Katherine Anne Porter survived the 1918 Flu Pandemic (a fast moving influenza that killed tens of millions worldwide) to write about her near death experience in the “long, short story” called “Pale Horse, Pale Rider”.
My Dad’s Soccer Ball, Circa 1920
Montara: Home to Artist’s Colony & The Little Goat Farm (Part II)
(Photo: Scenic Montara, with Devil’s Slide in the background).
Montara was the first in a string of charming beach towns encountered by Ocean Shore Railroad passengers as they left behind the breathtaking vistas of the spectacular ride across Devilâs Slide, the vastness of the Pacific Ocean and the striking patterns of the fragile cliffs.
From the quaint Montara train station, fields stretched in all directions, with footpaths leading to a graceful 19th century lighthouse, a church with a small spire and virgin beaches thick with white sand.
The visual effect made some visitors imagine they stood on the stern of a ship far out in a foggy seaâbut the gracious dominance of Montara Mountain in the background, hosting sprays of brilliant wildflowers, reminded everyone they remained on land.
Montara was the home of Vic Guerrero, heir to an original Spanish/Mexican land grant. In Guerreroâs less complicated Montara, the most famous resident was William Haavind, âBilly the Kid,â? a colorful foot racer known for his daily sprint up to Devilâs Slide and back.
This, then, was Montara in the early part of the 20th century, the place Morris Wagner came to know and love.
Anyone acquainted with Morris soon learned that her father, Harr, had purchased one square mile of beautiful Montara, believing the property would rise in value along with the fortunes of the Ocean Shore Railroad.
He may have originally hoped to sell small lots to all comers but he quickly refined his plan, announcing that Montara would become the center of an artistsâ community with a college as its beating heart.
The arts and crafts community made sense to all who knew Harr and Madge. They had countless artist friends including the famous, long-haired bohemian poet, Joaquin Miller. To assist Harr in promoting Montara, Miller rode the Ocean Shore Railroad to the Coastside town where he planted a special redwood tree to the delight of spectatorsâincluding the press.
While Morrisâs mother penned books of poetry, her father named the streets of Montara in honor of the authors Bret Harte, Elbert Hubbard and Rudyard Kipling. A few tidy cottages were built and artists moved in with their musical instruments, pens and watercolors.
A bakery was opened and many began to view the community of Montara as economically self-sustaining.
(Photo: Montara artist & his dog outside their Montara cottage.)
â¦.To be continuedâ¦
Looking Towards Stunning Devil’s Slide
Montara: Artist’s Colony Home To The Little Goat Farm (Part I)
While many Coastsiders were involved in the business of illicit alcohol during prohibition, Miss Morris Wagner pursued a more temperate activity.She raised milk goats at âLas Cabritasâ?, (little goats), her ranch in Montara.
(Photo: Morris Wagner & Irmagarde Richards with their goats at Montara).
Cases of childhood tuberculosis were on the riseâand goatâs milk was prescribed as a safe alternative to cowâs milk, which purportedly carried the germs of the contagious respiratory disease.
Combining the promise of monetary reward with a noble mission, Morris Wagner set out to provide the nourishing goatâs milk needed by the sick kids in San Mateo County where herds of grazing cows were still a common sight on the rolling green hillsides.
To outsiders unfamiliar with Morris Wagnerâs background, raising goats might have seemed an unusual career choice for the athletic young woman.
Her father, Harr Wagner, a prominent educator and literary publisher, had risked his savings in real estate misadventures in California and rubber tree plantations in Mexico that failed miserably. Only the literary magazines he published paid the bills.
Morrisâs mother, Madge, was a frustrated poet who fervently supported womenâs suffrage and did not take her husbandâs name upon their marriage in the 1880s.
Friends might have predicted a safe teaching career for Morris Wagner but she exhibited the rare qualities of both parents. While her milk goat business was not too secure financially, there were intangible rewards, the good feelings one gets from doing humanitarian work.
If Morris was puzzled by something about farm animals, she could draw on her fatherâs deep well of knowledge. He had grown up around barns and stables in Pennsylvania.
Whatever deficiencies Morris had in the field of animal husbandry, she solved by pooling talents with Irmagarde Richards, a close friend who also happened to be a goat expert.
Surely Irmagarde Richards was the inspiration if not the guiding spirit at âLas Cabritasâ?. In the 1920s, Irmagarde became the president of the California Goat Breeders Associationâand she had authored a well-received book about modern milk goats. She was a Stanford grad who had taught Greek and archaeology at the prestigious Mills College in Oakland, the first womenâs college established west of the Rockies.
It was in the classrooms and on the grounds of historic Mills College that the student Morris Wagner struck up a lifetime friendship with teacher Irmagarde Richards.
At the time the two women met, Morris had lived in different parts of California but her most recent address was a post office box in Montara.
photo San Mateo County History Museum. Visit the museum located in the historic courthouse, Redwood City.
â¦To be continuedâ¦
Thank You Local Radio
Thank you local San Francisco-Bay Area radio–especially the “traffic & weather” together station…for reporting on accidents and other Half Moon Bay-Coastside road problems.
You seem to be more aware of our daily agony with Devil’s Slide closed.
Yesterday I was traveling home from Marin County when I learned that the traffic light was out on Highway 1 near where I live. Sure enough, there was a Caltrans repair crew on site fixing the problem.
Today during the evening commute, I was advised of an accident ahead of me on Highway 92.
Keeping us posted makes it a bit more bearable.
More New York City
More New York City
When I was in New York City recently, shooting had begun on the Nanny Diaries, based on the book by the same name, and starring Scarlett Johansson, Laura Linney and Alicia Keys. I didnât see any of the stars but I did get a shot of the fancy Bentley featured in the filmâacross the street I saw a stand-in for the movie nanny and a “little person”.
All the trappings of the movie industry were thereâthe tables covered with catered food and parked on the street, I was amused by trailers with hastily scrawled names on the doors including âLuciâ?, âDesi â & âSingle momâ?.
Later the same day, in another part of town, (photo below), I saw a commercial being made.
Devil’s Slide “Mad As Hell, Not Gonna Take It Anymore” Email- From Far Away
Dear HMBM:
Now that I am away, I miss the wonderful Coastside, but not the politicians’ disaster called Devil’s Slide. What this traffic stoppage has done to the people and small businesses of Coastside communities is outrageous.
Are the pols being paid to make trouble, or is it just their typical incompetence? And who believes their promises to have the Slide open in September? Make that September 2007 or later. There are even rumors that nothing will be done until the tunnel is allegedly open in 2011 (which probably means 2016).
Maybe the pols should just ethnically cleanse the Coastside? That seems to be their intention–to wreck the lives and hopes of tens of thousands of people.
Tell us the truth, and get on the stick.Who are the pols and bureaucrats responsible? We need to picket their homes and offices, and demand redress of our grievances.
Lew From Far Away
My Brief Career As A Paparazzi
When I was in New York City a few weeks ago I saw a crowd gathering in front of a hotel.
They looked friendly so I walked over to see what was happening.
âWhatâs up?â? I asked a young woman.
She pointed to a shiny new black SUV that was double-parked. âWeâre waiting for Tom Cruise to come out, â she said.
Didnât take long for me to learn that Tom Cruiseâs latest thriller, Mission Impossible 3, was hitting the big screen that week and he was in the midst of a whirlwind promotional tour.
(In New York the locals see celebrities all the time. They make movies on the streets there everyday. But I had just flown in from El Granada– and when I open the front door “I see trees and a cat”. That’s how our big city friends in New York expressed it… )
Suddenly I was on another plane and the energy was over-powering. I wouldnât pass as paparazzi but I had my little digital with me.
The role was new to me; Iâd never taken a photo of a real âmovie starâ? before. I was so caught up in the moment that I forgot something very important.
I was staying at the same hotel as Tom Cruise. Unlike the crowd standing on the sidewalk, I had a room at the Carlyle. Surely, Iâd have a better chance of snapping a hot photo.
The lady standing beside said, âIf youâre a guest at the hotel, why donât you back in. They wonât let any of us in but theyâll you in.â?
âYes, thatâs right; I am a guestâ?, I reminded myselfâas I made a beeline for the lobby, pausing for a second to peer into the room where the elevators were. Except for security, and an efficient woman who looked like one of Tom Cruiseâs people, there was nobody else in the room.
I edged in, testing the boundaries. âCan I come in this far?â? I said, âIâm a guest at the hotel.â?
Nothing happened. I guess itâs okay, I thought, but there was tension in the room. They were more worried about the famous Hollywood star.
I slithered in further, finally settling down on a bench in front of the elevators. I noticed that the numbers above the elevator furthest from me indicated that my man was heading down.
By that time I was so excited I couldnât think clearly. For example, did I really believe Cruise would walk toward me when he exited the elevator? The SUV was waiting for him at the other entrance to the hotel.
Iâm the only person with a camera here, I kept thinking. Iâm gonna get a hot photo. (Iâll be selling my picture to the National Enquirer for $10,000).
My finger was glued to the button on the camera. I was poised; I was ready. And when the elevator door opened, I pressed the buttonâand the image I got was not of Tom Cruise but two people in front of him, part of his entourage.
Recovering quickly, I tried to snap another picture but the camera wasnât responding. Finally, after Tom Cruise and his entourage left the elevator, and didnât come any where near me, the cameraâs flash went off, leaving me with a photo of the ceiling.
(The other picture I got shows a guy holding something that looks like a communication deviceâbut later I wondered if it was. Could it have had something to do with my camera not working?)
I had lost my chance but I was still game, so I dashed out of the lobby and back onto the street where the crowd stood– just in time to see Tom Cruise wave goodbye from his shiny black SUV.
I was a bit drained when I dragged myself back into the lobby. But as soon as I saw the concierge, I said: âAre there any more celebrities in the hotel? Are any more coming?â?
The elevator door opened and I snapped a picture of Tom Cruise’s people–the actor himself walked out seconds later.
This is the shot I got when Tom Cruise stepped out of the elevator!
If you look really hard, you’ll see Tom Cruise waving at the crowd from the SUV.