(This is the second installment of the childhood account of "guest blogger" J.J. Conlon. In 1982, J.J. Conlon, whose career at Wells Fargo spanned 46 1/2 years, wrote his recollection of the 1906 earthquake. He seven years old when the disaster occurred.)
Mother, immediately informed of the seriousness of the situation, left Stockton on Wednesday morning for home with my sisters. She was told on reaching Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco that she could not continue. As she turned her back on the city of her birth to return to Stockton, the large pillars of smoke in the western sky multiplied the fears she was already harboring for the safety of her family and relatives. Later, on Saturday, she successfully returned home.
I was very much on my own during daylight hours after Father left for downtown. The first activity was to examine the damage to a building in the Children’s Playground in Golden Gate Park. My playmates and I were just leaving this partially-collapsed building about 8 a.m. when another sharp earthquake occurred and we witnessed a further collapse of the structure. Later, with older boys, I got as far downtown as Van Ness and Market, where a policemen, after questioning me, told me to return to my home district and stay there.
One-half mile east of our Shrader Street residence is hilly Buena Vista Park. The eastern slope had an unobstructed view of the 1906 city and it was from this vantage point that I watched the city burn for the next three days…
We were able to accommodate our refugees because of our large basement which was immediately partitioned by the men. Fires were not permitted in houses until chimneys could be inspected and approved, requiring waits up to nine months. Our men, like many San Franciscans, built an elaborate range from salvaged bricks and sheet iron on our front sidewalk and covered it with a lean-to roof. I have seen few modern barbecue pits that surpassed our sidewalk kitchen. Here the women cooked the food that was served in three sittings in our large, glass enclosed porch on the back of the house…
Mother was still a young wife, proud of her well managed household, with its new furniture and linens, etc. She
philosophically accepted the wear and tear on her furnishings; personal relations were another matter. You can be sure there was the childless wife giving unsolicited and unappreciated advice to the harassed young mothers. The forced mingling of these relatives under trying conditions resulted in lasting friendships and/or relationships thereafter on a formal and distant basis. Regardless, a young boy enjoys company, old and young, and I was never happier.
Everyone, like our family, offered shelter to relatives and friends. Many were housed in tents and temporary buildings in parks and squares, Golden Gate Park accommodations being particularly impressive. The latter was like a summer resort and I enjoyed walking through the camp areas at night to watch the activities of the refugees around the bonfires. Another source of entertainment for the youngsters of our neighborhood was a periodic parade on Haight Street of a National Guard outfit, mobilized for police guard duty.
Mother provided a box lunch for Father and me about ten days after the fire was controlled and in a hired buggy, we made a day long tour of the burnt area of the city. I have many memories of that ride but one stands out. To save the California and Hyde Street cable cars
, the employees parked them on the California Street tracks from Franklin to Hyde Streets. After the fire swept over them, only the wheel trucks remained with hand brakes and cable grips standing vertical.