The regional newspapers started to sniff that the politics were changing and that there was a desire to vacate Benicia. The Stockton newspapers were advocating that the capital be located in Stockton. Senator Crabb presented a proposal offering the Stockton Court House, plus, the city would pay for the move. Crabb argued that the climate was the same as Sacramento, had river access, and as a bonus, also hosted the State’s Insane Asylum, where legislators could take a brief respite from their hallucinations of grandeur.
History From Kevin Knauss
Posts related to historical topics such the Gold Rush, early California, Maps, and historical documents.
After the battle to save the railroad was lost, Auburn went dormant. The town’s pride and pocket book had taken a severe beating. The only way to get out from underneath the $50,000 bond obligation was to dissolve the city. In 1868, Assembly bill 760, An Act to repeal an Act to incorporate the town of Auburn, was passed by both houses of the legislature.
The experience of Black Americans and their contributions had been mere footnotes or commas in the printed saga of California of the 19th century. The visible traces of Black Americans of the Gold Rush are the names of places such as Negro Bar, Negro Hill, and the Negro Hill Ditch. Both Negro Hill and the ditch only exist on maps as Folsom Lake now covers both. Similarly, Negro Bar only partially remains above the high water of Lake Natoma.
Perhaps that was a necessity, although it does not seem to me to be so, because no solid or fecal matter is discharged into these sewers, or these drains which we call sewers. The city authorities have strictly adhered to the policy, if it is a policy, of having all the matter sink into the soil upon which the city is built, to saturate it, permeate it, and fester there and breed disease. And a city having a system of sewers like that comes into Court here in the name of the People of the State and complains that we have destroyed its sewerage system. Well, such a sewerage system as that ought to be destroyed. It never ought to be allowed to exist.
Rosalie lay bleeding to death. A thick pool of blood had gathered around her body from all of the cuts she had suffered earlier. Francois requested the men present to pick her up and place her on the lounge. Shortly thereafter, Dr. Rhodes who had been sent for, arrived to dress the wounds. The loss of blood was too great. Rosalie Remi Lamblet died on August 16, 1879.
Some, possessed with the spirit of humor, displayed it like Nero fiddling over the ruins. One refugee in Jefferson Park had his tent labeled: “Well Shook,” and the next one to it was “Shook Well.” A curb-stone kitchen had the sign “The Outside Inn,” and it looked it. A piano wagon bore these words: “Played by many; the last time by a fireman.” “We moved because the elevator stopped running,” was a notice placed on a pile of bricks. “Earthquake Shakes” was the sign above a street stand. “Quakers and Shakers Welcome” was displayed over the door of a restaurant instead of before a gospel meeting room.
Jacky encounters two giants on the island, Mr. and Mrs. Huggermugger. There is also a small community of dwarves, larger than Jacky, but smaller than the Huggermuggers. Jacky and his stranded shipmates are rescued and then tell their fantastical tale of giants and dwarves to others. One of men who believed Jacky is Zebedee Nabbum, who is out collecting wild animals to be exhibited in the circus of P. T. Barnum.
On the front of the well, near the bottom, are tree horizontal undulating lines. This, I assume, is to convey an aspect of water. Three lines, perpendicular to the water lines rise up and become the stems of vines and flowers in a rectangular tablet. The floral design on the well echoes the flowers on the top of the dial door. To me, the most recognizable flower seems to be a dogwood bloom.
My name is James Lansing. I am 56 years of age. I know l am going to die, and make this statement under the impending crisis of the immediate presence of my demise. I do not know the man who shot me. I may have seen him, but if I did, I do not know it. I had no difficulty with him. I was out in the back yard of my hotel helping fix up a car load of coal about 4 p. m. I saw a man running down the alley and heard people halloo after him.
We do know that Myrtle died on October 24, 1966 and is buried next to her husband Carl Reitenour in the Rocklin cemetery. Of course, none of this answers the question of who took the photos: Myrtle, her father, her brother, or, perhaps, her husband Carl J. Reitenour? But someone close to Myrtle lived very near the spot where the 1914 occurred. Hopefully, these photos will be found by another historian and will help fill in the gaps and perhaps they have additional information regarding the photographer.