Newspaper articles and clippings are dispersed
throughout the Griffith Family Papers collection. Among the miscellaneous news
in the collection, a fascinating article in one box described the eerie tale of
a Mexican ghost that roams Griffith Park. The article, titled “The Curse of
Rancho Loz Feliz,” describes the story of Senorita Petronilla and her curse
upon the land. The story of Petronilla is one that marks the significance of
Mexican past in the land that Mr. Griffith acquired, a past that is fairly difficult
to find within the collection. Despite the few creases, folds, and tears in the
newspaper, the author of the article engages the audience in to the story
through fascinating visual representations and compelling storytelling. This
aspect of engaging the readers into this story is important, to bring these
historical characters to life and allow readers to gain an understanding of the
stories of the Mexicans who resided in the rancho prior to it transforming into
a tourist attraction in present Los Angeles. The story itself seems as if it
was produced for residents of Los Angeles, as the author addresses them as
“angelenos” in the first paragraph and makes the assumption that the readers
will know of Griffith Park, as well as the many landmarks that exist within it.
Although the article speaks of Mexican history and beliefs, it does not seem targeted towards a Mexican audience. The author seems to imagine their audience as the residents of Loz Feliz or around Griffith Park, who might have not been well informed on the rich Mexican history of the area. By speaking of the topic in high regard and immersing the audience in the story to bring the story of Senorita Petronilla to life, it made me imagine that there might be a possibility that the speaker had a connection to Mexican culture. Aside from this, I also noticed that the visual representation for this story is an illustration of a Mexican cowboy on a horse, further bringing the historical characters mentioned in this story to life. The illustration resembles a map, with Griffith observatory present in the background. This may have been important to map out the history of the rancho, as the author continuously mentions the specific locations that Senorita Petronilla was believed to roam and place the curse on the land, as well as where important events in history took place to transform the rancho to what it became in the 1930’s.
This piece was shown to the general public
near Los Angeles, as it was written in the Los Angeles Times and most of the
advertisements are for stores located in areas around L.A. Written mostly for
Loz Feliz residents, which may have comprised of celebrities that called areas
near Hollywood their home, it is sensible that this story is written in a
creative and engaging manner as most of them may have found this article at
their doorstep. This piece may very well have been written to change public
perception of this new land that was acquired fairly recently from the time it
was produced as well as create an exciting take on Mexican culture. By writing
this story, the author is able to bring awareness to the general public of
those who had original ownership of the rancho and much of California, rather
than erase a part of history that is vastly significant.
Manuela García is arguably one of the most significant voices of early Los Angeles, yet little is known of her. It has been a singular pleasure to work, over the past few months under the auspices of The Autry Museum of the American West, with a dynamic, transnational, interdisciplinary group of artists, scholars, educators, and museum professionals on reanimating García’s life and work.
Born into a family of musicians, García collaborated with Charles Lummis, former head of the Los Angeles Public Library, to collect and record “Spanish” folk songs. García contributed over 100 songs to Lummis’ project. While the importance of his work has long been recognized, Lummis’ so-called “informants” — culture bearers and artists like García — remain largely unknown. Our project amplifies the potential of decolonial museum praxis, digital technology, and performance to reimagine race, gender, and place, critique inequities, and tell untold histories.
We are a collaborating hemispherically on a series of projects about García, one of which is a cluster of essays set to release in October 2020, which I’ll link to here. Another, which you’ll find below, is a binaural soundscape featuring members of our team including Amy Shimshon-Santo and Susie García (no relation), produced and mixed by John Hendicott and Aurelia Soundworks.
archival materials in the Mexican proclamations issued during the
Mexican-American War, 1807-1864 collection consist of broadside documents
issuing decrees from the Mexican federal government to the general public.
These decrees address various topics such as taxes, public safety during
holiday festivities, and the National Guard. However, folder six contains eleven
proclamations that cover administrative and political concerns that would have
impacted the inhabitants of Mexico City and beyond. In looking to investigate
the 19th century history of Mexican California, item five in this
folder serves as a vital entry point for exploring multiple facets of Mexican
politics, Mexican relations to the United States of America, and delineating
how these political components have shaped our understanding of California.
Item five is exemplary of the types of items in this collection; the broadside documents are individual, unbound sheets of paper with only black text. The paper of the proclamation shows signs of aging through discoloration along with minor tears and folding creases on the right side edges of the paper. There are no images, illustrations, or color on the proclamation only black, centered text. At first glance the proclamation simply appears to be a text heavy document, however variations in typography such as changes in font style and size offer different visual queues for the organization and significance of information. The most prominent example of this would be the “title” of the document. The first row of text at the top of the document spells out “José Ramon Malo, Go-” in a bold, capitalized serif font. José Ramon Malo was the governor of Mexico City during this time period; it appears that he was the last figure in the bureaucratic ladder before this proclamation was publically issued. Malo’s role, being in a position of power and directly addressing the public sphere of Mexico City, is emphasized through immediately visible typography differentiating it from the rest of the text.
proclamation uses typography to indicate vital information through out the
document. The text mentions the names and roles of various individuals in
positions of power, lists different dates, and mentions property in Alta
California in relation to the family of Agustin de Iturbide. All of this information
offers various entry points to consider how this collection can offer a new
perspective to understating the history of 19th century Mexican California.
While the documents in this collection offer a selective perspective of Mexican
politics, this document offers a glimpse to the political hierarchies and
bureaucracies that comprised the Mexican government during the 19th
century. This perspective incites questions of how “California” as a territory
was conceptualized during the first half of the 19th century and how
this varied between entities, primarily with Mexican government and the United
States government. With these queries in mind, the Mexican proclamations
collection will be investigated through archival work and secondary research
into the historical context and figures that compose this collection. This
investigation aims to serves as a basis for future research into 19th
century Mexican California for other historians, students, and scholars.
Based on the finding aid, this monochrome map was collected by George Washington Hazard and Verne Dyson. It features the Downtown area of Los Angeles between 1880 and 1910. This map is off-scale and lacks direction and distance symbols. Also, only some streets are named on the map. Thus, the map was not created for the general public to navigate but for display purpose or one’s private use.
A map is a tool not just for navigation, but also for telling a story. More importantly, it conveys how the creator views and represents the world as well as the culture and people. Then, what story of the neighborhoods or communities does the “Birds-Eye View Map” document and retain across space and time?
This map depicts the Central Los Angeles region in a birds-eye view angle. Referring to Google Maps, some of the locations marked on the map still exist today. For instance, the Los Angeles River, “San Pedro St.”, “Court House St.” (now Court St.), “Third St.”, and “Fourth St.” Accordingly, the neighborhoods featured on the map would be Downtown and Echo Park. Within the birds-eye view projection, Downtown becomes the central focus of the map. Each neighborhood within the region has distinct architectural styles in drawing. Interestingly, the buildings in the Downtown area are more diverse and detailed comparing to those in other neighborhoods. These opinionated visual elements suggest that the dominant city culture of the 1900s Los Angeles was located around Downtown.
The map is captioned: “Birds-Eye View of Los Angeles.” Considering the map’s main focus of the Downtown area, how did Downtown represent Los Angeles during the 19th century? Also, what population (i.e. racial groups) was residing in Central Los Angeles at that time? Since the racial category of “Mexican” was only counted around 1930 (Hise 553; Los Angeles Almanac), it is difficult to trace back the racial demographic data in the late 1800s. The earliest racial demographic data of the Downtown area is recorded in 1960 on Social Explorer. Based on the U.S. Census data presented on Social Explorer, the Hispanic community has gradually moved to the surrounding neighborhoods of Downtown from 1960 to 2017.
Another similar change is that the Downtown area is getting more racially diverse today (data from US Census presented on Statistical Atlas). However, the reasons that caused the demographic change from the 19th century still remain unclear in the research.
Additional Information: Hise briefly mentioned California’s first redevelopment project that was “initiated to bring affluent Angelenos ‘downtown’” in the late 20th century (554). The Community Redevelopment Agency removed the “long-term, primarily, Latino residents from Chavez Ravine” in 1959.
According to Don Parson, the redevelopment of Bunker Hill and Chavez Ravine contributes to the construction of a modern Los Angeles (335). In this case, the modernization strategy is to remove the marginal low-income residents of color (Parson 336). Does the main focus of the Birds-Eye Los Angeles Map associate with the redevelopment project of the Downtown area? When the Latino population was deemed as a challenge to the “modernization” of Los Angeles, again, which neighborhoods or even which community gets to represent Los Angeles?
Hise, Greg. “Border City: Race and Social Distance in Los Angeles.” American Quarterly, vol. 56, no. 3, 2004, pp. 545–58. JSTOR.
Parson, Don. “‘This Modern Marve’: Bunker Hill, Chavez Ravine, and the Politics of Modernism in Los Angeles.” Southern California Quarterly, vol. 75, no. 3/4, 1993, pp. 333–50. JSTOR, doi:10.2307/41171684.
“Honorable Irlandés, Mr. John T Gaffey. De San
Pedro California. E.U.A. 1926” is a black and white photograph of John T Gaffey
located in the first few pages of “Reminiscencias Historicas. Escrita por el C.
General de división Mariano Ruiz, veterano de 1862. Dedicadas a su honorable
amigo, Mr. John T. Gaffy, de San Pedro, Calif., E.U.A. Mexico, September 15,
1926” from “Bandini Family Papers, ca. 1834-1927”, also known as collection B.
The title of this work translates to “Honorable Irish, Mr. John T Gaffey of San
Pedro, California. U.S.A 1926”. The photo was likely taken in 1926.
Physically, the picture sits in the middle of
the page, taking up most of the space. It is a formal portrait of Mr. Gaffey in
a suit. His portrait is cropped in an oval shape and is printed in a
rectangular sheet. He appears to be posed sitting on a chair at an angle,
looking sternly into the camera with his right hand on his lap. The title in
blue text is printed below the photo on the pages on the book. There appears to
be no hint of the location of the photo, except that Mr. Gaffey is from San
Pedro, California. The overall mood and attitude of the photo is serious and
formal. It commands respect and admiration from the viewer, which matches his
occupation as a journalist, politician, and businessman. Considering Mr.
Gaffey’s title as “Honorable Irish”, it is likely that he kept up with this
reputation in person. Three things one may infer from this photo is that
people, especially those in business, likely took their photos seriously during
this time period, color printing was either not invented yet or quite
expensive, and that Mr. Gaffey likely had a large impact on Mexican Los Angeles
business and politics. Considering that this is a formal portrait, not much may
be elucidated from this work except for what can be directly seen from the
As a researcher, I’m curious about the purpose
of this work. Was it commissioned for this document, since the book is
dedicated to Mr. Gaffey? Was it to promote Mr. Gaffey’s popularity for his
professional pursuits? This work may be useful for researchers attempting to
learn about the financial and political figures prominent in Mexican Los
Angeles during the 20th century. Considering that Mr. Gaffey is an Irish
American, it is interesting to see his relationship with Mexican Americans.
Although this portrait highlights an impactful figure during this time period
and setting, perhaps auxiliary documents from the Bandini Family Papers can
reveal more about Mr. Gaffey’s influence during this time.
In the Spanish and Mexican eras, American descent settlers were founded in Los Angeles, California. After U.S. annexation in 1848, middle class of African Americans moved to Los Angeles between 1980 and 1915. During this period of time, churches, social and friendly organizations for black community were formed. Moreover, we could see how they (i.e., African Americans) contributed to civil right legislation and advocacy and grown their black-owned businesses, some of them were elected for government positions. With the interest of African American history in early Los Angeles, I start working on Miriam Matthews Photograph Collection, which consists of 4, 600 black and white photographs of African Americans immigrated to California and their daily life and family members in Los Angeles and California.
The box “Some Early Settlers Within Los Angeles. 1800-1880” includes photographs of members of the Mason and Owens families. Biddy Mason was mentioned frequently from the notes in the back of photographs, as was her eldest daughter Ellen , her grandchildren Robert and Henry Owens, and her great-grandchildren Gladys Owens Smith and Manila Owens.
It seems Biddy Mason, who came as a slave and later became real estate entrepreneur in Los Angeles, has a huge influence on their family. She also dined at the home of Pio Pico occasionally, who is the last Mexican governor and wealthy landowner. This raises the questions: who is Biddy Mason? How did she get along with Pio Pico? Did he help her succeed in Alta California in early years?
Biddy Mason’s eldest daughter, Ellen, married Charles P. Owens in Los Angeles, California on October 16, 1856. They had two sons: Robert Curry Owens and Henry L. Owens. After Charles Owens died in 1882 and her mother Biddy Mason died in 1891, Ellen and her sons handled their increasingly valuable estates. Later, she was wed to Mr. George Huddleston.
This “Mother Goose” party was given by the Owens family in 1906. Notice the mix of African American and Mexican American people in the picture, suggesting potentially a multiracial family.
The Bay Area is shallow about keeping it real, and Los Angeles keeps it very real about being shallow. That’s one way to describe the cultural tensions between Northern and Southern California, but it relies on contemporary stereotypes. The north and south of the Golden State have always been at odds, and ever since California achieved statehood in 1850 people have been trying to break it up. North-South antagonism is a key feature of life in California, but did you know that it pre-dates statehood? The arribeños (uppers) and the abajeños (lowers) in the sadly neglected, Mexican territory of Alta California never could seem to play nice, seeding a factionalism that remains to this day.
Why couldn’t they all just get along? It’s complicated, but first and foremost, it’s Spain’s fault. Strange to think now, in the 21st century when we know how awesome California is, but back in the 18th century Spain wasn’t that excited about settling its northern territories. Foggy, wooded, rocky, difficult to access, full of Indians … California didn’t wow Spanish authorities. They established missions and presidios reluctantly, only to keep Russia from encroaching further south and to prevent England and France from establishing any kind of Pacific foothold. Spain couldn’t see the value in developing the region, thus life in California was hard, and settlers felt Spain’s lack of interest keenly. Californios wondered why people so far away, who had no grasp of issues on the ground, got to make all the rules. As the territory’s population grew, political resentment turned to infighting. Los Angeles and Santa Barbara were the most populous towns, and most of the privately held ranchos were also in the south. So why was the government headquartered in Monterey, along with the revenue-generating customs house? Good questions, and a lot of people were asking them in the early-1820s.
That – 1821 to be exact – is when Mexico gained its independence from Spain. In 1822 Luis Argüello – California born (1784) and bred – was appointed territorial governor, but conflicts really started heating up in 1825 when Argüello was succeeded by Lt. Col. José María de Echeandía. Echeandía, an army engineer from Mexico City, really, very much did not want to get stuck out in the then-nowheresville of California. He was a good soldier, though, and off he went. He stopped in San Diego, however, and remains, as of this writing in 2020, the only California governor to base themselves so far south. The arribeños in Monterey took this as an insult, but Echeandía argued, not unreasonably, that as governor of both Baja and Alta California, San Diego marked a strategic midpoint from which to oversee the territory. Two additional, more personal reasons kept Echeandía in San Diego. First, he thought the fogs along California’s central and northern coasts would be bad for his health; more importantly, though, Echeandía had fallen in love with Josefa Carrillo, daughter of a prominent, californio family. He’d never be able to woo her from Monterey! Alas, Carrillo rejected Echeandía’s suit and wound up eloping with Henry Fitch, a Yankee merchant. That was a huge scandal in 1826 and a topic for a whole other post.
So, lovelorn Echeandía got off on the wrong foot with California after not even wanting to be there in the first place, and as governor he was stepping into a hot mess of californio resentment, greed, and ambition. Before getting too far into the very complicated story of the Mexican origins of California’s north-south divide – which, to recap, is largely due to Spanish neglect – here’s a handy roadmap: before 1848, when Mexico ceded California to the US after the Mexican-American War, the region sustained, in close succession, three attempts to divide it. First, there was the crisis over mission secularization. Then came Mexico’s 1835 promotion of Los Angeles from pueblo to city and territorial capital, which really pissed off the arribeños in Monterey. Finally, there was Juan Alvarado’s declaration of Californian independence in 1836, which abajeños saw as an attempt to wrest power from Los Angeles and which, in turn, led to several years of fruitless squabbles without resolution until finally California became part of the United States. North-South conflicts didn’t end there, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
Back to Echeandía, freshly arrived in California as governor. Enlightenment ideas about liberty and equality had fueled Mexican independence, driven a very modern debate about native labor which led to the abolition of slavery in Mexico’s 1824 constitution, and exacerbated church-state tensions. This ideological wave carried Echeandía north and had a substantial impact on his administration. He had been appointed with a liberal mandate to secularize the missions, free the Indians, and redistribute church property, but he was given no direction, only told to go forth and do it.
There was no GOOD way to secularize, so Echeandía just found A way, drawing up idealistic plans that had missions transitioning to parish churches, church lands converting to self-governing pueblos with mixed-race populations, and every Indian family granted two plots of land. All else – fields, vineyards, animals, workshops, tools – was to be overseen by a government appointed administrator and profits devoted to municipal needs. Echeandía was nearing the end of his term as governor, so it didn’t matter much to him if his plans were viable or not. He sent them off to Mexico City, but Mexico, on the brink of civil war, was too distracted to pay attention to California. So, Echeandía put his unauthorized plans into action, much to the dismay of mission priests who argued that he was flouting Mexican laws stipulating that mission property not be given to non-Indians until the exact needs of the neophytes was determined. Echeandía, much to the delight of californios, was arbitrarily determining that need himself and making significant grants to private individuals.
Mexico City, after a period of violent, political instability, finally managed to send Manuel Victoria north as California’s newly appointed governor in January 1831. He put Echeandía’s plans on hold until the central government had a chance to weigh in and then told Echeandía to return to his army unit in Mexico. Echeandía’s political fortunes had shifted with the changes in Mexico’s government; he returned not to Mexico but to San Diego where he set up a rebel cell in opposition to Victoria in Monterey and thus California’s first, serious North-South conflict was on. Both sides claimed to be defending Indians, but really this was a battle about land. Liberals in the south wanted it for themselves; conservative loyalists in the north felt that a mutually beneficial church-state arrangement could be reached.
Victoria’s and Echeandía’s forces clashed on December 5, 1831 at the Battle of Cahuenga (where Hwy 101 now moves through the Cahuenga Pass). Victoria was badly wounded, later captured at Mission San Gabriel, and coerced into returning to Mexico. Into that leadership vacuum stepped his secretary, Agustín Zamorano, supported by priests and traders, who declared himself provisional governor. In response, Echeandía convened a legislature of southern californios who declared HIM governor. Rather than get into another bloody battle, Zamorano and Echeandía reached a gentleperson’s agreement: Echeandía ruled as far north as Mission San Gabriel; Zamorano ruled as far south as Mission San Fernando.
This uneasy peace lasted until January of 1833 when José Figueroa arrived as the newly appointed governor of California. He unified the state and began secularization afresh. The californios were delighted, but not for long. Word soon came that a boatload of colonists was on its way as part of the government-sanctioned Híjar-Padres colony to take that sweet, mission land for themselves. The balance of power shifted in Mexico before the colonists arrived and Figueroa was able to thwart their plans. Southern californios were placated, but they continued strategizing ways to wrest power from Monterey.
An opportunity presented itself in 1835 when José Antonio Carrillo, California’s (non-voting) representative in the Mexican congress, managed to get Los Angeles promoted to “city” and named capital of the territory. While the arribeños had been obsessing over Híjar-Padres, Carrillo had been scheming in Mexico City to effect this massive shift, which led Angelenos to demand that the governor decamp to the new capital and that the archives be moved from Monterey to LA. Politicians in Monterey agreed as long as they could find a suitable palacio for the governor in the city. A committee looked and looked, but they couldn’t find anything nice enough. The city was just woefully lacking, apparently, and the committee from Monterey taunted Angelenos for their poverty and provincialism. Needless to say, this did nothing to ease political tensions. Sounds oddly familiar, though, doesn’t it? The Bay Area is so brainy and cultured, and LA is an endless string of trash cinema and waxing salons, right? Funny to think these stereotypes emerged from centuries old Mexican snobbery that bubbled to the surface only when Los Angeles became an official city.
From this incident a couple of enduring and fatal truths emerged. Always on the brink of civil war throughout the early-19th century, rapid shifts in power meant Mexico couldn’t effectively govern California. Californios, for their part, consistently undermined and pushed back against central authority and the leaders Mexico sent to enforce it. These macro conflicts, finally, always played out against a backdrop of micro conflicts between arribeños and abajeños. Thus, when Juan Alvarado and his cousin José Castro declared California free and independent of Mexico in 1836 and drove out Mexican-born Governor Nicolás Gutiérrez, Los Angeles saw it as an attempt to disempower them. A few years later, Governor Manuel Micheltorena’s inability to control his army of bedraggled ex-convicts (whose arrival californios had seen as the height of insult) evolved into a plan by politicians in Los Angeles, led by Pio Pico, to make Los Angeles the dominant city in California.
By the time Micheltorena was forced out in 1845 two things were clear: Mexico couldn’t control California, and the influx of Anglo-American settlers from the US was increasing at an alarming rate. The political plans of californios were eventually swept away by the tidal wave of the Mexican-American War and California was lost for good. The North-South conflict didn’t end there, however.
The same sectional conflicts arose during the constitutional convention in slightly different form as delegates struggled with whether California should be admitted as a slave state or free. Just to be clear: California has always been a free state, but for nearly ten years after statehood pro-slavery politicians worked diligently to divide California. Finally, in 1859, the CA legislature approved a plan to split the state, but the federal government ignored their vote as the South was preparing to secede from the Union and the government didn’t have time to worry about sparsely-populated California. The question popped up again in 1881 when lawyers declared the 1859 act still valid. California might have actually divided itself then had it not been for Los Angeles so energetically pushing to be the capital of “Southern California.” Other counties failed to see any benefit in dividing the state so the plan was dropped.
There have been 220 attempts to divide California since it became a state in 1850. 220?!? Read about them all on the California State Library’s excellent timeline, and as you read, try to remember that while these debates are about the universal question of whether the rich will get richer and the poor stay poor, they have their origins in Mexican political conflict. It behooves us all to remember that, like so many quintessentially Californian things, the state’s north-south divide is puro mexicano.
Guinn, J. M. “HOW CALIFORNIA ESCAPED STATE DIVISION.” Annual Publication of the Historical Society of Southern California, vol. 6, no. 3, [U of California Press, Historical Society of Southern California], 1905, pp. 223–32. JSTOR, doi:10.2307/41168593.
Lavender, David. California: Land of New Beginnings, Harper & Row, 1972.
In late-17th and early-19th century California, before online shopping, before stores, before mail, how did people get stuff? And what kind of stuff did they want? In the early 1800s, what was it like to go “shopping” in Los Angeles?
Invoice of items found on The Mercury, a trading vessel confiscated off the California coast in 1813. Image courtesy of the author.
Well, people didn’t exactly go shopping. Through their local mission they asked for stuff from Mexico City, and the government tried to send them more or less what they had requested. Ships sailing from San Blas brought in things like: medicine, sugar, candlesticks, wine, chocolate, buttons, ribbons, cloth, stockings, hats, and tools. In payment they took away tallow and hides. Improvisation was common and necessary. For example, a March 31, 1785 invoice detailing a shipment from San Blas to Mission Santa Barbara lists “14 ordinary bombazines [fabric for women’s dresses] for lack of those from China,” (Perissinotto, 81). On January 25, 1789, moreover, we see San Blas had to substitute ribbon from Granada “for lack of it from Genoa,” (Perissinotto, 133). Such invoices from Mission Santa Barbara reveal that while settlers and soldiers got what they needed, they couldn’t always get exactly what they wanted.
So, how did they manage?
Did they just go without? Hardly.
The Santa Barbara invoices tell us about official,
government sanctioned trade, but plenty of merchandise fell off the back of the
boat and remained unrecorded. The
California coast saw its fair share of smuggling in the years leading up to
Mexican independence in 1821. Spain
tried to keep a tight handle on things, but California had been difficult to
survey and settle. Its inhabitants were
difficult to manage, and the territory was always difficult to protect. Illicit trade was rampant, and the central government
in Mexico City saw it as a threat to Spanish control of its own northern
International sword rattling was significantly less
interesting to the bulk of Californian settlers, however, than the necessities
and small luxuries smugglers could bring in.
Officially, two, small supply ships serviced the coast beginning in the 1770s. As the population grew, those ships weren’t
able to bring in everything settlers wanted, as the Santa Barbara invoices
reveal, nor were they able to carry away all the tallow, hemp, hides, and otter
skins the missions relied on for credit.
Unofficially, smugglers were only too happy to pick up the slack,
selling mission products in China and providing Californians with, among many
other things: microscopes, Chinese silk, fake pearls, children’s stools, punch
glasses and candy dishes, tea, scissors, and watches.
If this trade was so under the radar, though, how do we know
what was on those illegal ships?
We know because on the morning of June 2, 1813, Nicolás Noé,
captain of the merchant vessel Flora, happened to be sailing off the coast of
Monterey. He had come from Peru with a Spanish
trading license, but was unable to sell his goods because Californians told him
they could purchase the same things for less money from Yankee smugglers. Imagine Noé’s combination of glee and rage
upon discovery of the Mercury, anchored in Refugio Cove just around Point
Conception. George Eayrs, captain of the
Mercury, declared he had every right to be where he was with the cargo he had (spoiler
alert: furs, fats, money, microscopes, and so on). Noé took the Mercury’s first mate and pilot
ashore to see Governor José Arrillaga, who ordered depositions of all Mercury
personnel and demanded an inventory of the ship. Eayrs went ashore on June 4 with his common-law
wife (a Polynesian teenager referred to as “Peggy” in the historical record), his
baby, and his indigenous servant (an 8-year-old boy Eayrs claimed to have
purchased in the Pacific Northwest). All
of this was meticulously recorded in the Spanish, bureaucratic fashion, and the
archive remained complete and intact, revealing much about how everyday folks
got by in early California.
Eayrs’ capture marked the end of his trading career and,
apparently, the end of his having regular employment. He spent his remaining 40-odd years living in
Guadalajara, Mexico, and most of that time was spent appealing and petitioning
to any authority he could think of. He
wanted his ship back. He wanted
compensation. He wanted lots of things, and
he kept asking for them until finally, in 1842, a claims commission in
Washington, DC ordered the Mexican government to pay Eayrs $100,000 (Miller,
96). Talk is cheap, however, and it’s
not clear what authority the US would have had over Mexico at the time. Plus, years of civil war following independence
left Mexico practically bankrupt. It couldn’t
have paid Eayrs even if it had wanted to.
Nevertheless, all these letters, petitions, claims, and judgments
comprise “The Mercury Case,” which is open for anyone to see in Rare Books and
Special Collections at the Central Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library (call
# 979.4 M6118a). These documents – including Arrillaga’s depositions, the
inventory, and lots of angry letters from Eayrs – speak volumes about daily
life in that time and place, and they illuminate arcane and complex political conflicts. Because, okay, Yankee traders stepped up to
fill in supply gaps to the northern frontier, but how did they know about these
gaps, and why was their presence such a big deal to the Spanish? What was Eayrs doing off the Santa Barbara
coast in 1813 in the first place?
The short answer is that during the War of 1812 the British
had an effective naval blockade keeping Yankee ships from transatlantic routes,
forcing more merchants to seek trade around Cape Horn. The long answer is that by 1813 Eayrs was profiting
from an extended, complicated fight between Britain, Russia, and Spain over
seal and otter skins, which could be hunted cheaply but sold very expensively in
China. The pelts were harvested from the
Aleutian Islands, down along the Pacific Northwest coast, and into Californian
waters. The Russians and the British had
been clashing over this corridor since the 16th century as England
made its way west through Canada and Russia pushed east across Alaska. Spain entered the scene in 1789 by establishing
a settlement at Nootka Sound, near Vancouver, claiming it as the northernmost
edge of their northern frontier. Spain
eventually gave up that fight to the British and decided to focus on the
southern part of their northern frontier.
British traders eventually gave up because draconian rules set by their
own government made trading there difficult and unprofitable, but British
smugglers and ever-encroaching Russians were perpetual thorns in Spain’s side.
Added to this, the arrival of Yankee ships starting around
the turn of the century made everything worse and pissed everyone off. Russians saw Yankee trade with native Alaskans
as a threat to Russian control of the region, and Spain saw Yankee trade with
Russians as a threat to Spanish dominance.
The British just bided their time and took advantage of any opportunity to
profit from the chaos.
And there was profit to be had, especially after Mexico
declared independence from Spain in 1810.
Even before then, however, Eayrs was doing well for himself, having
contracted with the Russian American Company at Sitka in 1808 to take a crew of
Native Aleutians hunting up and down the Pacific Coast, during which time he
engaged in substantial, illicit trade with mission priests and prominent,
Californian families, all of which he recorded.
Also recorded is a letter sent to Eayrs from Los Angeles commissioner Xavier
Alvarado in 1809 asking him to “retire from this coast with your frigate and
people who accompany you,” (quoted in Miller, 20). Resource-starved California was never in a
position to do much more than send angry notes to lawbreakers. But, Captain Noé was motivated to see justice
done, and when he caught up with Eayrs in 1813, Eayrs couldn’t really make a
convincing case for himself, try as he might.
That was the end of the road for Eayrs. But his loss is our gain. The Mercury was far from the only ship
engaged in illegal trade along the Pacific Coast in the nineteenth-century, but
it is the only one whose capture and trial are so meticulously documented. Those documents avert our attention from the capital-H
history of textbooks and museums towards regular people living their regular lives.
The Mercury Case reveals the distance
between what regular people needed (wine, chocolate, and rice) and what they
wanted (fake pearls and microscopes) and how the weight of the world can be read
in an inventory. And people say shopping
Miller, Robert and Santa Barbara Trust for Historic
Preservation. A Yankee Smuggler on the Spanish California Coast: George
Washington Eayrs and the Ship Mercury. Santa Barbara Trust for Historic
Perissinotto, Giorgio Sabino Antonio, et al. Documenting
Everyday Life in Early Spanish California: The Santa Barbara Presidio Memorias
y Facturas, 1779-1810. Santa Barbara Trust for Historic Preservation, 1998.
As the former Secretary of the Historical Society of Southern California, Ana Bégué dePackman’s collection offers up a wide range of artifacts coming from her unique point of view and position as both an author and a keeper of history. Her collection of photographs, newspaper articles, manuscripts, genealogies, maps, ephemera, and correspondence all date between 1870 and 1973, and they represent subjects such as the California Missions, the Ranchos and adobes, Los Angeles history, and Packman herself. Within the fourteen boxes of the collection located in UCLA’s Special Collections Department, the material is organized by subject, and navigating through the boxes and folders is made easier with the help of the finding aid. Most of the boxes and folders are clearly and accurately labeled with the contents such as boxes 7, 8, and 9 which are all divided up based on rancho. However, general subjects such as Packman’s “correspondence” is broken up by year and gives little detail as to what the correspondence is in reference to.
The first part of the collection, labeled “correspondence”, tells the story of Ana Béguéde Packman’s life through the lens of her own letters. We see her life progress through her book publications and speaking events as well as through her role as the Secretary of the Historical Society of Southern California. The remaining boxes tell the story of California through newspaper articles, Packman’s personal notes, brochures, and photographs of historic buildings, the California Missions, and the history of land that today makes up Southern California. These artifacts from Packman’s personal collection allows researchers to view history through the lens of a woman in that time. By analyzing her writing style, word choice, content choice, and overall collection, researchers gain necessary and valuable context clues that would be lost if removed from this specific collection. Upon further inspection, viewers can uncover the histories of the ranchos, missions, and iconic Los Angeles buildings by noting not only which stories Packman included, but also which stories are still unheard.
Ana Bégué de Packman’s collection offered up many interesting finds. Throughout the Rancho boxes, maps of historical Los Angeles give insight to how the city was structured and organized. Some maps were bigger than the table and were done in color, which provided more detail than was imaginable. Other maps were hand drawn on a single side of paper and were almost personal in their construction. Another wonderful find was the cattle brands, hand drawn and repeated throughout the papers, notes, and photographs. Each brand can be traced back to a specific man or family, and each was unique in its design and use. The cattle brands also helped loosely organize papers by marking which document in a folder referred to which family, solely based on a hand drawn symbol in the corner or margins.
Many aspects of Ana Bégué de Packman’s collection provide for a unique and special research experience. Her personal notes and annotations, along with her detailed descriptions, maps, photographs, and more paint the picture of life in the early to mid 1900’s. By starting with her personal documents and then moving towards the historical artifacts she collected, researchers begin to view the contents using Packman’s own perspective as the viewing glass. Generations to come will be able to benefit from this collection, all thanks to the foresight ofAna Bégué de Packman.