienced very few accidents at the mill, although he describes teeth flying when the saw hit a spike (Calciano 1964a). He does not mention the case of crushed fingers or fallers and other men in the forest where, according to labor statistics, injury was more common. He also makes clear that milling was seasonal. The sawyers could complete their duties faster than the forest was cut, and winter conditions made work in the mill difficult. The loggers remained on site or in camps set up closer to the uncut areas of the forest for longer periods to continue cutting. These isolated camps had fewer workers and were separated from potential interactions at the cookhouse. Workers in the ridge camps were more self-sufficient and often ate alone. An interesting innovation was developed in the early twentieth century when diesel-powered buck saws were put into use. The reciprocating blade, powered by a small diesel engine at one end, was set into motion by laying the blade diagonally onto the log and allowing the weight of the blade and gravity to do the work. This innovation came too late for the Loma Prieta loggers to take advantage of. The mill was built to maximize extraction and production using the latest technologies. However, the mill never adopted the band saw, which would have enabled cutting the largest of the trees, and instead continued to rely on blasters to fracture large-diameter logs with dynamite into manageable sizes until the end of operations. After the mill closed, the company continued to extract revenue from the forest by leasing land and permitting piecework to independent contractors. Tanoak remained a staple revenue source as the company sought buyers. Once the mill closed for good the town of Loma Prieta ceased to have a purpose. Numerous cabins were constructed in the area for summer use, and Loma Prieta survived for a period as a tourist destination until the Southern Pacific finally stopped serving the location.

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In this chapter I focused on the nature of work in the mill, the various labor roles, and the surrounding landscape. The processes necessary for extracting timber left their mark on the hillsides, in the streams, and deep in the canyons. The archaeological deposits contain the record of not just laboring and the consequences timber extraction, but also of the laborers, who left traces in the forest of their tools and their daily lives. Near the lumberyard there were several cabins, but historical photographs do not show these to be in any special order. The terrain is steep, and some cabins are shown on stilts. Across the creek from the mill in Site 3 there were several large cabins. These dwellings stood below the Loma Prieta grade and above the creek. The site was surveyed, and surface artifacts recorded, but no excavations were conducted. Significant material was noted at Site 3 and will be described in chapter 4. In these cabins many of the skilled workers dwelled, and we can draw insights by comparison to cabins near the main bunkhouse.

Notes 1. Personal conversation with volunteer sawyer, 2019. 2. Personal conversation with audience member at presentation for Aptos Historical Society, 2018.

CHAPTER 4

Archaeology at Loma Prieta Mill

Have you guys found the old locomotive yet? —Any of several local hikers who passed by the work site

Field Methods The archaeological procedures used for documenting the site were straightforward. Following a close interval survey, the crew quickly encountered multiple charred timber beams and found that several concrete features were extant at the site, most of them protected from undesired attention under a rich blanket of tick-infested ferns. Concrete slabs were located that had been set as piers for supporting the log deck above the creek. One-inch-diameter steel cables were found in this zone of the site. Other concrete features were of less obvious function until the boiler house was detected. Slight clearing and probing revealed the presence of steel cables, spikes, bolts, brick features, and miscellaneous iron fragments—some weighing more than two students could safely lift. A few small pieces were saw teeth fragments. Additional timbers lay beneath those found during the walking survey. Although the mill no longer stood at the site, it certainly had left its footprint. The debris field extended close to eighty meters parallel to the graded road, and tapering off in to a sand bar in the creek. The creek edge where the site ended showed several symptoms of having been ravaged by flood episodes as well as slides, undercutting, and erosion. These are more than likely outcomes of the dam and of the slides resulting from clear-cutting. Once the dam was removed, normal stream flows cut the creek banks severely and high water in the winters deposited sands and muds over the lower parts of the site. Until the forest began to reestablish itself, silt and mud cascaded down the barren slopes into the creek during winter rains. Core samples and excavation units that

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were used to test subsurface sediments confirmed these environmental disruptions. Over three seasons a total of forty-one standard sized excavation units were completed, twenty-six of them at the mill site proper, to an average depth of sixty centimeters. The remaining fifteen units were excavated at the site where laborers’ housing had been erected and in the area we have interpreted as the cookhouse. Designation of this space as cookhouse or mess hall was made possible by the presence of ceramics, food remains (mainly bones), water pipes, fragments of metal cauldrons, and a large cellar pit. A core was dug from the bottom of each unit to an average depth of an additional meter. These cores generally harvested distinct environmental data rather than additional cultural material. At the mill, units were strategically placed to inform on particular site features, such as the likely placement of the boiler house, the smithy, and in isolated areas away from the daily work patterns that might inform directly on environmental changes. Systematic coring to a depth of 1.5 meters was carried out over the entire site on a 5-meter grid. These stratigraphic profiles yielded clear evidence of earlier construction at the site, such as a brick layer and mortared slabs. This is confirmed by historical records. Mapping was accomplished using both a total station (an instrument used for surveying and building construction) and through application of traditional hand measurement coupled with triangulation; this was, after all, a field school, and students needed to learn the basic principles in addition to applying technology. The site plan for the mill zone (Site 1) is shown in figure 4.1.

Figure 4.1. Site plan for Loma Prieta Mill (Site 1). Created by the author.

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During the first stages of pedestrian survey three feature sets were recorded hinting at the dimensions and orientation of the mill. These features were, first, clusters of burned timbers in both parallel and perpendicular configuration, suggestive of the original floor for the mill (illustration 4.1). These timbers had been slabbed or squared, then notched and fit together in the fashion of a log cabin with joints. Massive throughbolts pinned each join to produce a massive rigid floor. The beam notches were doubled in most cases, above and below at regular intervals. Spacing between beams varied slightly between 1.41 meters to 2.77 meters. Most of these timbers exceed 10 meters in length, and were spaced more or less regularly at 2.77 meters apart. The second features were rectangular and oblong raised earthen mounds and depressions in parallel with one another and aligned in a linear pattern conforming with the contours of the site relative to the road grade. Finally, the third features were robust parallel concrete structures adjacent to the mound features. Several timbers paralleled the cement features with a mortar flooring between and one immense timber that was bolted to the concrete structure with 50centimeter screw bolts averaging 1.2 meters between them (illustration 4.2). It occurred to everyone that such robust lumber would be hard to come by today, if not impossible. When compared to the timbers and floor joists at Sturgeon’s Mill, these were larger in all dimensions. All individual timbers were assigned distinct feature numbers in order of discovery, as were the mounds and concrete structures. Based on the alignment

Illustration 4.1. Burned original floor timbers of Loma Prieta Mill documented during initial survey. Photo by author.

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Illustration 4.2. Parallel concrete slabs that were used to form a channel for the steamengine flywheel. The engine would have been mounted on the timber base indicated by the bolts at the right in the image. Photo by author.

of burned timbers and historical images we are confident that the mill configuration can be reconstructed. The dimensions of the mill, based on extant timbers and features near the log deck, are fifty meters in length and thirty meters in width. However, the exact dimensions of the log deck are not known, so this length calculation might be short several meters. Historical nineteenth-century photographs of the mill provided us with a clear understanding of the extent of operations and the relationship between the mill and the various activity zones. Activities taking place in these zones included, where the raw timber entered the mill on tracks, was hauled into the mill where it was cut, and from which the cut lumber exited to be stacked for loading for transport to market. The broad expanse of flat land fronting the mill served as a lumber stacking yard and was where railroad cars once sat for loading. A historical photograph of the yard from about 1890, showing the mill in the distance, also shows numerous cabins scattered about on the limited flat spaces near the stacked lumber. This terrain was surveyed and artifact scatters suggesting the cabins might have been housing included an undecorated white-ware plate and saucer with identical maker’s marks to that found at the cookhouse, and on bottles and utensils. A large-diameter iron drum was also located in a hillside drainage that may have been part of a donkey engine. Before rail ran to the mill, the lumber was hauled by oxen carts the six miles along the road bordering Aptos Creek down to the wharf.

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The distribution of artifacts across the landscape conformed somewhat predictably to the activity zones, with industrial artifacts such as files, iron fragments, chains, and tools in the production areas of the mill, and domestic artifacts such as teacups, liquor bottles, or personal items in the bunkhouse areas. Furthermore, the narrowness and steepness of the canyon, combined with lack of flat land in which the mill was situated limited the distribution of artifacts to a linear pattern stretched between the activity zones. Artifacts were concentrated in the activity zones with material absent between them. A unique landscape perspective is visible in one photograph in particular. Taken in a clear-cut landscape from the upstream end of the millpond looking south, the image clearly shows the workers’ barracks and a smoke-enshrouded mill farther downstream (illustration 4.3). The provenance of the photograph is unknown and the date is speculative, but is likely after 1885 but before 1891 when the mill was dismantled for the first time. There are three chimney stacks showing at the mill while other images show only two. Bergazzi stated that the chimneys were directly above the boiler enclosed by the mill, which offers a clue to the interior design of the mill (Calciano 1964a). Despite having historical photographs, matching pictures with the present landscape of second-growth forest was problematic. It is not possible to replicate the photograph from the same

Illustration 4.3. Photograph looking west down Aptos Creek toward Loma Prieta Mill, circa 1891. In the foreground is the quarter-mile-long millpond. On the south side are the laborers’ housing and cookhouse (Site 2). Courtesy the Aptos History Museum, Woods Mattingly Collection.

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vantage point or get the same view owing to the regrowth of the forest. In order for us to locate the various buildings and the laborers’ housing shown in the photograph it was necessary for us to accurately determine the mill’s orientation and distance from the separated bunkhouses. We followed three tactics to resolve this conundrum. The existing road and hiking trails on both sides of the creek were mapped with total station. GPS coordinates of the narrow-gauge lines provided by our colleague Jorge Aguilar from the Bay Area Cultural Landscape Research Group aided in this stage of mapping. The second step was to locate the remains of the crib dam that held back the waters of the millpond and the waste furnace described in historical interviews. Stoodley states the dam was three hundred feet across (Calciano 1964b). Photographs of parts of the dam standing sixteen feet exist in the archives of the Aptos History Museum; however, the images do not provide landscape context or reveal its exact position relative to the mill. Descriptions of the log deck and the procedure for hauling the logs up to the carriage were sufficient for us to conjecture where to look. Our third tactic was to produce a thorough site plan of the mill’s remains. Logic dictates that the millpond is behind the mill and fills from the creek. Logs dumped into the pond float downstream to the mill to be hauled into the mill by steam hoists and put on rail carts to be fed to the saws. We also surmised that if we could locate where the saw had been positioned it would enable us to understand the orientation of the entire building. We surmised if the boiler or steam engine footing could be located, we would have a clearer idea of the saw’s location. One historical image provides direct evidence that the boiler was close to a rail grade. There are two grades, one on either side of the creek where the mill was erected. One ran to the lumberyard and is slightly above the mill; the other, the Loma Prieta spur line, is higher up a steep slope. As will be described, discovery of the boiler house for the engine provided the necessary evidence for placement. Chimney stacks would have risen directly above the boiler. During archival work it was learned that the mill had been shut down and dismantled in 1891, then rebuilt a decade later. It seemed then that the mill we were documenting was this second mill, suggesting that the boiler was in a different location from the earlier mill configuration. Flying a drone fixed with a GoPro camera several hundred feet above the canopy provided a unique view. Three-dimensional imaging software was used to clarify the video. Variation in foliage was evident in the areas where the mill once stood and where other activities had taken place. Although second-growth redwoods dominated, deciduous trees and brush species filled in the spaces where structures had been erected. The structures had significantly altered the way in which succession species of

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plants had managed to colonize the area following clear-cutting, and foot traffic had compacted the earth in ways that may have contributed to the vegetation patterning and differential drainage. The second of the three feature-sets described above, a rectangular mound, was carefully surface cleared. A well-defined, square masonry structure emerged that we concluded to be a blacksmith’s hearth or small forge, based on the presence of metal fragments, tools, slag, bellows valve, iron staves, and a wide distribution of charcoal deposits (illustration 4.4). The brick feature protruded slightly above the enveloping ferns. A working mill would require an on-site smithy for repairs of equipment and for basic manufacture. Bergazzi recounted that the blacksmith made repairs, and fashioned saw teeth and parts for the engine (Calciano 1964a). Many of the hundreds of nails recovered are square-shanked square-head wrought iron and may have been made on site. Shoeing of oxen was rarely done by the smith and was in fact relegated to a blacksmith in town (Calciano 1964a). Analysis of the slag recovered during excavation using a Bruker pXRF spectrometer indicates a poor grade ore. It may have been a byproduct of the boiler operations. A carpenter shop would also have been useful at the mill and may have been housed in one of the many wooden buildings shown in illustration 1.2. Based on comparisons with a mill of similar scale, the space beneath the floor of the sawing deck was used for storage of equipment, tools, and various supplies. The collapse of the floor has likely trapped many of these vestiges of labor on the site.

Illustration 4.4. The brick smithy hearth adjacent to the mill. Photo by author.

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The third feature set of immediate significance was represented by two concrete forms with immense timbers more than fifty centimeters sided, attached to it by seventy-centimeter screw bolts. This structure was the foundation or base for the flywheel channel. Adjacent to these features were two parallel timbers 6.7 meters in length with five-centimeterdiameter bolts at regular intervals that were likely the footing for the steam engine mount. These bolts measured eighty-four centimeters in length. From these dimensions the exact arrangement for the saw and work space can be reconstructed. The engine was positioned beneath the floor of the saw deck. These wheels transferred power by belts to different parts of the mill. At the mill all belts ran beneath the timber deck (main floor) and transferred power to several locations. This means the saw did not have to be located near the engine but could be set up near the log deck or other operationally suitable location. Smaller engines powered the edger and trimmers at Sturgeon’s Mill, although they still used the same boiler source for steam. Bergazzi states that the Loma Prieta Mill machines were all powered by the same engine with belts running overhead (Calciano 1964a). This would have compounded the hazards for the mill workers. The engine at Sturgeon’s Mill mentioned previously is comparable in size and mounted in the same manner as at Loma Prieta Mill. The machine was manufactured by Atlas Engine Works of Indianapolis and is mounted on a base of timber bolted to a concrete slab of the same scale and dimensions as found at Loma Prieta (illustration 4.5). The Atlas steam-mill engine provides thirty-five horsepower. The Pacific Rural Press (1884a) contains an advertisement for an Atlas steam-mill engine and boilers of the type in use. The pistons drive a crankshaft that turns the flywheel. Several transfer wheels are connected with belts extending both horizontally and vertically to power various operations. The saw is located on the deck above and powered by a belt that rises vertically from beneath the deck. The saw is not situated directly above the engine, but instead a considerable distance away near the log deck. A second belt reaches up to a wheel that powers the second saw positioned above the main saw. It sits idle until the sawyer requires it. A simple wood lever moves the belt onto the shaft that turns the saw. Rails for the log carriage are recessed into the timber floor and allow for smooth movement of the carriage toward the saw. The carriage is pulled by cables controlled by the sawyer who can also adjust the speed of the carriage as wood is cut. This feature is important because different grades of wood put variable demands on the blade and binding or overheating the blade must be avoided. At Loma Prieta Mill it is clear that the boiler was perpendicular to the engine and aligned in close proximity. Clearing accumulated sediments in the flywheel channel exposed massive plates of iron and gear fragments.

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Illustration 4.5. A historical spec sheet in an advertisement for an Atlas steam-mill engine. Loma Prieta Mill probably used a similar engine. The Atlas engine at Sturgeon’s Mill still operates smoothly after a hundred years. Photo by author.

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Additional features included floor timbers, multiple cement footings, brickwork, and concrete slabs and piers. One pier was excavated. The pyramidal-shaped support pier extended 1.55 meters below the surface to a gravel bed. Another helpful clue in orienting the mill was the description of the waste furnace given in the Calciano (1964a) interview with Michael Bergazzi as being across the creek. Once this structure was located, we had a fairly certain idea of the mill complex layout. The conveyor that moved the scantlings from the mill to the furnace is just visible in one of the historical photographs. There remained, however, one critical question. What if the historical photograph of the mill from which we were working had been printed backwards? How would that affect our interpretation? Such things do happen. In the absence of the original negative the orientation of a print becomes a fixed norm. An image printed a hundred years ago becomes the de facto document and is unquestioned over the years. Our concern arises from the fact that there were inconsistencies between what the image shows and what we were finding archaeologically. The image shows a series of housing structures behind the mill constructed on a slight flat area backed by a steep hillside. The photo was taken from one of the two rail grades, but which one? Was the photograph taken looking east or west? Where were those buildings? Since the creek runs north to south the image can be interpreted as taken looking southwesterly if the rail grade in the foreground corresponds with the current trail. When the image is flipped, easy enough to do with a computer, we see the buildings in the northeast direction. In flipping the image, the position of the boiler does not change relative to the rail grade. What matters is that in the commonly accepted orientation of the photograph the house structures are downstream of the mill and millpond. In the opposite orientation they are upstream of the mill and closer to the crib dam. If the image was taken from the Loma Prieta spur grade, all of the logic in the preceding paragraph would be reversed. Supporting such a conclusion is the fact that a suitable flat space is extant in a corresponding area if the photo was taken from the spur line grade. However, the flat space has always been interpreted as being where the associated shingle mill and lumberyard were located. Although the shingle mill is not shown in the photograph, stacked lumber along a rail siding is shown. All of this digression into orientation may seem a small issue, but it is essential for establishing spatial characteristics and workers’ movements on the landscape and for locating the mystery buildings seen behind the mill in the photograph. Resolving the issue required pedestrian survey in both directions along the slope edging the creek and searching for evidence of the cabins. We also needed to establish elevations of the two grades relative to the mill.

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After combining the various data sets and the archival information we determined that we were indeed looking at footprint of the “new” mill built in 1906. This was confirmed much later as this manuscript was in preparation when an image of the mill in 1930 was located at the Aptos History Museum, which shows a different configuration of the mill from the 1891 image having two rather than three chimneys, with both on the opposite side of the roof (as we had interpreted from extant debris). It was at least gratifying to know that the image confirmed our site interpretation.

Additional Features We subsequently added two additional features to the site indicated by brick clusters to those mapped during the first phase of work. The first of these additional brick features was a rectangular mound measuring five meters across and set atop a larger, squared earthen mound. A young Douglas fir was growing up from its center. The brick cluster maintained its integrity despite (or because of) it being held fast by the roots of the tree growing up from within the mound with which the bricks were associated (illustration 4.6). After surface clearing it was determined that the feature might be the housing for the boiler or the boiler oven and firebox. Its direct alignment perpendicular with the concrete features and channel strongly supported this conjecture. If so, this would enable us to align the steam engine driving the five-foot-diameter circular-saws reported for the mill as described in the Bergazzi interview. Writing in 1892, E. S. Harrison confirmed the use of “immense double circular saws” (Harrison 1892, 195) at Loma Prieta. Optimistically, we focused our energy at this feature during the second season. A historical photograph of the engine used to power the BlomquistPeterson Mill on Pescadero Creek between San Francisco and Santa Cruz shows the layout of a saw and flywheels, but not the position of the blades. An image of this sawmill, built on the same scale as Loma Prieta, provides a useful interior view for truss work supporting the gabled roof that also matches images of Loma Prieta. These seem to have been built from the same template. Another example of a double saw can be found in a sketch from 1870 in Hutchinson (1959, 22) relating details of lumber milling in Northern California. Although the sketch is basic, it also reveals something of the engine arrangements and spatial dimensions inside the mill along with the support beams and truss work. Another image of the twosaw arrangement can be found from the Little River Mill on the North Coast in Sullenberger’s (1992, 49) excellent book about dogholes, lumber towns, and schooners. In association with these features were iron tension rods that likely were used to support the chimney near the boiler— a feature we could compare with Sturgeon’s Mill. Praetzellis provided

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Illustration 4.6. Brick feature at Site 1. The feature was eventually revealed to be the location of the boiler for the steam engine, in direct line to the concrete slabs shown in illustration 4.2. Photo by author.

an image of a double saw from the 1880s’ Nelson Sawmill (Praetzellis 1993). These various saw configurations were confirmed by the working steam-powered double saw at Sturgeon’s Mill. Visiting the sawmill provided firsthand knowledge of how the steam power, transfer belts, and saw were positioned and the actual sawing procedures.

The Boiler The boiler for the steam engine providing all the power at Loma Prieta, along with all major equipment, was sold after the end of operations. Stoodley and Bergazzi had each worked for the company during this second phase (Calciano 1964a, 1964b). Stoodley describes that even the used bricks were sold, and was amused that, owing to architectural fashion, they sold for more than when new. Stoodley himself took apart the schoolhouse in the town and re-erected it as his home in Capitola. Other items remained at the site until local citizens and collectors began removing items for their own use around 1940. According to local knowledge the mill was

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burned down by an arsonist about 1940, although at least one photograph in the Aptos History Museum collection dated 1945 shows the mill and locomotive rolling stock still in place. The boiler was apparently forcefully removed from its brick enclosure, and just enough of the structure was dismantled to extract the boiler, leaving solid masonry beneath. This left behind a hollow chamber that gradually filled with debris and soil. Some boilers were specifically produced for the milling industries that were self-contained with a firebox integrated with the boiler chamber. A few were manufactured with wheels and advertised as portable sawmills. Such a boiler could be set in place within brick housings. However, there is no indication such a boiler was used at Loma Prieta. Instead, the architecture suggests a dedicated boiler chamber and self-contained fireboxes enclosed by the brickwork. Excavations during the first season exposed a well-built masonry foundation and thickly mortared floor along with support timbers. We did not get to the bottom of the structure the first season because it was obstructed by a large timber. In the second season a unit was excavated a meter closer to the road grade that exposed a fully integrated brick wall set onto the mortared floor found the previous year (illustration 4.7). The firebox position was not located but we were in a position to know where to look should we ever return to the site. Firebricks alternated in courses of sided and end-on, set on a double-wide ledger at the base. The base sat on mortared footing. The masonry was expertly executed. Above this solid wall was the rubble left behind from the

Illustration 4.7. Exposed brickwork and poured mortar flooring at base of boiler. The upper brickwork was likely destroyed during removal of the boiler. Photo by author.

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removal of the boiler and years of detritus. This evidence also informed on the actual ground level at the mill. The boiler at Sturgeon’s Mill is suggestive of the arrangement at Loma Prieta (illustration 4.8).

Illustration 4.8. Boiler at Sturgeon’s Mill as an example. Note the use of firebrick to wedge and support the boiler in its iron chamber. A firebox door as shown in image was found at the Loma Prieta site. Photo by author.

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Within this structure were found a variety of bricks from several manufacturers. While the maker’s marks indicate some local producers, many are from English manufacturers. The most common marks on firebricks are CARNEGIE (made in California), SNOWBALL (made in England), LIVERMORE (made in California), COWEN (made in England), and TCARR (made in England) (see details in illustrations 4.9a–d). Others were made in Scotland and Belgium. A complete list of identified bricks is provided in table 4.1. These English-manufactured bricks were widely distributed in Santa Cruz County and are especially found at lime kiln sites throughout the region, of which there were several (Perry et al. 2007). Most of the bricks likely came over as ballast in the ships (Hittell 1882, 526). LIVERMORE bricks are considerably less common, despite being semi-local in manufacture (seventy-five miles away). Livermore produced brick only between 1910 and 1917, so the presence of those bricks helps narrow the date range for their use and it comes rather late in the mill’s history during its second period of operation. The California firebrick industry began in the 1870s, but not until after 1910 did local bricks surpass imports (Perry et al. 2007, 28). Lime kilns are another great consumer of bricks. According to Perry et al. (2007), thirty-one firebrick brands have been found at Santa Cruz lime kilns with SNOWBALL being the most common. The Loma Prieta site, as far as we can tell at this stage, has only one brick type not described for the region. Table 4.1. Bricks on Sites 1 and 2 with identifiable maker’s marks. Maker’s mark

Manufacturer/Origin

Time frame of manufacture

(missing two-thirds brick) CO

??

??

COWEN

Joseph Cowen & Co., Blaydonon-Tyne, England

1823–1904

SNOWBALL

James and George H. Snowball, Swalwell, County Durham, England

1854–1935

LIVERMORE

Livermore, California

1910–17

LIVERMORE*

Livermore, California

1911

CARNEGIE

Carnegie Brick Co., California

1902–11

RAMSAY

G. H. Ramsay Co., England

1789–1925

CARR

John Carr and Sons, England

1889–1908

TERTRE

Ls Escoyez, Belgium

?–?

BUT [BJT ?] (missing half of brick) ? not identified

?–?

TCARR

1827 to 1918

Thomas Carr & Son, England

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Illustration 4.9a. Brick fragment with maker’s mark for Snowball, manufactured in England. Photo by author.

Illustration 4.9b. Brick fragment with maker’s mark for Livermore, made in Livermore, California. Photo by author.

Illustration 4.9c. Brick fragment with maker’s mark for T. Carr, produced in England. Photo by author.

Illustration 4.9d. Brick fragment with maker’s mark for Carnegie, from California. Photo by author.

As previously mentioned, a small, separate steam engine powered a generator that produced a small amount of electricity for lights inside the mill. The recovery of an intact light bulb from under a pile of brick in one of the excavation units during the first season of work was surprising as we had not been aware electric lights were used. Small electrical fuse boxes were also recovered. Sawdust is incendiary and can spontaneously combust if in an enclosed space at a specific density, thus it is a seriously dangerous

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byproduct of the milling process. Using electric lights rather than kerosene lamps is more than just a convenience; it helped decrease the likelihood of accidental fires, although an electric spark might produce the same effect. Electricity was reported to be powering the engine following a boiler explosion. No mention of injuries. Wires were run to the mill from town according to a story in the Evening Sentinel (1907).

Crib Dam and Waste Furnace Loma Prieta Mill stood adjacent to Aptos Creek and tangible evidence of the former crib dam constructed to create a millpond behind remains visible. A cut in the hillside creates a hollow space where it was constructed. The crib dam of cut timbers was buttressed at the shore ends by brickwork. Behind it stretched a half mile millpond for collecting cut trees to be floated to the mill. The base for the waste furnace across the creek was located in 2016, its brickwork camouflaged by a dense layer of moss. The steep limestone hillside had been carved away to form a hollow with a flat base just a few feet above the creek. Here the tree limbs, bark, and other wood debris lacking commercial value was burned on a daily basis (Calciano 1964a, 21; Calciano 1964b). A dense smoky haze was a constant throughout the canyons from the incinerating of waste and running the boilers for this and other mills up and down the valley. The remaining brickwork extends four meters along the ledge created by the base. A conveyor system functioned to take waste from the mill to the furnace during operations. The waste furnace at Sturgeon’s Mill stands adjacent fewer that twenty feet away and also loads waste via a conveyor.

Laborers’ Housing In addition to preliminary documentation of the mill, the location of the laborers’ housing was sought. The approach used for locating the workers’ housing differed from that for the mill because there were no visible surface structures. However, suitable flat terrain for housing is scarce and numerous mounds, depressions, and irregular ground features suggested a location to investigate that corresponded with historical images. The probable housing location was designated as Site 2. When the mill closed, workers’ cabins were sold and dismantled for their lumber, leaving little trace of their former presence. Cautious pedestrian survey through the forest more than a hundred meters east of the mill eventually located surface-scattered undecorated pottery, tin cans, glass Ball jars, and assorted historical artifacts in addition

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to a series of systematically placed privy holes; all these are highly suggestive of workers’ bunkhouses. Refuse pits were also extant, including a large pit that may actually have been a cellar beneath the cookhouse. Whether the Ball jars represent home canning of fruits or the purchase of food from the local general store cannot be determined. The few artifacts collected from the mill site during the initial 2015 season included tools, bricks, assorted beverage bottles, and pottery. The housing site investigated during the 2016 and 2017 seasons yielded numerous personal items. Figure 4.2 provides a plan for Site 2. Combining historical images with the survey enabled a secure identification of this particular housing zone. Additional housing areas shown in photographs from the 1880s indicate scattered and isolated housing wherever it could be fit into the landscape. Site 2 is situated 164 meters north along the current fire road from the mill site. Surface inspection along close interval transects led to the discovery of privy pits and trash mounds as well as unfortunate evidence of digging activity in the area spanning many years, possibly by bottle collectors. In fact, numerous individuals who stopped by to inquire about our activities proudly described collecting artifacts over the years. Privies have been shown to be excellent repositories of material culture associated with a wide range of human behaviors and values, status, class, and health; they also offer insights into practices of personal hygiene, and potentially also ethnicity (Carnes-McNaughton and Harper 2000; Linn 2010; Stevens and Ordañez 2005; Mullins and Warner 2008; Wheeler 2000). Linn (2010), for instance, demonstrated the significance of soda water among Irish Americans in the nineteenth century through careful analysis of privy deposits in New York and found the same to be true among the Irish community of Oakland, California in the 1870s (Mullins and Warner 2008). Linn found a link between the habitual use of soda water and health and curing practices harkening back to Ireland. A general lack of access to medical care in addition to traditional practices motivated many to self-medicate or to use home remedies of which soda water was one. Linn stresses that the soda water bottles were not so much markers of ethnicity as one of habitus and aspirations to middle-class status where hygiene was an important value (Linn 2010, 101). Soda water bottles made their way into privies associated with the Irish more than among other communities. Linn’s cautious approach to ascribing ethnic-marker status to the category of artifact is merited. Consumer practices stem from numerous motivations, with the desire of individuals to acquire products associated with their unique class aspirations or in keeping with the latest trends being among the strongest. The lack of professional medical care in general, and in the forest particularly, suggests that various forms of self-medication would be common among the working class (Asher 1986).

Figure 4.2. Site plan for the workers’ housing area (Site 2). Created by author.

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Asher’s examination of labor statistics before 1900 clearly indicate that workers were on their own in most industries when it came to health care. In his examination of Italian immigrant groups, Fitts (2002, 11) suggested that part of the process of the Americanization of immigrants was adopting behaviors related to sanitation, hygiene, and cleanliness, all of which were behaviors associated with middle-class values in the late Victorian period. This was undoubtedly the case, but traditional practices have a strong pull, and lack of easy access to appropriate care can foster the continued use of ethnomedical systems, including magic, which can serve as a complementary therapeutic form of treatment (Linn 2014, 151). Linn (2014) argued that traditions of home remedies might indicate cultural ties with deep roots in European metonymic practices. Material culture associated with magic and healing may go unrecognized in the archaeological record because objects used have prosaic common functions. One example of magic given by Fitts (2002) struck a nerve. As a child, my mother sewed a nail into the tail of my flannel shirt. Until this research I had not made a connection to the Scottish Irish roots of my mother to ancient Celtic traditions of warding off spirits. Some vestige of these traditions relating both to flannel and iron nails must still survive in the mountains of Appalachia where my mother was born. I wonder whether she even knew why she did it other than out of tradition. Nevertheless, archaeologists cannot interpret every artifact as potentially serving magical functions and such interpretations will need to be carefully triangulated through multiple data sets, while being careful not to impose attributes of ethnicity. Stoodley recalled that the company store offered numerous medicines and remedies that were popular during the period of his employment after 1900 (Calciano 1964b). That some of these were used by the workers may reflect ease of availability and limited consumer choice rather than outright consumer preference from a larger array of brands, but also reflects the unavailability or affordability of proper medical care. Repurposing patent medicine bottles to hold homebrewed concoctions is always a possibility, especially with generic panel bottles, but such repurposing is not likely to be evident unless the containers themselves were modified. Unfortunately, none of the privies or refuse dumps at Loma Prieta retained complete stratigraphic integrity, so we were prevented from determining trends over time for various consumer patterns. All had been dug up some years before. Stratigraphic levels were disturbed through the centers of the features and mixed. We will never know what bottles or other artifacts were removed that might have been useful in reconstructing the lives of the workers. However, what was not taken nevertheless has been revealing, even if more challenging to interpret. The outer edges of the features had not been dug and retained a semblance of original stratigraphy. These undisturbed sidewalls held a number of artifacts, including sev-

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eral gravity stoppers commonly used to cap bottles with contents under pressure (see chapter 5 for an expanded discussion of artifacts). Although timber cutters often were housed in temporary shake cabins— from all accounts little better than no shelter at all—photographs suggest those at Loma Prieta Mill were well built and mainly nonportable, suitable for long-term occupation. Traces of blue paint were recorded on each of the house structures we investigated. This architecture is corroborated from documentary sources and the discovery of a cabin on the last day of our second season. It was a common practice for housing to be relatively portable so that, as all nearby timber had been cut, workers could relocate closer to the stands of uncut trees that were at greater distance from the mill. The housing examined at Loma Prieta was of a different character. The spatial dimensions of the workers’ bunkhouses at Site 2 were not fully mapped owing to a lack of extant architectural features, but historical photographs offer clues. The houses in the photographs and investigated on the ground were most likely for bunk mates and skilled workers, not crowded bunkhouses where upwards of twenty men might dwell together (Andrews 1958). Historical images suggest that Loma Prieta had at least one such building located near the cookhouse, but most houses were scattered across the landscape, including adjacent to the lumberyard. The company also has scattered camps in the forest closer to uncut stands of timber. Owing to the solitary or small-team nature of the work, interactions between those living in the bunkhouses would have been restricted to the evening hours and dinnertimes (Andrews 1954, 1958; Calciano 1964a; Conlin 1979; Davies 2005; Franzen 1992). The pattern of work coupled with the graded nature of occupations probably reinforced divisions. Multiple earth features were recorded during the mapping phase. Presumably these are associated with houses. The site extends one hundred meters over one of the only flat spaces in the forest not used for lumber, nestled up against steep canyon walls that rise steeply at seventy- and eighty-degree angles. Unlike the mill, which sits adjacent to the creek below the rail bed, this location is above the rail bed, shown in a historical photo from about 1891. The narrow-gauge spur line from Aptos ran on the opposite side of the creek. The five-mile Loma Prieta railroad only operated from 1882–1884 (Hamman n.d., 3). In all, forty-two distinct features were mapped at this location and three were cleared for documentation. The entire area was divided into a grid of ten-meter squares or quadrats. A few of the quadrats were randomly selected for intensive surface investigation representing 5 percent of the gridded area. One was selected for complete surface collection. Three mortared bricks standing up from among the ferns (Feature 25, designated in order of discovery), suggested to us a place to begin (illustrations 4.10 and 4.11).

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Illustration 4.10. Documenting Feature 25 at Site 2, workers’ housing area. This feature had a brick floor comprising recycled firebrick. The material culture present suggests this was a married worker’s house. Photo by author.

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Illustration 4.11. The floor of Feature 25 exposed. The structure had three levels of brickwork flooring. Photo by author.

A grid was set up on a north–south axis over brick cluster Feature 25 divided into two-meter quads with the bricks at the center point, and the forest floor cleared of debris. What emerged immediately was an articulated brick floor, made up almost entirely of broken yellowish firebrick. This structure was found to have a floor of recycled firebrick from the Livermore factory. Many were half bricks. This layer was found to overlay an earlier floor of red brick; additional modifications to the floor were also detected, including poured mortar and concrete channels. The structure was not aligned on the north–south axis, but instead paralleled the road twelve meters away. Artifacts were recovered from every square meter of the grid. At first, we used a metal detector to ascertain if artifacts lay hidden. This approach was quickly abandoned because the detector sounded constantly from what turned out to be a carpet of hundreds of nails scattered over the entire grid. Many shake shingles lying nearby still held tacks. The building’s long side faced the road and measured 4.4 meters, but was too broken up along its other side dimensions to provide an accurate measurement, but at least 2.5 meters of floor along the long side was recorded. Bordering this structure were ninety-two river cobbles, each half the size of a bowling ball, running in a straight line from the edge of the road to the center of site, a distance of nineteen meters. A second line of sixty stones extending 7.7 meters paralleling the first on the opposite

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side of the structure as well as several in a row fronting the structure for five meters were uncovered in 2017. These stone lines clearly demarcate a boundary marker between structures and may have had social or domestic meaning in the camp that remains to be fully interpreted. Subsequent seasons did not reveal any substantial structures or additional brickworks among the quadrats. Core testing suggests that Feature 25 is the only remaining brick floor in the housing zone. However, debris zones nearby yielded considerable artifact material ranging from domestic goods to personal objects. These specific finds and their place in daily life are the subject of chapter 5.

Isolated Cabin Historical photographs of the bunkhouses show wooden buildings; a common construction method was to sink posts into the ground for temporary dwellings. The cabin found during our third season corroborates this construction method. However, the house in the main camp (Feature 5.14) suggests a more substantial construction, one having brick floors. As is often the case, an important find occurred on the final day of the field season. Students walking survey transects along an overgrown narrow-gauge spur line that diverged from the Loma Prieta grade encountered the remains of a substantial collapsed timber building. The structure was designated Site 4. A shallow semicircular subterranean brick feature was associated with the building sixteen feet away abutting a large redwood tree. The tree was original rather than second growth. It is possible that it was not cut because it was judged too small at the time to be commercially useful, but it has now grown to relative maturity. A survey crew returned to this cabin site during the 2017 season and thoroughly documented Site 4 since it provided an example of the typical bunkhouse used by the workers in the heyday of the mill (illustration 4.12). Artifacts were noted but not collected. The collapsed cabin measured 3.6 meters by 4.8 meters and was raised above the forest floor on ten posts measuring six inches by six inches. These posts were driven into the ground as supports for the floor beams. Floor beams and boards were intact. Floor beams measured two by six inches and the floorboards averaged two inches thick and twelve feet in length. Some exterior hardware, such as door locks, hinges, and window hooks, were in situ. The east-facing wall had fallen outward away from the structure that allowed us to get reasonable measurements for the height of the building at just shy of seven feet. Wall boards varied from eight to twelve inches width and were horizontally braced by a two by four. The roof was not intact but appears to have been a combination of shin-

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Illustration 4.12. Documentation of a laborer’s collapsed cabin (Site 4). Photo by author.

gles and corrugated tin. These measurements and overall appearance of the structure conform to structures seen in historical photographs. Small fragments of bottle glass were noted and a shallow, low-level semicircular brick structure of only four courses of brick was recorded. This brick feature remains of undetermined function. Here, as at the main housing site across the creek, a trace of blue paint was found on the wall boards. As many as four individuals could have occupied the structure. There is evidence that the dwelling was independent of the main work area and that those who lived in it may have taken their meals separate from the main workforce. As Dillon and Dillon (1993) suggested in their report to the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection, foresters and park managers should be aware of the vestiges of timber operations underfoot. Considerable material and “significant evidence” remains (Dillon and Dillon 1993, 58). This chapter described the archaeological procedures and landscape features recorded at two of the principal sites associated with Loma Prieta Mill. Archaeological work revealed the layout of the mill on the landscape and forcefully reminded us that a reliance on photographs can be misleading. We found that, although damaged, a significant amount of the foundations and brickwork for the boiler remain in situ. Artifacts were also recovered of both industrial and domestic character, ranging from tools to personal items. Stratigraphic profiles shed light on episodic envi-

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ronmental disturbances such as flooding or hillside slumping that resulted from clear-cutting and the destabilization of the surrounding slopes. In the following chapter the material culture recovered through our sampling is contextualized and examined in terms of attributes that might be related to the terms “class” and “ethnic.”

CHAPTER 5

Artifacts A Window to Life at the Mill

Yet, people do not speak with words alone. Men and women also use the world of objects to convey information through the use of analogy. —Anne Yentsch, 1991

Artifact Recovery Three factors governed artifact documentation as opposed to collection during the three seasons of the project. First, California State Parks is developing a policy of in situ preservation and something akin to a catchand-release approach to artifacts. Collection must be justified by the unique quality of the artifacts or a compelling need to recover items in the interest of developing historical context. For instance, although there are thousands of bricks, only a representative of each type was recovered. Thousands of nails are recorded in excavation units. Once a representative sample of types was achieved, and counts tabulated, the remainder were reburied in their respective units during backfilling. A rare cameo or brooch, of course, is an example of a unique item that would be collected. A second factor that concerned us greatly was exposed industrial artifacts that might be collected by unauthorized persons when the crews went home for the weekend, a period of greatest public traffic. One iron belt-wheel was located on the site in 2015, but was not recovered. Unfortunately, it was missing from the site in 2016 (illustration 5.1). Numerous rightfully curious individuals had visited the sites during fieldwork. A few had boasted to us of collecting artifacts in the park and were openly resistant to the idea they had done anything wrong. Our students engaged the

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Illustration 5.1. An iron belt-wheel at the mill site. With the use of fabric belts, energy from the engine could be transferred throughout the mill to operate a variety of machines. Photo by author.

public in healthy conversations about the nature of our work and the history at the site, but also tried to educate the public about the laws governing unauthorized removal of artifacts from the park and why undisturbed context matters to archaeologists. Large or obvious artifacts associated with the mill were left in situ, but were hidden by brush. Third, the Aptos History Museum has an exhibit of mill-associated materials and an arrangement between the California State Parks and the Aptos History Museum will enable several items to be displayed for the public. Although the bulk of material is currently curated at the Integrated Anthropology Lab at San Jose State University, to be used as part of a teaching collection, this is considered a temporary situation. More than 2,400 artifacts make up the collection, but a third of these are represented by nails and spikes of several types forming a fairly robust type collection that elicits disbelief among undergraduates that anyone could find them interesting. This reaction changes as we show how different types indicate different construction purposes and manufacturing techniques, including wrought iron square nails, cut nails, roofing nails, shingle nails, and railroad spikes. Artifacts in the assemblage shed light, although a dim light, on industrial production, workers’ lives, and to a modest extent on the issues of class and ethnicity at the core of this study.

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Life at the Mill The housing zone stretched ninety meters from the dining hall area to the privy zone that abutted the steep hillside to the north and forty meters at its widest point. A standardized grid of ten-meter quads was established over the entire zone. Random units of standard one meter by one meter were selected for excavation. In the area identified as workers’ housing, eighteen units were excavated over the final two seasons. All units yielded nails, and some units yielded only nails. Others clearly were associated with households, yielding sherds of ceramics or glass and assorted personal items. Systematic shovel testing across the grid to a standardized depth of thirty centimeters added additional information concerning artifact distribution, as well as stratigraphic data, but did not expose additional architecture. All excavation units were core tested to depths of 1.5 meters through the bottom level before closing in order to capture additional subsurface environmental data (figure 5.1). Artifacts that we could categorize as unique were recovered in association with the bunkhouse zone, ranging from work tools to household goods. A shovel, a file, and two wrenches were found that probably were for making adjustments to the many steam pipes found at the site, while a file might have been used for sharpening saws or hand axes. Also recovered were decorated ceramics and fine tea-ware (a preponderance of blue floral designs were present, which contrasts with the robust plain white stoneware found in the vicinity of the mess hall), an iron brace ratchet,1 window glass fragments, stemware, barrel staves, siding boards that still

Figure 5.1. Two unit profiles from more than forty excavated. These units illustrate evidence for episodic flooding and mudslides at the mill site. By the author.

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retained blue paint, a marble, and a die. The latter items are as likely for gaming rather than suggesting presence of children, but children cannot be ruled out. One small fragment of a ceramic figurine or doll head (right side forehead cheek and ear) was discovered among the broken plates. There is not enough of the head to confidently state it is a Frozen Charlotte, but there is enough to suspect it might be. The town of Loma Prieta had a school for children of mill workers and this might have been a toy for a laborer’s child. Additional delicate glass artifacts included stemware, a tumbler, a flower vase (which we interpreted as an expression of taste) (illustration 5.2), and bulbous kerosene lamp covers, which, regardless of being utilitarian, represent an expression in personal style and choice. Fragments of a glass lamp and a pitcher with a decorative base were also in the assemblage (McKearin and McKearin 1948). It is interesting to note the contrast between the heavy-duty plain white stoneware of the cookhouse and that of the private workers’ residence. Working at timber camps in upper Michigan, Franzen (1992) found plain white stoneware to be the common denominator, suggesting that ceramic was the preferred vessel for food consumption among lumbermen (Franzen 1992, 80). The types inventoried from the camps—cups, plates, saucers—match closely with our finds, with the exception that the recovered wares were American made. Enameled tinware was also common in the Michigan sites. Only a single enameled tin cup was found at Loma Prieta. Food was considered an important factor in keeping the workforce compliant. Franzen cites historical accounts of lumbermen proclaiming the importance of food and that logging traditions speaks of legendary “good meals” (Franzen 1992, 79). The recollections of kitchen worker Anna Lind mentioned in chapter 3 confirm the significance of meals. A comparative study of timber-camp food would make for an interesting project. Illustration 5.2. One of several glass The ceramics recovered were of artifacts (lavender color). This could be two types although quite similar a vase. Other non-bottle glass includes in appearance. Plates cups, bowls, stemware, kerosene-lamp bases, and tumblers. saucers, and servers were all of Photo by author.

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the same dimensions but different in subtle features. Type A cups and plates were more robust. The cups were 6.5 millimeters thick at the rim and rounded, whereas Type B cups were only 4.2 millimeters thick and slightly tapered. Diameters were identical at 8.9 centimeters (illustration 5.3). The same differences were found on the plates and bowls. Type A also was manufactured with a slight decorative trim lacking in Type B. Plates measured 25.4 centimeters in diameter, while saucers and bowls were 15.25 centimeters (illustration 5.4). Although plates and saucers carried maker’s marks, no such marks were on the cups. Peculiarly, we recovered more than a dozen broken cups but not one handle, regardless of type, that were the part of the cups broken. One can imagine that this part of the cup was vulnerable to rough treatment. All cups had a volume of ten ounces of fluid. Feature 36, determined to be one of five refuse dumps for the camp, contained a wide assortment of household discards. Excavation in a standard one meter by one meter recovered tin food containers (sardines), butchered bones (mostly beef and pig), glass, and various medicinal bottles, including both California Fig Syrup and Nervine. Fig Syrup was marketed by a San Francisco company as a health aid touted for the benefits of its mild laxative qualities. Advertisements exalted its supposed value to remedy several common ailments. Much of its laxative agency, however, was not from the figs but from an additive called senna, a tropical herb with a strong laxative nature. The contents were also

Illustration 5.3. Two types of ceramic cups. Type A is more robust, and the base has a slight decorative feature. Type B is thinner and lacks any styling. Neither has a maker’s mark but both likely conform to the makers indicated by plates as a set. Photo by author.

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Illustration 5.4. Various plates and saucers recovered near the cookhouse feature. Items A, B, C, D, and F are all plates, and E is a shallow bowl. Photo by author.

6 percent alcohol according to the American Medical Association in 1904. Mothers were encouraged by the pharmaceutical company to give this concoction to their children and illustrations in the advertisements clearly target middle-class and upper-class women. The product was variously promoted as the family laxative or as part of a healthy lifestyle. In 1895 the syrup was an important element in the health food consciousness of the day to which such companies as Kellogg’s and General Mills were a driving force (Fernandez-Armesto 2002; Wilson 2012). One advertisement reads with a blatant reference to class consciousness: “The many who live better than others, and enjoy life more with less expenditure by more promptly adapting the world’s best products to the needs of their physical being, will attest the value to health of the pure liquid laxative principles embraced in the remedy” (Zumwalt 1980). This was followed by a litany of ailments and complaints that the syrup addressed. The advertisement is accompanied by an image of a sophisticated woman of obvious means in a sumptuous dress consuming the syrup as she would a cordial. Such a remedy makes a clear association between middle-class values and health as well as the product as belonging to both. Use or acceptance of this product inserted the user into consumer culture while informing the user

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that they were expressing class association. Connotations of class can be displayed through behaviors as well as material goods. As a brand of self-medication Nervine, manufactured by Dr. Miles Nervine of Elkhart, Indiana, was in a class all its own as a nerve calmer; it contained a mix of bromines that acted to sedate a person by desensitizing neurons. The sedation came at a price, however, as the concentration of bromine needed to calm most people was very close to the toxicity levels of the bromides of the contents. Alteration of the central nervous system was one outcome, and hallucinations was another (Griffin 2013). This late-nineteenth-century patent medicine was marketed to many suffering with chronic pain. Reading from the label, we find claims that Nervine is suitable “for nervousness or nervous exhaustion, sleeplessness, hysteria, headache, neuralgia, backache, pain, epilepsy, spasms, fits, and St. Vitus’ dance” (chorea chiefly affecting children, and is associated with rheumatic fever) (Griffin 2013). The majority of medicinal bottles were generic, without embossing in the central panel, their labels having disintegrated without trace. Two partial bottles were identified as bitters bottles (Ketchum 1975). Additional bottles have been identified as standard soda water containers, gin bottles, beer bottles, wine bottles, and bottles for condiments, including Lea & Perrins steak sauce. The Lea & Perrins Company of England began in 1877 selling west of the Mississippi with local contractors. The bottle recovered dates before 1920 (Zumwalt 1980, 268). Several case bottles and unmarked medicinal varieties also were in the assemblage. Loma Prieta Mill Company did not permit alcohol as a policy, so most workers went to town for their liquor. Although drinking was officially discouraged, we have no evidence that the management engaged in formal inspections of workers’ quarters or enforced the rule, and at least one worker, if not more, had a personal supply. A clear, square, flat-sided bottle similar to a gin bottle but with the flared lip of a druggist’s bottle was found near the cookhouse. It lacks embossing, and without a label its original use can only be speculated upon but it is likely a druggist’s shop bottle (“Historic Bottle Identification” 2015) (see illustration 5.5 and 5.6 for bottle forms). Among the small finds were ceramic fragments, kitchen glassware, and a wide range of clothing furnishings such as decorative buttons, overall clasps, jeans rivets with tan denim attached (bearing the mark PAT MAY 18 1873 LS & Co SF.),2 garter snaps, suspender clips, eyelets, and parts of at least three leather shoes or hobnailed boots (illustrations 5.7 and 5.8). Levi Strauss came to San Francisco in 1853 and worked in dry goods. He also made clothing for miners. A tailor from Reno named Jacob Davis convinced Strauss to use rivets at the stress points on his garments. Together they partnered to create the company that has produced Levi’s jeans ever since (Lam and Cheng 2018). A picture emerges of the lum-

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Illustration 5.5. Representative sample of bottles. A: blank clear druggist’s panel bottle; B: Ross Belfast torpedo soda bottle, brown patina; C: molded brown beer bottle with applied lip; D: Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce; E: clear square druggist’s bottle. Photo by author.

Illustration 5.6. Additional beverage bottle types from privy. A: clear; B: light blue; C: dark-green wine bottle. All were mold made. Photo by author.

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Illustration 5.7. Assorted jeans rivets (Levi Strauss & Company, San Francisco), brass clasps, buttons from privy. Photo by author.

berman in tan Levi’s trousers held up by suspenders, wearing hobnailed boots and a plaid shirt—in other words, the stereotyped image conveyed by Paul Bunyan of lore. The Paul Bunyan stories were the brainchild of a Minnesota advertising agent who popularized the character after 1914, and is, of course the source of the stereotype, yet the image already existed in mainstream culture and therefore found a receptive audience (Hennigar, Hoffman, and Stekert 1986). Brass buttons were found but the state of corrosion prevented any design elements from examination. Several snaps and metal logger or bachelor buttons, caps, sockets, and posts also were retrieved from deposits. Boot eyelets and metal shoe lace hooks with fragments of leather still attached are suggestive of non-work-related footwear. The nails in the sole and heel were brass and were likely from a cheaperquality boot. The sizes are rather small and may have been from a woman’s boot (Stevens and Ordoñez 2005). Also recovered was a jar with the embossed label of Everett & Barron Co., from Providence, Rhode Island. Founded in 1895, Everett & Barron made shoe polish and boot black. While we cannot say if the two are related directly, it makes sense

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Illustration 5.8. Two leather shoe toe ends. Note the brass nails. Several shoe parts were recovered, including tongues, heels, and panels. A few lacing hooks were also recovered. Photo by author.

that anyone making a fashion statement or desiring to reflect middle-class refinements related to dress and grooming would want their footwear polished when seen in public during a period of leisure, be it a lumberman or his wife. Buttons were recovered of five types: (1) bead buttons with a single hook, two holes, and four holes, (2) brass, (3) shell, (4) porcelain, and (5) bone. Of this assortment a few could be considered decorative owing to color and design as opposed to basic plain white for a work shirt. Two were stemmed shoe buttons and one was of faux pearl. (See Sears Roebuck 1900 1970, 497, for an example of buttoned footwear.) Boot hooks were also recovered. Such lacing hooks are still in use today on work and hiking boots. Stoneware storage containers are represented by three types of crockery. One has tentatively been identified as a Chinese pickle jar, although how it was used, when, and by whom; or what it actually contained cannot be stated. The others are common mottled brown jars and a white salt-glazed crock of approximately five gallons (based on lip diameter). Containers of this type have many uses for bulk food storage and home pickling.

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Excavation units set a considerable distance away from the refuse pits targeted potential bunkhouse yards on flat terrain. Among the more intriguing small finds was a small red intaglio portraying the image of Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom, war, commerce, and craft. A fragile copper alloy or brass holder was also recovered (illustration 5.9). Cameos such as this were made widely popular after 1850 by Queen Victoria and were used within Victorian society to signal particular and nuanced symbolic meanings in the manner that paintings from the same period signaled meanings through the subtle use of flowers or colors in portrait backdrops. “Decoding the appearance of others” through visible symbols in Victorian context entailed interpreting encoded messages in dress and personal adornment (Beaudry et al. 1991, 155). Citing Praetzellis’s insightful work investigating Chinese communities in post–gold rush era Sacramento, Beaudry et al. (1991) articulated how small details in dress and the particulars of everyday material culture can serve as powerful signals of class or status, and that style can act as a further instrument of differentiation and boundary maintenance among ethnic and class sub-

Illustration 5.9. Minerva intaglio cameo. This image is deep red. The copper alloy piece may or may not go with the cameo, but it seems likely since they were recovered in the same unit and strata. Minerva represented crafts and arts. Photo by author.

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cultures. The construction of cultural identity, according to Beaudry et al. (1991, 154), is a “public act of mediation between self and other; often workers and members of subordinate groups.” The Minerva intaglio was most likely worn by a woman because it belongs within a Victorian-era symbolic suite that was highly gendered. In fact, Oscar Wilde was the first to inform the period of specific homosexual signaling through the use of intaglios depicting Antinious (the male lover of the Emperor Hadrian) in an era when such behavior and identity were closeted. The intaglio was not an object that would be worn while working and reflects self-expression during times of leisure, both as a symbol of refinement and of class aspiration. The domestic household sphere frequently produces material things that are gendered (Rotman 2015, 40). In their classic study of how artifacts are used to construct and maintain identity among workers in the textile industry at Boot Mill, Massachusetts, Beaudry et al. (1991, 155) highlight the significance of nonworking hours in identity, suggesting that “the role of leisure activities or those activities that are not considered work is important to self-definition and self-expression.” This is of course relevant in a work camp where time off from work is limited and restricted owing to the isolation of the camp from town life, compounded by the small ratio of subordinate groups. Workers may signal group solidarity vis-à-vis company superiors but may also signal group affiliation at a different scale between one another in the dining hall or after hours. Brooches and costume jewelry also display personal taste (Mrozowski 2006, 134). However, whether the intaglio was worn by a person of Portuguese, Italian, or Anglo identity is an open question. A pocketknife found near the boiler house hints at personal loss (illustration 5.10). Pocketknives are more than tools—they are prized pos-

Illustration 5.10. Pocketknife. One of three recovered from Site 1 and Site 2. Photo by author.

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sessions, mainly by men or boys, and are carried daily, serving many uses. Owners of pocketknives become emotionally attached to the items through daily use and the almost ritualistic need to carry it with them. Less a symbol of manhood, they are an intimate part of a person’s identity. See table 5.1 for a listing of all nonindustrial artifacts. Additional pocketknives were also unearthed from the housing area in the same sector. Pocketknives recovered were both two blade and three blade types. In all, three pocketknives were found, one of which was associated with a refuse pit. They were much too corroded to extract much information regarding manufacture. Table 5.1. Nonindustrial domestic artifacts, Site 2. Category Glass

MNI Comments Beverage bottles Beer

8

Brown and green types

Gin

3

Clear

Soda

1

Ross Belfast

Wine

4

Green

Wine

2

Clear

9

Several generic panel types; Nervine, Cal Fig Syrup

Jar

2

One with Chinese characters

Condiments

2

Lea & Perrins, mustard

Ink wells

2

American standard, other

Stemware

3

Frosted

Tumbler

2

Clear

Vase

2

Purple cut glass, clear

Vial gravity stoppers

3

Embossed date 1894

Boot polish

1

Light bulb

2

Kerosene lamp base

1

Medicinal Food storage

Other glass

Ceramics Tableware Plates

27

Mostly plain white, some with painted blue floral pattern

Cups

12

Plain white

Saucers

5

Some with blue floral pattern

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Category

MNI Comments Pitchers

1

Plain white

Sauce dish

1

Crock

2

Earthenware with incised body, blue annular lines

Other

3

Gray stoneware

Bisque doll head

1

Storage

Domestic

Tea cup

1

Porcelain

Decorated plate

2

Blue floral; blue and red floral

Cup

1

Yellow and brown annular

General office Paper clips

60

Calendar holder ring

1

Scissors

1

Buttons

12

Wide variety

Hook and eye clasps

37

Brass

Grommets

90

Brass

Jeans rivets

65

Brass

Suspender/overall clasps

19

Garter clips

1

Thigh-high stocking

1

Snaps

14

Heels/soles

5

Tongue

1

Quarter and eyelets

2

Pocketknives

3

3 blade variety

Minerva intaglio

1

Red/profile, plus brass/ copper backing

Pipe stems

3

Glasgow/McDougall embossed

Pipe bowls

1

Undecorated

Clothing furnishings

Silk/beige fringed edge

Shoes/boots Hobnailed

Personal

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Artifacts that can be definitively said to characterize ethnicity or hint at the cultural mix of the camp are few and it would be inappropriate to try to squeeze out more from the data than is evident. Items that might be interpreted as definitive markers of particular ethnic groups are absent from the assemblage. However, a thin piece of clear glass with Kanji characters embossed on the surface was recovered from a privy pit. The fragment is barely eight centimeters in length, making decipherment difficult (illustration 5.11). These characters have been read by a consultant who has suggested they may not be solely Chinese, but also Japanese, since both use the Kanji alphabet for certain overlapping purposes. The translation so far has characters for Business/Trade Association (the same in Chinese and Japanese) and for Peace. The city Can-ton is also a probable

Illustration 5.11. Shard of glass bottle with embossed Kanji letters. Recovered from the laborers’ housing area. Photo by author.

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character.3 The suggestion is that it is a medicinal or herb jar. Does this item indicate Japanese in the camp practicing traditional pharmacology? Could it have belonged to the Chinese camp cook who was killed by the 1906 earthquake that damaged milling sites in the area and destroyed San Francisco? (Calciano 1964a, 1964b; Koch 1973, 160). Alternatively, does it represent adoption of an exotic medical practice by non-Chinese? By itself we cannot argue for more beyond recognizing that someone was connected to the Chinese trade in goods that extended back to China in the same manner as demonstrated by Chinese communities elsewhere (Praetzellis 1999). Also recovered was the hexagonal base of a Chinese medicine bottle. (See Warner 2014 for an image of a complete bottle recovered at Sandpoint in Idaho.) During the 2017 season several additional artifacts categorized as personal objects were unearthed, including pipe bowls and stems embossed with the words “McDougal” on one side and “Glasgow” on the obverse. The stem was found separate from a bowl (without a spur) recovered in another nearby unit and the two cannot be assigned to the same pipe, therefore the stem must be broadly dated to a manufacture between 1846 and 1891, with the latter end of the date the most likely (illustration 5.12)

Illustration 5.12. Pipe stem with the word “McDougal” showing. On the obverse is the word “Glasgow.” Photo by author.

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As attractive an idea as it may be, the pipe fragments cannot be construed as indicative of a Scottish lumberman in the camp, one of English heritage, or even the Scottish foreman mentioned by Bergazzi (Calciano 1964a). Pipes were imported in large lots and were widely used and were sold at the company store. It does, however, indicate a preference among available brands. Other artifacts can be classified as office materials, including paper clips, two ink bottles of different types, ringed calendar holders, and binder rings. Someone in the camp was literate and may have been employed by the company for recordkeeping on site. The larger ink bottle was a Waterman two-ounce type dating between 1900 and 1910. The Waterman Company began selling bulk inks after 1888 in tandem with their new invention, the ink pen with a self-contained reservoir of ink. Not only did this bring an end to the process of having to make one’s own ink, but it also made refined writing tools available to the general public. Tear drop–shaped gravitating stoppers were recovered in two units, each with the date 1892–96 molded in the glass. These were commonly used with medicinal or soda bottles (see illustration 5.13). A gravitating stopper is an elongated, oblong-shaped, glass plug with a flared knob on one end. A rubber gasket was placed on the upper end of the knob and this was placed in the bottle. It sealed the contents by pressing against the inside surface of the bottle at the juncture of the neck and shoulder under the pressure of the contents (“Historic Bottle Identification” 2015). The gravitating stopper was patented in 1864 by Albert Albertson and was as-

Illustration 5.13. Teardrop-shaped glass gravitating stopper. Lettering states “patent 1887.” These stoppers were common for bottles with contents under pressure, such as soda water. Photo by author.

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signed to John Matthews, an associate of Albertson’s, in 1866. Although the stopper could be made of glass, hardwood, or other suitable material, it is likely that glass was the most commonly used material (Bender 1986; see Bender 2016, 19, for an illustration). The stopper has fine molded lettering with its patent information on the neck. These bottles were opened by pushing down on the head of the stopper to release the pressure that allowed the stopper to sink to the bottom of the bottle and the contents to be accessed. The stoppers were removable and reusable with a new gasket (“Historical Bottle Identification” 2015). At the far western end of the housing zone was an area we interpreted as the dining hall or cookhouse for the camp. Among items found here were tin stove pipes, terracotta drainage pipes, a wide assortment of food remains including butchered beef bones, and clam shells. It is likely that workers or a local Chinese fisherman harvested clams near the wharf and hauled them to the camp to add variety to camp diet, which was otherwise heavy on beef and pork. In this context, the meat diet provided to lumbermen in the camps precluded individuality and acted as a subtle step in the Americanization process through an Americanizing diet. After the Chinese were prohibited from fishing in the area the clam harvest was likely taken over by Portuguese immigrants. Also, in this specific area was an assortment of scattered water pipes, extensive common whiteware plates and cups, and a quarter-section of bench-mounted whetstone wheel (illustration 5.14 and 5.15). The size of the wheel suggests it was

Illustration 5.14. One-quarter of a whetstone found near cookhouse location. Photo by author.

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Illustration 5.15. An intact whetstone of the same size as the one in illustration 5.14 mounted in its water trough. A larger whetstone is in the foreground at right. These could be used at this scale to sharpen knives and cleavers. The larger ones were used for axes. Saws were sharpened with files. Photo by author.

for sharpening knives and cleavers at the cookhouse, but it could just as easily serve to put a good edge on a chisel. A similar wheel was at Sturgeon’s Mill in its cradle near the smithy. A secured privy or grease pit was also discovered. Not unlike the bricks, the maker’s marks on all of the white-ware indicate English manufacture. While most date from 1856 to 1885, a few are inconsistent with the period of operation. One manufacturer’s ceramic mark (Maddock & Sons) was produced only from 1930 to 1935, suggesting someone stayed on in the housing area long after the mill closed. When the mill shut down, the Loma Prieta Company continued elsewhere and still owned the mill equipment, so a caretaker on premises is to be expected. Sections of narrow-gauge rail were also found scattered near the site, some in the creek. These were probably discarded when the railroad was dismantled for sale. Stoodley states that the rail was sold along with most of the ties (Calciano 1964b). Although miles of track were pulled up, many remain in situ, and ties serve today to reinforce the hiking trails that were configured from the many spur lines. Illustration 5.16 pictures one of the many narrow-gauge locomotives that haul logs to the dumping sites bordering the millpond. As mentioned in chapter 4, a third site associated with the mill was investigated and fully surveyed during the 2017 season. Site 3 was located

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Illustration 5.16. One of many narrow-gauge Shay engines operating at Loma Prieta Mill. Courtesy Aptos History Museum. Originally Monterey Bay Historical Association.

directly across the creek from the mill and elevated above it on the sloping hillside. This site would have faced the Loma Prieta shingle mill approximately a hundred feet west of the timber mill. Behind this location and just above it ran the narrow-gauge Loma Prieta spur line, which had been graded by Chinese labor (Lydon 1985). An assortment of kitchen goods and food remains similar to those recorded at the dining hall area of Site 1 suggest a separate area for consumption at Site 3, however, there were considerably more meat bones in the deposits at Site 3 (illustrations 5.17 and 5.18; see also faunal discussion below). Depositional processes and sampling variation likely accounts for some of the disparity between the two zones and might not be indicative of actual dietary variation. Remnants of a wood-burning iron stove with the embossed letters FRENCH on its front panel was noted. Ceramics, beverage bottles, and butchered animal bones make up the majority of items catalogued at Site 3. A dump location for food remains was found on the edge of the creek just below the site, with hundreds of additional butchered bones firmly embedded in the bank, the majority of which were beef, although pig and some goat was also present. The faunal material described here was not sampled in a systematic process and therefore cannot be said to represent the entirety of dietary evidence at the site. It does, however, offer a glimpse into the character of

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Illustration 5.17. Butchered bone from Site 2 near cookhouse. Ends were sawn. Photo by author.

the meals provided by the mill owners. Of course, perishable foods that do not leave a trace once consumed, such as bread, bacon, vegetables, soups or grains, and a complete diet of the workers, cannot be surmised from meat bones alone. The bones had all been sawn through. According to Stoodley (Calciano 1964b) pieceworkers and splitters working the hills for the company were provided with free bacon and vegetables to compensate for their meager pay. Both Conlin (1979) and Franzen (1992) investigated diets among lumbermen and found the importance of hearty meals, with an emphasis on meat. Steaks, chops, and cuts considered high value (Schulz and Gust 1983) were common. Surviving menus from lumber camps include fish, chowders, beans, corn, steaks, bread, and numerous pies (Conlin 1979, 175). Franzen (1992, 84) found that Finnish loggers in upper Michigan required traditional meat stews and fresh fruit as well as a clean kitchen. Each of these studies also found that lumbermen demanded to eat from porcelain. In this case, porcelain meant ceramics as opposed to enameled tin. Failure to provide ceramics could lead directly to labor disputes (Conlin 1979, 169). The assemblages described by Franzen and illustrated in numerous period photographs (Andrews 1954; Lind 1975) match closely

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Illustration 5.18. Butchered bone from Site 3. All shown are beef. Photo by author.

the assemblage at Loma Prieta. Plain white utilitarian wares, not enameled tin or other coarse earthenware, was the common factor. This nearly universal requirement of lumbermen coast to coast and the willingness of company executives to comply to maintain a docile workforce suggests that lumbermen were not entirely without negotiating power at getting what mattered most to them. Among the lowest paid of working men, they put up with difficult working conditions and poor housing, but would not tolerate bad food or limited supplies (Conlin 1979; Lind 1975). In a telling incident in the Pacific Northwest, men once refused to work until the Chinese cook had been fired and replaced by a Caucasian. When it was discovered a week later that the new cook was unable to produce enough pies, the lumbermen refused to work until the Chinese cook had been brought back (Conlin 1979). The cook returned and negotiated higher wages. Often working fourteen hours per day, a good Chinese cook was worth more than the $25 to $40 per month he was paid (Lydon 1985, 234). Both the cuts of meat provided and the ceramics on which food was served signal middle-class aspirations and class-conscious display. Until World War I, the lumbermen were dining better than the people in town or any railroad worker and they did so with decorum (Lind 1975). This dining behavior contrasts with the rough nature of the work and momentarily elevated all workers to the same status. Also recorded at Site 3 were standing wooden posts, and assorted iron water pipes, wire door screens, and two privy pits. The privies had been

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disturbed in the past and were of limited value. There is every indication that this area, too, was for housing workers. These cabins might have had interior plumbing for water since iron pipes were located in three locations. Situated just downslope from the spur line, water could have been gravity-fed to the building from a water tank. The significance of this site is that it further allowed an accurate orientation of the mill in concert with available historical images onto the landscape. A folding metal cot frame suggests that not all beds were bunk styled or made from wood. The two bunkhouse areas, Site 2, and Site 3 on the opposite side of the creek exhibited significant variation in deposits, especially with regard to ceramics. For comparative purposes these are assessed along with the cookhouse deposits. The assemblage associated with the dining hall yielded cups, bowls, deep saucers, and plates of uniformly undecorated white-ware, all of which were of English manufacture. Maker’s marks indicated English imports from both Maddock & Sons, of 1906 and 1935 types, and Thomas Hughes & Sons, of 1895 vintage. The white-ware assemblage was recovered from units near where the buildings had stood and not from nearby refuse pits. This was also the case in the assemblage at the hillside housing site. Historical photographs of the interior of dining halls at two mills in the state of Washington are revealing. The long tables with bench seats are shown carefully set out with dinnerware of uniform sets of stout plain white-ware plates, deep saucers, and cups that are a close match for the material at Loma Prieta. The tables are also set with enameled tinware coffee pots. Both male- and female-aproned kitchen staff (known as flunkies) are visible standing by (Andrews 1954, 96–97; Conlin 1979). The ceramic types at Loma Prieta were not high-quality ceramics in their day but were considered a better line of utilitarian types. The assemblage from the separate workers’ housing zone (also at Site 2) included, as described earlier, floral-decorated types of more-delicate modeling and design, and thin-sided teacup fragments (illustration 5.19). Assorted stoneware vessel fragments and a large, thirty-centimeter-diameter wide yellowware mixing bowl with annular design were recovered and are associated with the brick-floored house (Feature 25). Period catalogues show these bowls were usually sold in sets of three different sizes. Fragments of a smaller yellowware bowl of matching annular design was recovered. Although “annular-ware” is a term applicable to any hollowware encircled by colored bands, the yellowware is a distinct subtype, with production between 1840 and 1900 (Stelle 2001). These bowls suggest greater personal choice and expression as well as the possibility of household food preparation (illustration 5.20). Such consumer ceramics were not considered status wares, but figure prominently among utilitarian kitchenware and those manufacturers generally did not apply

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Illustration 5.19. Ceramics from Feature 25, possibly from a married laborer’s house. A: blue and red annular-ware; B: cream color with red annular stripe; C: porcelain teacup rim, red paint; D: pale-blue flora-decorated white-ware. Photo by author.

Illustration 5.20. Yellowware mixing bowl and gray stoneware storage vessel. Each was recovered in the workers’ housing area near privies. Photo by author.

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maker’s marks. As such, Gates and Ormerod (1982, 9) suggest they represent a common consumer product associated with working-class and middle-class households reflective of the consumer habits and values that characterize it. If so, this may further indicate a married worker’s household because he would most likely choose to eat with his family rather than in the dining hall; alternatively, he might have been expected to do so. A large salt-glazed gray crock fragment (size 5) also indicated household food storage. One could find the same crock today at a Crate and Barrel store. In terms of ethnicity in the camps that Franzen (1992) studied in Upper Michigan, he can only speculate, but French Canadian, Irish, and Scandinavian (Finnish) are cited as likely. In Franzen’s thoughtful analysis, the various camps in Upper Michigan to have been predominately occupied by a single ethnic group. With regular departure of Finns from the camps to start up farms, the need for workers was constant and created opportunities for new waves of immigrants. Franzen provided a unique look at how ethnicity might be expressed materially, stating that lumber camps with predominantly Finnish laborers would have saunas, and that meals consisted of traditional stews and soups (Franzen 1992, 84). The situation at Loma Prieta was more complex, with a heterogeneous mix of ethnic groups. The ceramics from Site 3 at Loma Prieta more closely mimic those found associated with the dining hall and also lack the distinction of decoration. These ceramics also have English maker’s marks, principally H. Burgess white stoneware from Burslem, England. H. Burgess produced ironstone and stone China, commonly called graniteware, exclusively for the American market. The style recovered has a later manufacturing range than the other types and might be from the post-milling period. These various wares shared two important characteristics: they were all thick and they were all plain. The cups were six millimeters thick at the rim and thicker still at the base. It is striking that all of the ceramics used at the Loma Prieta were of English manufacture, most of the bricks were from English kilns, and the pipe stem recovered was from Scotland.

Faunal Material Bone recovered from all three sites consist largely of cow and pig, with a possible example of sheep. All bone had been butchered by sawing. Parallel cut marks on the bones indicate that butcher knives were used to separate the meat from the bone where tendons connected the muscles. While we can conjecture that the men were being mainly served cuts of meat as steaks, there is evidence that stews were also prepared, and marrow extracted. A preponderance of hind quarters, shanks, and lower

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limbs were recovered, although a few ribs and shoulders were also in the assemblage. Longitudinal cuts indicate the marrow was being extracted, possibly for stews. (See table 5.2 for a compilation of faunal materials.) These bones and possible meat cuts conform to Conlin’s analysis that steaks and roasts were common and are considered of choice quality and higher status (Conlin 1979; Schulz and Gust 1983). The iron handle of one steak knife was recovered during shovel testing near the cookhouse. Several clam shells were also scattered on the surface in the vicinity and help round out the picture of diet as far as meat is concerned (table 5.2). Table 5.2. Faunal specimen, all units (totals, not MNI). Bone ID

Site 1 Mill area

Site 2 Site 2 Housing area Cookhouse area

Distal metatarsus

1

Site 3 Housing area 1

Proximal metatarsus

2

Scapula

5

Tibia

4

1

Rib (cow)

20

2

Rib (pig)

8

Carpods

4

Vertebrae (cow)

5

Vertebrae (fish)

3

Radius

4

1

Pelvic

1

Sacrum

2

Femur

12

Distal femur

1

Femur head

1

Skull fragment (cow)

1

Unidentified fragments

1

11

154

30

Totals

1

13

209

45

Other Squirrel jaw

1

Clam

6

Snail

4

Note: All identified femur, metatarsus, tibia, and radius were sawn on the ends. Some femur were also sawn length-wise.

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This chapter highlighted the composition of material culture extant at the three sites investigated over three seasons of fieldwork. Much more is undoubtedly present since our excavations were merely a significance sampling. The majority of the privies, which likely contain a rich historical record of discards, were not sampled. Excavation was carried out at only one of the dwelling units. Nevertheless, significant artifacts from different categories were documented. In chapter 6, the conclusion, the historical record and material culture recovered from the sites are synthesized and discussed. I also return to the question of ethnic identity and class construction among laborers as observed at the mill and to what degree archaeology and the material culture has helped in the interpretation of labor at Loma Prieta.

Notes 1. A brace ratchet is an iron rod devised with slots used to hold logs in place for sawing. Two or three are used in a row to hold a log on a rolling bed. 2. Jeans in this period were not the standard blue jean common today but a tan material closer to sail cloth. 3. Juliana Cheng, personal conversation, 2018. Ms. Cheng made the translation directly from the glass shard. Ms. Cheng is a member of the Santa Cruz Archaeological Society.

CONCLUSION

Reading Ethnicity and Class

No mining camp was ever devoid of class distinctions. Donald Hardesty, The Archaeology of Mining and Miners: A View from the Silver State, 1988 This study was undertaken with three objectives: (1) to understand the milling operations and spatial characteristics of Loma Prieta Mill in the context of the timber industry of early California, (2) to document and inventory cultural resources still extant within the park, and (3) to learn whether the ethnicities of the immigrant groups working at the mill could be isolated or recognized. The question of who the laborers were at Loma Prieta can be answered principally through historical accounts. Archaeology brought forth evidence of the mill layout and technology. The material culture, however, although providing insights into the daily lives of workers, was less revealing about ethnicity than had been hoped. This lack of markers deserves some discussion. On the other hand, evidence of class was more forthcoming. While Hardesty’s (1988) conclusion regarding class distinctions in mining camps rings true, it could also be said that no mining camp was ever ethnically homogenous. The workers were immigrants from several European nations who arrived in California along different paths with a range of motivations and aspirations, but with a common desire to earn sufficient income to return home with wealth and new status or to establish themselves in better circumstances than those they had escaped. This was true in mining districts and in lumberyards. The timber industry was one of several pathways available to immigrants and it attracted laborers of various backgrounds with promises stable wages, good food, and relative independence.

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Here I am taking a narrower approach to understanding the laborers at Loma Prieta. The premise set forth in this study was that examining housing would enable testing the proposition that personal items and aspects of material culture or heritage culture may harbor markers of ethnicity or be symbolic of class at various scales as individuals and groups sought to maintain cultural continuity, even while assimilating with a dominant culture. Assimilation is a process arrived at, or not, at various scales. As the work of the various scholars cited throughout this book have shown, the degree to which assimilation or acculturation is achieved is highly contextual and is dependent on factors that often are outside control of the individual. Similarly, class distinctions are also nuanced and wedded to economics, ethnicity, and labor status. It must be understood that workers were not forced into the timber industry, but instead elected to labor in the forests. Other occupations were available. Despite ranking near the bottom of the labor hierarchy in terms of respect and wages, timber work offered stability. Perhaps because the industry was so poorly regarded, the workers achieved a measure of negotiating leverage. The capitalist owners of the mills could not easily replace workers with lower-paid labor, since lumbermen were already near the bottom, and the owners were already fully exploiting the available immigrant pool. Incentives such as regular meals and housing, even if rude in character, provided a semblance of dignity. By keeping personal expenses at a minimum, laborers could gradually accrue the trappings of upward class mobility. While some material culture can be hypothesized as revealing ethnic expression, it is also likely that similar aspects of acquired material culture reflect the values of the dominant culture or, in some cases, simply represent pragmatic choices from limited available options (Orser 2007, 171). There are few artifacts exclusive to any one category or social group. Orser has suggested compellingly that ethnicity and class are nearly inseparable constructs (Orser 2007). Furthermore, the construct of ethnic markers is itself problematic in the sense that ethnicity is a fluid and ill-defined concept (Fitts 2002, 8; Jones 1997, 124; Linn 2010, 101; Ross 2011, 92). In the lumber camp these two categories—ethnicity and class—merge with labor and an identifiable working class whose aspirations drew them into American capitalist consumerism where identity as American acquired material expression. In a formal critique of archaeological construction of ethnicity, Sian Jones argued that the reasoning is frequently circular wherein groups define markers that then define groups (Jones 1998, 220). The process is rife with assumptions. Furthermore, many categories of material culture associated with class or ethnicity are accepted, “a priori as frameworks for description” (Jones 1998, 221). As I described above, we cannot assume any artifact is a marker of any particular group, es-

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pecially in the context of timber camps where diverse populations lived and worked together. Adoption of material culture by a subaltern group may not represent acculturation so much as pragmatic accommodation to circumstances. Ethnic identity may reside elsewhere, as in “symbolic resources” of language, beliefs, and cultural practices (Jones 1998, 226). In part, the absence of clear markers of ethnic association at the mill site can be interpreted as evidence of the greater importance of the symbolic resources within the homogenizing context of the working environment. In a cogent study of Japanese and Chinese migrants in British Columbia, Douglas Ross problematized the issue, suggesting that, “ethnicity is an outcome of migration process and racial discrimination in the host country more than a replication of traditional cultural practices” (Ross 2011, 92, based on Harris 1997). Isolation in segregated camps may tend to reinforce ethnic structural ideologies and reify ethnic differences. Socalled markers may be a product of such isolation rather than stemming from long cultural traditions. Yet such isolation also limits forms of expression. While a specific category of material culture may signal the likely presence of a group, it does so more from external than from internal behavioral constraints. Soda bottles in the privy or streambed may hint at the presence of Irish workers, but soda bottles are neither necessarily Irish products nor inherently markers of Irish culture any more than are grooming habits. Soda was a popular beverage across groups. If we know a household is constituted of Irish immigrants and find material goods in the deposits, do these items become de facto Irish markers? If we then find the same objects in the deposits of a household of unknown composition, are we to assume or assign Irish ethnicity to the household? Of course not. So then, what is an ethnic marker? What is the correlate? Furthermore, what is the intersection of ethnic marker and class marker? Specific material culture associated with particular groups may only be a marker to outsiders but not consciously intended as such by the insiders. Being Irish and Catholic has historical temporal context and the two came to be linked, but there is nothing inherently Irish about Catholicism. Indeed, being Italian and Catholic, or French and Catholic, did not carry the same freighted meanings. Perhaps this discontinuity stems from the reactions of earlier immigration of Americanized Protestant Irish (Orser 2007, 83). If such ethnic markers were present in the archaeological deposits; markers meant to signify affiliation to a cultural/ethnic group, we may gain insights into social relations and labor conditions in a manner generally not found in documents of official character or stereotyped in contemporary media. However, if acculturation and conformity was the practice at the mill site, and through habitus new material culture was adopted, such markers could well be absent or may have only been evident in nonmaterial expression. How does one distinguish between Anglo, Chinese,

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Irish, and Italian workers present at the camps where meals and housing are similar and access to consumer goods limited? Indeed, were there unequivocal distinctions of a material type? The challenge archaeologically is establishing convincing material correlates for ethnicity within deposits that do not define the groups in question. Unless one has a work site known to have been associated predominantly by one recognizable group, such as Franzen’s descriptions for upper Michigan (Franzen 1992), it is unlikely that the material culture present will represent a single source linked to ethnicity. An important issue to be resolved is, Were the various ethnic groups maintaining unique identities by choice, by company design, from community pressures, or even at all? Was occupational stereotyping creating artificial divisions that might archaeologically be detected or interpreted as ethnic markers? Could such markers, in reality, result from other determining social factors such as class or economic status? And, ultimately, why does this even matter? A lot of questions to keep an archaeologist awake at night. Certainly, one overarching theme for such research is in correcting historical errors, errors that deny or ignore the presence of particular groups in the production of history, in the way Kilar (1980) did for the black lumbermen of Michigan and Brashler (1991) did for women in West Virginia logging camps. The archaeology of housing at the sites associated with the mill produced a significant range of artifacts, and these have been analyzed from multiple perspectives, including accessibility, function, consumer choice, and value as well as gender association. While ethnicity may be inseparable from the individual, class is an ascribed status having permeable boundaries. Workers of diverse ethnic and cultural backgrounds can contrive to alter their class categorization using a variety of strategies, but often at a price, such as relocating from ethnic neighborhoods and adopting “protective coloration” (Mead 1995, 305). Workers’ housing is known to have been divided between bachelor and married men, and there is a strong indication of women at this camp. A small bisque doll’s head was in the deposits. A woman’s beige, thigh-high silk stocking with delicate fringe and garter clips were recovered along with the barrel stave the stocking was attached to by corrosion with a house feature. Women are frequently left out of the logging narrative despite their contributions to the landscape (Brashler 1991). Far from the stereotypical image of rough-and-tumble lumbermen, we have a picture emerging of domestic life and household attempts at social normalcy. With the idea of normalcy in this context, I am making reference to class-oriented behaviors in common with townspeople as opposed to the coarse frontier. It seems that despite the location in the forest, laborers made conscious efforts to participate in a broader social fabric where specific goods

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signaled inclusion in specific class categories. The presence of women or children in the camp should not be viewed as an anomaly. Multigender households have been documented archaeologically in a wide assortment of labor camps from gold mines to ranching or whaling stations and other supposedly male-dominated spaces (Mills, White, and Barna 2013; Orser 2007; Rose 2013; Warner 2014). As Chelsea Rose artfully demonstrated with work at an Oregon mining camp that counted Portuguese and Hawaiian miners and their wives (some of whom were indigenous) in the population, despite multiethnic participation, the gold rush story has morphed into a narrative of “white men . . . and extractive industrial attitudes” (Rose 2013, 33; emphasis mine) and has become conflated in the creation of an imagined west that equated the term “American” with white and male (Rose 2013, 24). Such a narrative marginalizes or ignores women or other ethnic groups present and structures historiography of the development of the American West, particularly in industrial landscapes. As I discussed in chapter 1, the common approach to historiography of lumbering has been to sustain a narrative of man against nature, taming the wilderness, and, in the course of clearing the land, shaping the psyche of Western individualism. The trope of rugged individualism so common to the narrative of the West also masks contributions made by married couples in the camps or, as shown by Rose, downplays the role of specific groups. Furthermore, the narrative has fostered the view that the endeavor was undertaken by a largely Anglo workforce. The evidence in the ground suggests otherwise. The pairing of Hawaiian and Portuguese people together is not unusual. Many Azorean whalers came to make their homes in the Hawaiian Islands, just as they had in California, with some eventually immigrating to the United States. Both groups were present in the earliest days of New Helvetia (eventually Sacramento) in 1839 (Paul 1947). In yet another surprising personal intersection, the maternal great-grandmother of my wife was Azorean Portuguese who came to California by way of Hawaii. And the great-grandfather of my best friend since childhood came directly from the Azores aboard a whaler. My friend’s family retains a photograph of the ship on which he sailed. His own heritage combines Portuguese and Norwegian ancestry. When we consider that many of the workers left the mills during the winter for boarding in town or to reside in their homes or immigrant enclaves in surrounding regions, the absence of material culture that might conceivably represent ethnic or cultural markers at the mill site can be explained. The lumber camp was perceived as temporary by the workers and such material culture that might be construed as ethnic markers reside elsewhere. The temporary nature of employment played an important role in ethnic maintenance even as the homogenizing character influenced

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Americanization. Only the cabins for married workers were likely to have a well-established household assemblage or to be year-round in the forest. Only in such circumstances might they express characteristic family value-based material culture discernible as having identifiable ethnic elements.

Problems of Immigrant Community The immigrant groups that made up the labor force of the timber industry have been a neglected factor in the history of California timbering. Research in the history of Loma Prieta Mill has shed light on the subject of immigrants. Although we are certain that the first two of the objectives named at the top of this chapter were satisfactorily achieved, however, we are much less sure about the last one. Critique has justifiably been leveled on industrial archaeology for ignoring the issues of labor. This study was conceptualized to bridge industrial archaeology’s focus on technology with historical archaeology’s emphasis on class, identity, and labor. The discussion here will review what the archaeology has revealed and focus on the critical issue of expressions or non-expressions of identity within the lumber camps. Interpreting the history of Loma Prieta Mill entails more than the simple matter of detailing the architectural layout or describing individual technologies and operations of the mill. While these aspects of mill history have their role, Loma Prieta Mill must be understood as playing a central part of a larger story of development in the Santa Cruz Area specifically and within the San Francisco Bay Area generally. The prosperity of nearby towns, the aspirations of immigrants who labored, and the interlocking systems of trade, labor, and commerce, were each woven into the discourse of class, identity, and the local social fabric. However, di Leonardo has as critically addressed the search for ethnic communities, asserting it is fraught with preconceptions and external definitions. “In the language of the [ethnicity] industry, all Americans with any racial or ethnic identity are working-class or impoverished, live in “ethnic neighborhoods,” and form part of the “X community” (di Leonardo 1984, 131). All members of these communities are “proud of their heritage: and all are, of course, organized into tight knit hierarchical organizations” (di Leonardo 1984, 131). Her critical anthropology and rather sarcastic assessment of the ethnicity industry does not deny that communities exist that can be defined by close interpersonal relationships, but that the rush to construct communities by researchers can distort the realities of ethnic experiences as if they existed in “some mythical village of the old country” (di Leonardo 1984, 134). Her study of Italian American immigrant experiences in Cal-

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ifornia laid bare the notion that community could easily be identified or defined. It would be comforting to believe that a lot has changed in the thirty plus years since she wrote her critique and that archaeology in particular has found a way around this problem. Ross (2017, 176) points out that the field can be characterized now by a diversity of theoretical approaches to various diaspora. Yet the concept of ethnicity resists consensus. Indeed, Orser (2007) has poignantly written about the futility of looking for ethnicity in the archaeological record. As di Leonardo frames the issue, the myth of community has prevented us from understanding how Little Italys, Little Polands, and barrios or Chinatowns undergo continuous alteration. Furthermore, di Leonardo suggested, “We have unveiled a mirror to discover it reflects yet another: the metaphorical one of community relies in part on images of American white communities that are themselves metaphorical” (di Leonardo 1984, 134). Nevertheless, the issue of ethnicity—what it is and where it can be revealed—are recurring themes in historical archaeology rivaled only by the concept of class as a focus. Class is itself an interesting category to examine since it all too often amounts to a catch-all for a community defined by economics or values. Both attributes, however—economics and values—may manifest in the material world such that they are recoverable or reconstructable from archaeological context. In his ground-breaking study of Chinese and Japanese diasporas, Ross (2013) has argued that the unique character of Asian migrants to the United States that was once thought to lead to ethnic enclaves was cast into doubt by the work of Praetzellis, Praetzellis, and Brown (1988) and Lydon (1985). Internal diversity among groups suggests that concepts of ethnicity are fluid, and that Asian ethnicity recognized in material culture is based more on their exotic qualities rather than on other factors. Ross’s assessment (2017) supports Orser’s discourse (2007) on race and race construction. It was shown in earlier chapters that from the outset California attracted numerous immigrant groups from diverse ethnic and cultural origins. An important question deserving inquiry is, Why did particular groups find their way into timbering? Where does the issue of ethnicity reside in this discourse? The documentary record is clear with regards to the composition of labor at many of the timber mills, which would seem at first glance to be an advantage to the archaeologist, but it is not the case. The problem that arises is that when one finds a particular category of material culture, there is a risk of assigning it a quality of ethnic character solely because it can be linked to a known group in that instance. Our analysis of the artifacts from the workers’ camp does not convincingly affiliate with any specific ethnic identity or cultural entity, but the artifacts are highly suggestive of class associations and class-based behaviors. These

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associations may be a result of concepts of class, although still nebulous, that are more fully articulated than ethnicity. Classes are not monolithic any more than ethnic groupings and working-class unity is rare, especially where racial divisions exist. Perhaps the structure of working-class hierarchies is of greater relevance than previously thought. Many immigrated to America motivated by the possibility of improving their station in life. The Irish, Italian, Portuguese, and other immigrants were near the bottom of the social ladder in America in the nineteenth century and timber cutting near the bottom of the labor hierarchy. It may be that, in the end, immigrant groups did not pick timbering so much as they were relegated to timbering by class and social status. Yet by being near the bottom, already among the lowest paid, their employment was not as likely to be threatened by new immigrant groups as were members of organized labor that was solidly dominated by Anglo Americans. Laborers in the timber camps constituted a working-class subset that was made up of many ethnic units, loosely cohesive but distinct. This study was initiated as a test of the proposition that ethnicity could be identified in the material culture of the timber camps where the diversity of ethnic composition was known. Additional archaeology at the site may yet support this claim. While being cautious not to impose markers on the assemblages, our goal was to see where ethnic membership might be expressed. The ethnohistorical and archaeological evidence, such as assorted personal items recovered from the sites as well as the engaging recollections by former employees thus far reveals an ethnically diverse and international work force living and working together at the mill for at least part of each year. On the other hand, the oral accounts of life at the mill do not touch on interpersonal relations or friction between diverse groups. What little related to conflict appears class based, wage based, or skill based vis-à-vis management and the capitalist structure of the industry. The material culture components do not compellingly reflect any clearly demarcated identifiable ethnicity or identity based on ethnicity. Instead, artifacts are suggestive of a homogenizing environment hinting that ethnic identity, when expressed, was enacted elsewhere or in nonmaterial ways. However, artifacts do hint at spatial variation that may reflect more on differential treatment based on skills than national origin and ethnic ties, even if these are closely linked. A sense of community among laborers may have existed owing to shared labor experiences and local context that crosscut social categories. What di Leonardo found in her study of Italian Californians was that a sense of community existed externally to actual community—a perception of collective identity—defined, not by what they did together, but by what transpired within the family (di Leonardo 1984, 136).

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A second factor was economic, which served to reify class perceptions. Italians, Portuguese, German, Irish, Swede, and Anglo workers undoubtedly had many differences and varied expectations from their employment in the industry—a fact demonstrated by Franzen for Finns in timber camps in upper Michigan (Franzen 1992). Newly arriving members of these nationalities would have likely been drawn together. Nonetheless, the structure of the workday and the organization of the mill operations served to limit interactions. The timber camps were not a proverbial melting pot despite a degree of homogeneity of housing or meals. Workers experienced a degree of separation based on employment status. There is limited evidence that lumbermen formed a community, aside from being laborers, although stereotypes abound. I wonder what ethnicity Paul Bunyan represents.1 As the documentary record suggests, the workers dispersed on their free day or departed the region seasonally to distant homes and neighborhoods. It is likely that, as di Leonardo (1984) suggests, it was in the home that ethnicity was enacted and expressed, or as Mistely (2013) argued, in the local festivals and cultural revivals. Our archaeological sample was fortunate to have located the remains of a home as opposed to a bunkhouse cabin. The material culture remains provided ample evidence to demonstrate that women were present at the main camp. Both the documentary record, ethnographic, and artifactual materials confirm this fact. Whether these women worked for the company or were the wives of workers is not yet known, although the latter seems more than likely given the documentary record. The artifacts in the laborers’ house speak of simple domestic life and, at least for some, of aspirations for a life conforming with common social norms beyond the constrictions of the working class and away from the coarseness usually associated with frontier living. And frontier living it was, if only seasonal. Certainly, Edythe Sterling thought so when she brought her crew to Loma Prieta to film in the “wild.” The area was also widely promoted as a vacation destination with rustic cabins offering a taste of the wild for city folk. Contemporary writers describe the lumber camps as remote and distanced from civil life (barely six miles from Aptos, and a world away). The life portrayed creates the impression that the refinements of the city were not to be found in the camps, even though the cities were not far away. The presence of quality stemware, decorative glass containers, and decorated ceramics of at least one archaeologically investigated household suggests that availability, class-based consumerism, and socially normative behavior—accepting or accommodating the signifiers of class affiliation— of people said to be “getting above their station” were active elements. It can be seen in the acquisition of a national brand of shoe polish and grooming tools recovered at the site the importance and attention given to appearances during leisure time away from the camp. Whether the

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product was available in the company merchandise store or from Aptos cannot be stated. A lumberman does not need to polish his boots for work, but his appearance in church, before visiting the dancehall, or venturing to town are occasions where having shined shoes is a behavior that silently whispers one’s awareness of the social niceties that distinguishes the wearer from the unrefined. The decorative or colorful buttons and clothing fasteners are evidence of attire meant for public inspection and interaction as opposed to isolated work in the forest. The numerous patent medicine bottles archaeologically recovered suggest at least two aspects of life at the mill. First, it reveals that the men suffered a variety of work-related ailments, as might be expected, and second, it suggests that the men sought self-medication through the widely distributed patent medicines of the day. Although most patent medicines were ineffective, they promised relief from many of the aches and pains timbermen suffered. The high alcohol content of many of these “medicines” ensured at least temporary distraction from discomfort. Medical benefits were not offered and the inconveniences and costs of finding legitimate medical attention for minor physical complaints likely constrained behavior. Access to physicians was limited in general so self-treatment and home remedies were common options. The documentary record attests that men who worked in the various trades and specialty roles of the timber industry were segregated by their skilled occupations, their national origin, and their pay grade. Nonetheless, they likely mingled on occasion in town during their time off, at church gatherings, in taverns, or at social events, and religious observances to reaffirm their culture and group identity. Portuguese mill workers might travel to San Jose to take part in festivals important to Azorean heritage. Local papers carried advertisements for regular transportation by stagecoach and schooner between Capitola and Santa Cruz to San Jose. Once rail lines were set between these points regular schedules were posted that made the journey quite easy. This practice would not have interfered with their labor if the scheduling aligned correctly. The laborers in the timber camps of Loma Prieta and the other mills in the region may well have had relations or acquaintances working in the fishing industry based in Capitola, Aptos, or farther south in Monterey. The canneries in Monterey attracted significant immigrant labor, not just in fishing but also in the growing Central Valley agricultural sectors. Here again Italians became an important labor force. The camps brought together individuals and, in some cases, families of many cultural identities who absorbed unique experiences as immigrants coming to the West Coast; each in their small way contributed to the cultural mosaic of the greater San Francisco Bay Area. The laborers were not permanent fixtures at the camps; the seasonal nature of the work ensured

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that many would return to towns away from the mills or reside outside the forest for part of the year, which provided opportunities for them to renew their cultural roots. Throughout this analysis I have strongly resisted the term “ethnic origin” in favor of “identity”; the term “ethnicity” remains problematic despite the best efforts of historical archaeology (Jones 1998, 224). In chapter 2 I deconstructed ethnicity as a complex set of attributes often externally ascribed and conflated with other identifiers, ranging from race to nationality. This has made identifying ethnic groups at Loma Prieta Mill based on material culture alone problematic even as the record makes explicit the presence of diverse immigrant groups. The archaeological evidence at hand allows a reasonable explanation of landscape configurations and implicit strategies for efficient mill operations. The buildings can be reconstructed from the extant timbers and layout, and we can orient the mill on the terrain. We can identify the areas for work and for rest, where laborers ate and where they slept. Material culture from the limited number of excavated units, refuse pits, and shovel tests have yielded tantalizing information about daily life that are more compellingly classified as indicators of labor and of class affiliation as opposed to maintenance of cultural distinctions. We can see, for instance in the availability of liquor in many forms—wine, beer, gin—that, despite company rules prohibiting alcohol in camps, the company did not exert a heavy hand. Taverns in Aptos and in the town of Loma Prieta provided outlets for the laborers, yet there is scant evidence that workers specifically self-segregated during these rare leisure hours. What the material culture revealed does make possible to understand are the concepts of class distinctions and labor. Loma Prieta Mill workforce reached a high of 150 workers at its peak in the 1890s, before tapering to 40 around 1915. The composition of the crews remained diverse over that time. Chinese labor was a mainstay in the forest although not well represented in the camps, yet this is the only group for which any artifact has emerged that can be positively identified as having a distinct cultural affiliation. While this might be interpreted in a number of ways, I suggest that it is a reflection of the intense segregation of the Chinese from other labor groups, with them experiencing stronger isolation and forced homogenization. As a cultural entity Chinese workers maintained internal cohesion and represent a distinct labor class, albeit one officially discriminated against that was a constant target of organized labor. Chinese did not cut timber and did not represent a threat to lumbermen but were no less likely to experience discrimination from them. By the 1890s the Chinese could not be considered a serious threat to organized labor owing to the institutional and legal restrictions with which they had to navigate daily. Organized labor found other groups to

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single out as threats—sentiments fostered by industrial leaders and politicians (Bean 1968; Hittell 1879; McNeill 1892). Contemporary writers and labor groups complained that the Chinese avoided assimilation, and used this as an excuse to discriminate, but it must be recalled that official policy created disincentives for assimilation and even discouraged the practice (Bean 1968; Peffer 1999; Ross 2013). Not until the first decade of the twentieth century, when Chinese workers had been “neutralized,” was there a softening of attitudes, although bigotry and violence toward the so-called celestials remained high. Ross’s (2013) examination of experiences of different transnational Asian groups in the context of industrial labor has bearing here. As Chinese and Japanese workers came into the canyons as imported workers, they were stationed in isolated camps. Only those serving as cooks were housed in the vicinity of the mills. Contact between lumbermen of European and Chinese extraction would have been brief and infrequent. Just as company photographs of workers do not depict women or African Americans, neither do they commonly show Japanese or Chinese, although both groups were present in equal or greater numbers in the forests for significant periods. This is just as true at lumber mills in Michigan or in Florida (Kilar 1980; Shofner 1975).

Distinctions of Class While the question of ethnicity remains unanswered, the issue of class and its appearance in the labor environment can be addressed. Most recent studies examine class in the context of capitalism although classes of various descriptions existed before capitalism took root. It makes sense in the case of timber companies that operated during the Gilded Age to think of class from the economic perspective that capitalism provides. Previously I introduced the idea that the heterogeneity of the labor environment might be masked by the temporary nature of housing and the standardization of the diet at the cookhouse. In the small finds, however, we learn of the after-hours behaviors and needs of the workers that seem to echo the same needs and wants of townspeople. The growing pressure of consumer capitalism among workers at the mill was not unlike that felt by citizens in Aptos, Santa Cruz, or elsewhere in California. In Mrozowski’s fundamental analysis, “Class, like all forms of identity is discursive as well as multifaceted, it exists simultaneously as a physical, mental, and culturalhistorical reality” (Mrozowski 2006, 2). Where one develops a class-consciousness is as important as how one associates with and materially expresses class identity. In the forest around Loma Prieta Mill, and undoubtedly at other mill camps, workers were

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seeking to improve their station in life through their labors; they displayed class affiliation through social markers, such as grooming habits, health-related behaviors, and consumer goods. The middle class in America in the years contemporary with the mill were expressing values progressively, values determined by things and the consumption of things, even as such values as fairness and equity were entering the lexicon of labor. Dressing alike, eating alike, and working in difficult circumstances bound lumbermen together in a working-class structure that was simultaneously imposed by company actions and self-generated. The artifacts found in the workers’ housing area support this conclusion. At the same time, negotiating for amelioration of working conditions on occasions may have crystalized a common conceptualization of class membership. Articles in local periodicals make evident that people in Aptos, Santa Cruz, and other towns cast the immigrant lumbermen as the Other. In response, timber laborers participated in many of the same behaviors that were familiar to various occupations of working-class groups with aspirations for improving their status, if not fitting in. As described in chapter 4, timbermen ranked near the bottom of the industrial hierarchy. Although lumber workers did not commonly stage the work-actions such as strikes and marches seen among railroad workers or other organized labor groups—they were rarely organized—they did achieve what mattered to them most in their difficult work environment through their ability to move among the mills. There was little collusion among mill owners to suppress workers for fear they would all walk away. Timber workers were already at the bottom of the labor hierarchy and companies would have found it difficult to recruit any other cheaper labor force to replace them. As long as the men were well fed, they remained and worked the long hours for some of the lowest wages of the working class. We cannot say that these shared experiences brought men of various nationalities and ethnicities together in some happy brotherhood of the woods, but a broad sense of group membership may have emerged. This circumstance coupled with the anxieties among mill owners that workers might not return with the next season might have given working-class timber laborers a degree of individual empowerment. The archaeology from Loma Prieta suggests awareness of the latest products, and an adequate ability among married workers, at least, to acquire goods reflecting personal taste and style befitting middle-class aspirations. Expressive jewelry such as an intaglio pendant; fine ceramics such as porcelain tea set, stemware, decorative glassware; and popular kitchenware all point to sensibilities shared by groups outside the lumber camp. Modest footwear combined, for example, with the best available shoeshine products hint at pride in appearances and awareness of the formality not necessary in the camp, but desirable in town or among urban

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settings where such display and adherence to class values mattered. It is likely that the seasonal nature of lumber work provided laborers with time in other occupations or, as suggested by Stoodley, time to work on their own land, and therefore an opportunity to cultivate middle-class ambitions (Calciano 1964b). Sylvia Fisher, a member of the Sturgeon family previously mentioned in chapter 3, grew up at the mill camp in the late 1920s and spoke to me about her experiences. Mrs. Fisher described life at Sturgeon’s Mill as a family affair and said that workers came in from neighboring towns. The location of the mill in farming country as opposed to deep in a forest, as was the case for the Loma Prieta Mill, affected the labor composition and relationships among workers in significant ways. The most obvious difference was the ability of workers to leave the mill at the end of the day. Workers were mostly family men, and this was also the case at Loma Prieta. The relationship between California State Parks and San Jose State University in this research effort has shed greater light on this important period from 1860 to 1920 in regional development. We have just scratched the surface, figuratively and literally, in our effort to uncover the many stories held in the archeological deposits. Yet those deposits contained a wealth of data concerning mill life in the forests near Santa Cruz. While preparing the final draft of this book, San Jose State University graduate student Arianna Heathcote came across two collapsed cabins during her survey to locate the former town. Her thesis, situating the town of Loma Prieta firmly in the context of the Gilded Age, focused on capitalism and the relationship of the town with the Loma Prieta Company (Heathcote 2019). In the absence of census records, Heathcote found that historical voter registrations hinted at ethnic composition at the town corroborating ethnographic sources. Local interest has been strong and numerous individuals have shared what they know about the mill’s history. The Aptos History Museum has in its collections hundreds of photographs of logging and milling in the area, as does the library at the University of California, Santa Cruz, although it is difficult to date many of the images. The curators are an excellent resource for furthering our long-term goals. The final disposition of artifacts depends on decisions to be made by California State Parks. The various sites associated with Loma Prieta Mill are proving to be a unique opportunity to significantly increase the historical record of the early extractive industries that shaped California’s fortunes; study of these industries also provides insights into labor organization, labor relations, and life among the diverse groups that have all too frequently been overlooked in terms of their economic and cultural contributions to the prosperity of the state.

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Conclusion

The results of fieldwork with regard to unearthing ethnicity in the confines of labor at Loma Prieta were modest, yet there is value in the effort to find the intersections of ethnicity and class among a category of laborer that the historical record often ignores. Multiple diasporic groups enabled California’s prosperity and development despite organized discrimination and continue to do so. We have unearthed tantalizing clues of a cosmopolitan working environment that is reflected by the vital mosaic of cultures residing today in the San Francisco Bay Area. The diversity of the region is not new. The hard work of immigrants has been central to the identity and vitality of California.

Note 1. Actually, the issue of Paul Bunyan’s ethnicity has been examined resulting in a hypothesis that the origins are French Canadian or possibly Norwegian from Wisconsin. Could the Italian or Portuguese lumberman relate to Bunyan?

Glossary

This glossary is not comprehensive but is intended to provide the reader clarity for terms used throughout the text and historically in the industry. While not all terms are used in the text, their inclusion here provides reference for those who may encounter them in the course of their research. Sources for this limited compilation of terms come from several sources including Andrews (1954, 1957), Calciano (1964a, 1964b), Carranco (1974), Conlin (1979), Dillon (1992), and Franzen (1992). See Carranco for colorful (and frequently racially derogatory) terminology not used in this manuscript. band saw. Long ribbon saws of steel that move in a continuous motion. The saws are endless and enable cuts off larger-diameter trees. The teeth are fixed and nonremovable. The saws were manufactured in various lengths. barkentine. A ship with three or four masts rigged square on the foremast and with trapezoidal mainsail and mizzen. An effort to combine the virtues of clippers with schooners. blasting. Logs too large in circumference to be run through the saw were blasted into sections by use of black powder placed in drilled holes along the length of the log. This procedure split the log into sections that could be sawn, although it often destroyed large sections of timber. The process was described by Stoodley (Calciano 1964b) and by a former blaster for a Humboldt lumber company who spoke to the author while visiting the research site. broad ax. An ax with a bit of ten to twelve inches. Sometimes used to hew railroad ties. bucker. The worker or team of two workers who handsaw fallen trees into specified lengths before the timber is hauled to the mill. The process followed the peelers.

Glossary

181

bucking. Cutting downed trees into twelve-, fourteen-, sixteen-, eighteen-, twenty-, or twenty-four-foot lengths before sawing. bull cook. An older and occasionally disabled timberman who does odd jobs in the cookhouse. bullmaster. A teamster in charge of oxen and log wagon. Sometimes also called bullpuncher or bullwacker. carriage setter. The worker who adjusts the position of the logs on the carriages before the log is drawn toward the saw. The setter sets the position for desired board thickness. chipper. A set of blades bolted to the top saw (in a double saw) that cut a channel or furrow to allow the collar of the circular saw to pass through the log during sawing. It wasted wood but allowed circular sawing. circular saw. A saw in a circular form with regularly spaced teeth along the entire circumference edge. The saw is in a fixed position driven by a central rod from a power source. Invented in 1810. clipper ship. A full-rigged ship of usually of three masts with square sails and a sharp bow. Designed for speed, clippers were used extensively in trade around South America. Carried cargo and passengers. The design sacrificed cargo space for speed. cordwood. Small stuff cut for use as firewood. crosscut saw. A long single- or double-handled saw used to buck trees into specified lengths. The saws usually measured eight to ten feet in length. The saw could be handled by one man or a team of two men. dog brace. An iron rod that fits into adjustable slots on a log carriage to secure and hold logs fast for sawing. See Calciano (1964a, 54) for a detailed description of process. dogger. A worker who firms up the logs on carriages with a dogging iron. The logs are braces against the standard on the log carriages. Considered an entry-level job. doghole. A small and shallow cove or inlet in the coast, usually surrounded by cliffs. Said to be so small only a dog could turn around in it in reference to the difficulty of navigating a vessel in close to shore. donkey boss. Engineer in charge of and responsible for maintenance of the donkey engines.

182

Glossary

donkey engine. A stationary steam engine with a vertical boiler. The engine turns a drum to which steel cables are wound and is used to pull or lower logs along a skid road. drover. See teamster. edger. A machine that is used to cut boards for specific uses. edgerman. A worker who adjust the edger for desired cuts. Edgermen were a pay grade above carriage setters. engineer. The worker charged with the responsibility of maintaining the steam engine and the various belts that transferred power throughout the mill. feller. A lumberman who cut down the trees by saw or ax. filer. A worker whose responsibility was to sharpen the teeth of the saws. firebrick. A brick manufactured to withstand high temperatures. Made from special clays. Unlike common construction bricks, firebrick often has a maker’s marks. These were used in ovens, as insulation around boilers, and in kilns. Often yellowish in color. fireman. Worker in charge of the steam-engine boiler fire. flunky/flunkies. Female kitchen staff at a mill cookhouse. flunky shack. Housing for female kitchen workers in mill camps. froes. Narrow, knife-shaped wedge tools used for splitting shakes along the grain, usually struck by a mallet. go-devil. A term for a type of sledge hammer used to drive wedges used by fallers into cut trees to aid in felling a tree. The tool was blunt on the head end and axe-like on the opposite side. Not a felling ax. kiln brick. See firebrick. lime kiln. A kiln designed to withstand high temperatures for turning limerock into lime. Usually built from kiln brick. lime mortar. A mortar made by combining lime, sand, and water. Lime serves as the binding agent. log carriage. A flat cart on narrow rails that logs are laid on for sawing. The carriage is drawn by cable toward the saw or retracted after a board is cut so that the log can be repositioned. log deck. The space on the mail platform where logs are drawn up from the millpond to be set on carriages for sawing. Also, a platform for staging logs to be cut delivered by truck.

Glossary

183

log standard. A steel brace attached to the log carriage against which lags were braced and held tight to prevent movement during sawing. The standard was set on a track perpendicular to the carriage and could be moved by the carriage setter through use of a worm screw that moved the track. This allowed boards of specific sizes to be sawn. logging foreman. Foreman in charge of the woods and timber cutting. Considered equal rank as mill foreman. maker’s mark. Embossed lettering in brick identifying the manufacturer. Also, stamped lettering on the bottom of ceramics having the same purpose. mill foreman. Supervisor of the sawmill operations. Ranking above other workers in the mill. millwright. The chief supervisor with responsibility to control operations of the entire mill. The job was usually ranked above the foremen. misery whip. See whipsaw or crosscut saw. narrow gauge. Rail for narrow-gauge railroads, usually no wider than thirty-six inches. The rail often came in special sixteen-foot lengths. niggerhead. An iron tool similar to a marlin spike used to turn logs on the log carriage. off-bearer. Unskilled laborer who picked up cut boards as they came away from the milling saw and carried them to be stacked in the adjacent lumberyard. peelers. Laborers who used peeling rods to remove bark from the trees. Redwood bark could not be cut and would overheat the saws so had to be removed. peeling rod. A five-foot-long crowbar with a flattened wedge head used to peel bark from trees in large slabs. piecework. Temporary low-skilled laborers who collected cordwood, tanoak, and split stuff on contract. Poorly paid but provided with free water, fuel, bacon, and vegetables. saw logs. Logs that have been cut by buckers from felled trees into specific lengths. They were usually chained together and pulled by ox teams to the pond drop spot or loaded onto railcars for delivery to the mill. sawyer. A skilled laborer who operated the saw. schooner. A sailing vessel with a rig of two masts fore and aft of midship; smaller than full ships. Usually rigged with trapezoidal staysails and

184

Glossary

triangular foresail. The shallow draft of these vessels allowed maneuvering close to shore. Later, sails were replaced by steam engines, resulting in steam schooners. shake. Split wood, usually taken from the initial cuts on log sides to be used for siding on buildings. shay engine. A small geared steam locomotive for narrow-gauge rail lines usually built with two trucks. shore whaling. The hunt for whales from shore-based stations rather than from ships. As whales migrate along the coast, whalers launch in small boats from coastal stations in pursuit. skid greaser. A worker who put grease on the skids to reduce friction or threw dirt on the skids to slow down the log. skid road. Plank roads constructed from lumber over which logs were hauled. Hauling was carried out by oxen teams until donkey engines and narrow-gauge rail lines were installed. The term evolved into “skid row” as a description for ramshackle temporary cabins that were often built alongside tracks to house workers. split stuff. Small pieces used for fence posts, grape stakes, shakes, tanoak bark. The bark of tanbark oak (Lithocarpus densiflooru). The bark is a source of tannins that are extracted; tannins were used by tanners to treat leather and by Chinese workers in laundries for fires to heat irons. Also used for firewood in stoves and fireplaces. teamster. Laborers who operated and maintained oxen teams. Later associated with drayage. timber ratchet. An iron bar with slots used to brace open cuts in trees and to encourage the tree to fall in a particular direction. trimmer table. A saw for cutting boards into additional lumber types, such as two by fours. trimmer. A worker who removed limbs and branches of cut trees in preparation for peelers. whipsaw. A two-handled cross-cut saw usually about ten feet long, used by two men to cut trees. Occasionally used to manually cut logs into boards.

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Index

Abalone, 39–40, 86 Aptos (town), 2, 19–22, 32, 39, 44, 46, 52, 57, 109, 173–177 canyon, 47, 49 creek, 4, 42, 47, 5, 96, 106, 115–116, 128 dance hall, 108 history museum, 117, 122, 124, 139, 178 movie location, 64 railroad, 132 rancho, 37, 50 wharf, 42, 50, 86, 89 Atlas engine, 119–20 Atwood, William, 25 Azores, 39, 84–88, 169. See also shore whaling Bank of Italy, 82 Bear Flag Revolt, 36 Beaudry, Mary, 149 Bendixsen, Hans, 90–91, 93 Bergazzi, Michael, 21, 24, 55, 56, 57, 60, 83, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 105, 106, 107, 108, 110, 116, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 154 on ethnic groups, 24, 57, 83, 154 on labor, 21, 83, 100, 105, 107 on sawmill operations, 55–57, 60, 99, 101, 102, 106, 110, 116, 118–119, 122 Bierce, Ambrose, xiii Biesta, Federico, 72–73 Blomquist-Peterson Mill, 122 Bok Kai Temple, 70–71

bricks fire brick, 56, 126 kiln brick, 126 makers marks, 126 Calciano, Elizabeth, 15 California State Parks, 5, 20, 43, 65, 138, 139, 178 Capitola (city), 86, 98, 123, 174 Castro, Martina, 37, 38, 43 Cermeño, Capitan Rodriquez, 67, 68 Chapman, Joseph, 35 China Ridge, 49, 55 Chinese (labor) in Aptos, 39 cigar rollers, 86 cooks, 108, 153, 159 fishing, 39, 40, 42, 44, 86, 155 laundry, 57 lumber, 175 mining, 70 in Monterey, 39, 47, 72, 86 railroad, 25, 47–50, 52, 62, 77–78, 157 in Sacramento, 28, 148 in San Francisco, 57, 73, 75 in Santa Cruz, 40 See also immigration circular saw, 36, 37, 40, 41, 56, 103, 104, 122, 181 Conlin, Joseph, 100, 107, 158, 163 Cooper, John, 35 Dana, Richard Henry, 34 DeVos, George, 25, 28

201

Index

Di Leonardo, Micaela, 79, 82, 170–173 Dillon, Brian, 31, 38, 136 Dixon, Kelly, 11, 76, 77 Dolbeer, John, 36, 60 donkey engine, 36, 59 Dolbeer Lumber Company, 91 Dougherty-Bassett Mill, 42 Dougherty, James, 43 Douglas fir, 60, 89, 122 Drake, Sir Francis, 67 ethnicity, 28–30, 76, 86, 97, 98, 131, 152 class-oriented, 7, 65, 67, 74, 79, 97, 129, 139, 165–6, 168, 172, 179 constructed, 5, 7, 11, 25–26, 79, 81, 98, 162, 167, 171 perceptions of, 22, 25–27, 83, 172, 175 See also immigration Exclusion Act of 1890, 40, 70 Executive Order 9066, 55 extractive industry, 1, 4–5, 8–9, 15, 20, 25, 30, 84, 94, 97, 169, 178 Farmer, Jared, 58 felluca, 39, 83 fig syrup, 142 Fitts, Robert, 29, 82, 131 Ford, Charles, 43 Fort Ross, 33 Franzen, John, 141, 158, 162, 168, 173 Geary Act of 1892, 40 Gilded Age, 4, 17, 50, 73, 76, 80, 98, 176, 178 Greener’s gun, 87 Grover’s Mill, 39 51–52 Hall, Kathleen, 84 Hardesty, Donald, 4, 12, 13, 80, 165 Heathcote, Arianna, 178 Hihn, Frederick, 43 Hihn’s Mill, 43–44, 51 Hittell, John, 66, 72, 83 Humboldt (county), 18, 57 immigration (by nationality) Basque, 24

Chinese, 27, 40, 53, 68, 70, 71–76, 80, 81, 83, 86, 94, 152–3, 167, 171, 176 Finnish, 23, 90, 158, 162 French, 23–24, 27, 39, 72, 76, 83, 162 German, 1, 22, 24, 27, 38, 44, 48, 72, 75, 82, 173 Greek, 28, 72 Hawaiian, 38, 48–49, 50, 55, 65, 69, 87, 92, 169 Irish, 23–24, 28, 38, 54, 69, 74, 75, 77–79, 82–83, 129, 167, 172–3 Italian, 6, 22–24, 27, 29, 39–40, 53–56, 72, 73, 74, 77, 78–83, 89, 131, 167, 170, 172–4 Japanese, 27, 40, 49, 55, 83–84, 152, 167, 171, 176 Norwegian, 22–23, 75, 88–89, 169 (see also Scandinavian) Portuguese, 24, 39–40, 53, 76, 83–84, 155, 169, 172–3 Swedish, 23–24, 44, 75, 82, 83, 89, 90, 173 Irish (labor) milling, 23–24, 168, 183 in Oakland, 83, 129 in San Francisco, 82 Italian (labor) in Aptos, 57 fishing, 39–40, 86 milling, 53, 76, 79, 168, 172 mining, 24 in San Francisco, 54, 72, 82–83 in Santa Cruz, 24 Jane L. Stanford, barkentine, 91–94 Japanese camps, 55 Jones, Sian, 26, 27, 30, 166, 175 Know Nothing Party, 73 Lefebvre, Henri, 10–11 Leone, Mark, 13–14, 16 Lewis, Pierce, 14 lime kilns, 9, 19, 51, 56, 126. See also Santa Cruz Lind, Anna, 96, 141 Little River Mill, 122

202Index

Lodge, Michael, 37–38 Loma Prieta (Company), 15, 22, 43, 49, 52–53, 108, 144, 156 boiler (mill), 57, 62, 105–106, 112, 113, 116–9, 121–6, 136, 149 circular saw, 40, 56, 103, 122 crib dam, 128 milling, 2, 4–7, 18, 21, 23, 37, 42, 43, 46–51, 53, 56–57, 60, 77, 83, 89, 94–95, 96, 98, 102 railroad, 44, 47, 51, 76, 117, 121, 132, 157 shingle mill, 57, 121, 157 worker’s housing, 14, 17, 31, 51, 80, 97–98, 105, 108, 113, 116–7, 121, 128–32, 135, 140, 150, 155–6, 159–60, 163, 166, 168, 173, 176–7, 182 Loma Prieta (region) earthquake, 1989, 54 ethnic labor, 165, 174, 176, 178 mountains, 3, 43, 58–59, 103, 106, 108–9, 112–9, 122–4, 128, 132, 136, 170, 175 movie location, 64, 173 town, 43, 48, 108, 141, 178 Lydon, Sandy, 40, 47 Marks, Nisene, 58 Marysville, California, 41–42, 70–71 McGuire, Randall, 9 Mendocino (county) 18, 57, 58, 67 Michigan mining, 17, 69 timber camps, 19, 25, 53, 141, 158, 176 Upper Peninsula, 158, 162, 168, 173 Milliken, Randall, 32–33 missions, Spanish, 32–35, 37, 68–69 Mistely, Katherine, 84, 88, 173 Miwok, Coast tribes, 32, 67–68 Molino Mill, 55, 77 Monte Vista Mill, 47 Monterey Bay, 32, 35–37, 39, 43, 47, 65, 85–87, 174 Monterey Whaling Company, 86 Mrozowski, Stephen, 7, 11, 80, 176

Nervine, 142, 144, 150 Nichols Mill, 42, 43 Ohlone Tribes, 32, 65 Olsen, Charles Olaf, 31 Orser, Charles, 11–12, 26–27, 166, 171 Pacific Saw Works, 56–57 Pajaro Valley Railroad, 44, 47, 48–50, 77 Paynter, Robert, 9 Porter, John T., 43, 50 Portuguese (labor) fishing, 39–40 milling, 24, 83, 87–88, 174 mining, 87, 169 in Oakland, 87 in San Jose, 85, 87, 175 whaling, 84, 86 Praetzellis, Adrian, 28–29, 57, 74, 122, 148, 171 Presidio of San Francisco, 34–35, 69 Purser, Margaret, 20 redwood, 2, 19, 20, 30, 37, 39, 42, 48, 56, 58–59, 63–64, 89, 101, 105, 117, 135. See also sequoia Reed, John, 35 Robinson, William, magician, 78 Rose, Chelsea, 169 Ross, Douglas, 11, 28, 40, 167 Rotman, Deborah, 13 San Agustin, galleon, 67–68 Santa Cruz, 1–2 city, 42, 86, 94, 174, 176, 177 county, 15, 18, 24, 31, 33, 35, 42, 48, 51, 79, 170 lime kilns, 56, 126 logging, 2, 6, 8–9, 37, 39, 44, 49, 53, 64, 122, 178 history project, 15, 21 mountains, 2, 3, 32, 47–48, 59, 66, 68 railroad, 42, 44, 47, 77 wharf, 40, 42 Santa Cruz Lumber Company, 44 Scandinavian, 21–23, 40, 83, 88–90, 162 “navy,” 22, 88

203

Index

sequoia (S. sempervirens), 2, 56 Shackel, Paul, 16, 79–80, 100 shore whaling, 84–87, 184 Simpson, Asa Meade, 94 Sonoma State University, 54, 74 South, Stanley, 27 Southern Pacific Railroad, 42–44, 46–50, 109–110 Smith, Captain Stephen, 36 Smith, N. T., 43 Soquel Augmentation, 38 Spreckels, Claus, 48–50, 55, 65 steam donkey, 9, 17, 36, 59–62, 99, 101–102, 115 Sterling, Edyth, 64, 173 Stewart, Potter, 26 Strauss, Levi, 144 Stoodley, Albreto, 21, 55, 62, 65, 83, 98, 106, 117, 123, 131, 156, 178, 180 on ethnic groups, 23–24, 53, 83 on labor, 52–53, 107, 158 on sawmill operations, 57, 62, 106, 123 Sturgeon’s Mill, 60, 61, 103–104, 106, 109, 114, 119–120, 122, 123, 125, 128, 156, 178

Sunseri, Charlotte, 76–77 Valencia Creek Mill, 43, 50, 109 Vallejo, General Mariano, 35–36 Villa de Branciforte, 37, 65 Virginus Island, West Virginia, 79–80 Vitelli, Giovanna, 1 Wallace, John, 58 Walker, Mark, 28 Walker, Richard, 4, 8–9, 50, 94 Watsonville, 42–44, 48–50, 60, 86 Wawona, schooner, 90–91 West Oakland, 54–55, 87 Western Shore, clipper ship, 94 White, Paul, 10, 17, 23 White and Dehart Mill, 44, 60 Working Man’s Party, 73 Wright’s Camp, 1 Wright’s Station, 47 Yans-McLaughlin, 54 Yentsch, Anne, 138 Zayante (town), 32, 37, 59