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We could write a lot of fiction about the O'Fewers (didn't
know about that I'll bet), but if you want to keep it
straight, here are a couple.
Dr. C.P. Thompson, who lived in a large house on Clement St.
right across from Lincoln Parks seventh green, did NOT
attend the birth of any of the O'Fewer children.
Lady
All of we children were birthed by two midwives. A little
old, she seemed old when Brian was born, by the name of Mrs.
McManus, mostly known as Grandma Mack, attended the birth of
the first three. over the years we became very well
acquainted with Granma Mack. She used to visit even when her
services were not needed, and I can remember going to visit
her when she real was old. Not just old in years but that
too, being well into her eighties, but also old with the
aches and pains of arthritis and almost blind. But still a
cheerful little leprechaun.
During therein of Grandma Mack, we did have a family doctor,
while not actually attending the birthings, did drive by to
she that everything was OK. Did I say 'drive-by' ? Yep
that's what she did. In her two seater electric automobile.
Instead of a steering heels she steered with a tiller arm.
(If I remember her name I'll send it along)
The forth and fifth children were birthed by a midwife by
the name of Mrs. Strethers. She was I believe from the deep
South and ingrained with the custom of 'totes'. She came to
the house every day, as did Grandma Mack, and stayed all day
feeding the other children, getting Dad dinner ready, and
doing a little house work. Upon leaving every day she would
take a 'tote'. What the 'tote' was varied. Some days it
would be a couple of spoonfuls of sugar or a half a cupful
of flour, a few beans, a little tea or a couple of cookies.
But always something.. This was in no way considered
stealing, it was and expected part of her compensation. But
it did irk Mom. She would always ask, 'what-did-she-
take-today." Mrs. Strether was a nice lady, probably
English; her family settling probably in Georgia. She lived
on Clement Street over Kenny's Bazaar.
Robin also assisted in the birthing of the two girls. The
fourth and fifth children of this saga.
Robin, ah me. What a lady. What a friend. What a nice
person. So thoughtful of others, So kind. So positive. A fat
lump of a person who could not cook or sew or darn socks, or
do housework. Just plain did not know how to do any of these
things. But there were things she did know how to do. She
knew how to support those around her. She could really buoy
one up. She would say, 'think positive, God will help.' THIS
in the 1920s ! I believe that she never worried for one
second in her whole life. She was always thinking of helping
someone else. Every single day of her life she wrote short
letters or just cards to various people. These were re cards
with notes of inspiration and cheer. In the letters she
alway enclosed a dime or a quarter to help the needy that
she was writ to. How does Ed know this ? Well may is the
time that I ran down the hill to the Post Box or Mail box
with the missives, just in time to catch the 'last-pick-up,
after writing her notes she would read Robin sure did
influence my life. Them aloud and ask, 'how does this WHO in
the world is Robin. " Sound/'
Well Robin was Mrs. C.R. ROBINSON who lived next door....no,
she lived two doors up the hill on 26th Avenue.
She was my second mother.
Robin and her husband Charles and her only "child, Frances
Charles Robinson were ~ very good neighbors. It was like we
were all one family. If we needed they had~if they needed we
had. Not just of things, but of physical help, advice,
cheer, and being good friends, criticism.
In the Robinson household lived another person. Robin's
sister Nan. ~whose pen name is Fannie A. Charles. A quiet
T.~well know author~ in the early 1900s. Now comes a part of
this missive that the re-writer is on his own as to whether
or now includes it. However it is the truth, and all the
parties involved are dead and gone, I see no problem in
publishing the truth, even if its a little scandal I have
another 26th Avenue scandal to write about a little later,
unless Dib beats me to it.
Frances, better known as Pinkey, was the only son in the
Robinson household at 372 - 26th Avenue. But he was not the
son of Charles Robinson and Sally (Robin) Mrs. Charles
Robinson. He was the son of Charles Robinson and Nan, aka
Fannia A. Charles, Mrs. Robinson's sister. This is a pretty
well kept secret. As of this date I am probably the only one
privy, even to some details such
as...
Our ~Mom Fewer ~expended much physical effort helping Robin
'catch up on her house~keeping, clearing out closets that
had become catch-all places, and even helped on her darning
and clothes repair. At these things Robin was helpless. ~Mom
also helped tie a pillow on Robin's abdomen , under her
dress' Whenever Robin would need to leave the house to go to
the store or to go to Church. This pillow stunt was of
course to simulate pregnancy, so that Robin could appear to
the world as the mother of Frances. In all the years that we
lived as neighbors I never saw Aunt Nan leave the house. Not
even to go into the backyard. Never went to church or
shopping or even a ride in their beautiful red Stevens Durea
touring car.
Pinky was even christened after his birth mother ic Frances
Charles.
Just to keep all the scandal on the same page there is the
story of the couple that lived next door to the Robinsons.
This story may be forgotten now that it is sixty years
later, but it was no secret at the time. Headline~ screamed
at the time from the Chronicle, Examiner, Call and the Daily
News. I remember one headline it read - DING LONG DADDY OF
THE "D" LINE. These neighbors were £4.& Mrs.
Leffingwell. A quiet and apparently well behaved couple,
with no children. Mrs. Lefffingwell was a short plump
individual, but old George was FAT and short. He used to not
walk up our hill on 26th Avenue, he waddled. But was a
pleasant, even jolly good neighbors
> was conductor on the ijuni line that ran along~ Van
~Ness Avenue and up to the Presidio It was the "2" line~y~
me George was the worlds most unlikely man to be attractive
to a women. Shows that one can never be sure what goes on in
the female mind. Believe it or not, at the time~was Living
in married bliss~ on 26th Avenue, he had a second wife at
the other end of the "D" line.
Don't 1~know whatever happened to this couple. They both
left 26th Avenue, and their cottage was vacant for a long
long time I guess the wife probably ~got sore at George. You
never know about the female.
Dib - on your page One, just below MORE ON THE DOCTOR LATER,
you may want to add the following.
When Dad and Mom were first establishing~ themselves and
their first child on 26th ~venue the Richmond District was
very primitive. On 26th Avenue in my earliest memory there
were only a small cluster of houses, plus a saloon called
the Red Front (because it was painted red). The saloon was
on the south side of Clement between 25th and 26th. Of an
evening when the boys were whooping it up, and even having a
few fights, it could all be heard in our little house. One
reason all this gaiety could be heard was of course the
saloon was only about a hundred yards, as the crow flies,
from our home. The other reason we could hear so plainly was
that there was a great deal of fog in those days, and sound
travels much better ma foggy atmosphere. People living in
San if Francisco today don't know what for really is. Now we
are talking about 1910 forward. That's when we had FOG. Even
in the 1930s we had fog that was so thick that when ~
c~driving a car 'are could not see the radiator. Manys the
time driving out Clement or Geary returning from a movie on
Filmore Street, I have had to open the drivers door and look
straight down at the car tracks in order to keep her headed
straight.
There was one instance on Clement between twenty seventh and
twenty eighth at night when the trolly came off the wire.
The conductor had to get off the stalled car to pull on the
rope and get the trolley back in place. The streets behind
could not see them in the fog and ran into the stalled car.
Killed the conductor. He was a neighbor, lived on Clement
within a block of the accident. He was the father of three
of the prettiest Irish girls in the City.
The fog used to pour in like milk.
I can remember having a golf date, to play at Lincoln Park,
rather early in the morning. In my car I was to pick up a
friend to play with, at the corner of mist and Geary. Well I
drove out Geary, all the while watching the car tracks to
keep me straight. Counting and calculating the rise of the
hills until I was Pretty sure I was near 4lst Avenue. I
could see nothing, I mean nothing, let alone see my friend
standing on the corner. So I stopped and shouted, "Doug are
you there?". Somewhere off in the near-distance a voice
answered, Yeah, I'm here, where are you". Even though my
lights were on he could not see me, and we were within 200'
of each other. How could we play go in that kind of a
situation ? well my answer is 'Not very well."
The FOG had some things about it that I liked, altho over
all it depresses me what I liked was laying in bed at night
and listening to the fog horns. There were several. Now
today, I suppose most San Franciscans don't even know what a
Fog Horn is.... and may not have ever heard one.
We had Fog Horn~in various places in the Golden Gate
District and one or two in the Bay. Each one had its own
very distinctive sound and number of bleats, and we got to
be able to identify each one. Of course the captains and
pilots of any ship or boat maneuvering about the Bay or
going in or out of t~the Straight, was obligated to know
exactly which horn sound and tempo of bleat for each
location. We had Fog Horns at Point Reyes Fort Chronkite,
Fort Baker, Mile Rock... (Dib,You can do better at this than
I)
We used to listen to them after going to bed. To some they
are a most mournful sound, if they have ever heard them.
They lulled us to sleep.
Today they are hardly heard. And I have a theory why.
In the early '20s and thirties, conditions were different in
San Francisco and we had fog . . . fog in capital letters.
What San Franciscans have today in comparison is only a
mist.
What probably is the reason for the fog being less dense
these days as compared to the 1920s and 30s, is that there
are more people in City now. Each individual person gives
off heat. Each house adds heat to the atmosphere from
cooking and lighting and heating the house. Each automobile
gives off lots of heat. All the street lights give off heat.
Then we have all the large buildings and some factories
belching heat. The air being warmer, reduces the fog .
Unless one was born and grew up in the area it is hard to
imagine how sparse the area was settled. For instance I can
remember, that from our little home or 26th and Clement
there was not one single structure between 26th Avenue and
the Cliff House. Nothing but sand dunes with yellow and blue
lupin and gold poppies.
One word about that.
I understand that the burial ceremony of Chinese includes
attention to the deceased 's voyage into the next world. And
at the time of the burial, food is cooked, on what we now
call a barbeque, but permanently installed at the site so
that the deceased has sustenance for the long trip into the
here-after. After the burial ceremony, at the grave site,
the food is left for the spirit of the departed, to pick up
and take along with him on his journey. However some of the
departed spirits made the journey in a hungry state, because
on a couple of occasions, I, watching the goings on from
neighboring bushes, saw tramps, derelicts and such type
persons, who had been lurking in the bushes, come out and
have a fiesta.
Dib, this is what I saw and believe. But before publishing,
so that no one is offed by the O'Fewers, you might call the
local Chinese Church and see how they feel about it. Your
call could only give more credibility to the saga, but would
induce a wider reading audience. Who know, you might get
info that would lead to more lineage. AND THAT IS WHAT WE
NEED.
^^^Document Error^^^&f^^^Document Error^^^Now while I'm
making notes, boy, I hope you have a good editor with my
spelling
and grammar and punctuation you will need one, by now I'm
sure you are understanding how I function. If not, here it
is: "Get it dowon paper, even if you, yourself can't read
it. Get it down while it's in your mind. Then there's the
problem of my typewriter.. . .I used to use it a lot, have
written a lot, but over the last three years NOTHING. Its
apleasure to get back and oil the machine. If some of the
words seem like I'm a drunk, seems that I am. Drunk with
possibilities of what our written words can lead to. On word
of caution because I see to possibilities~ maybe far and
beyond a District Paper. If the O'Fewer chronicles&of o~
San Francisco develops into what I think t:it can, we must
be aware, that a story once published in any form, no~
matter how good it is, s~o~stops there If this goes into A
Buddy paper. That is the end. Dib, I think you hare latched
ont a GREAT IDEA. Publishers
every day give large advance sums to a writer, on the
submission of only a "first chapter" and an outline of the
writing. I believe YOU have a book in the offing. Believe
ne, I have no interest in any 'credit.' I'll write what I
can. When we have a few thousand words down, then we should
get together for A COUPLE Of WEEKS and set it all in gross
order. Then we can submit and call in the experts.
This project smells good to me.
There is no doubt that we were an unusual family. And we
lived in a very unusual time.
Our first car.
For many weeks we were talking about, how nice it would be
to have a car. Not Mind you none of knew how to drive, or
had the slightest idea what made a
car go. We may have been, at the most, in Uncle Den's Model
T, once or twice.
But it would be nice to have one .
If we bought one, we decided it would not be a red car. What
a decision Absolutely it would not be an open touring car.
We read the advertisements day after day. Then one day we
say an ad for a car, 'Runs good, only $150.00 So Mom and I,
Ed age 14, went down to a garage, best I can say is, 'close
to Post & Steiner." The man showed us this gorgeous car.
All shiny and RED and an omen touring car. The garage owner
said some nice things about the car, which neither Mom nor I
understood. And then took us for a short ride. When we got
back to the garage , he said, 'well how do you like it?'!.
Well what the hell ? Neither one of us had ever been in the
front seat of a car before, and probably the only ride we
had ever had was in Uncle Dens Ford, as back seat riders. So
how did we like it.? For Fetes Sake, just the ride was
terrific. . . and to ride in the front seat ? well these
days one would not understand .
The Man said come back tomorrow and I'll give you another
lesson and give you a drivers license If you can think of
any questions, write them down and I will answer them for
you.
So we went back the next day with $150.00 and a fist full of
questions. The Man took us on another drive and answered all
of my questions. Said I was a good driver, made out the
forms and gave me a California Drivers License.
About three o'clock Mom and her chauffeur left the garage
and drove all the way to 26th and Clement and di not run
into anything. The next day we were going to take a little
spin, and I found that the gears were stuck in ' first and
also reverse.' So we phoned the garage Man. He came out to
the hose right away and dis-engaged the gears and showed me
how to do it. Seems like this problem was likely to occur if
one dilly-dallied in shifting. Shifting had to be a decisive
motion. From then on little or no problems in THAT
department. But every ever problem that a car can have was
experienced in the year to follow. I used to work on the
Saxon every afternoon after school in order that SHE be in
running condition for Sunday.
Despite weekly cleaning the plugs and filing the points and
adjusting the carburetor, this big old hunk of iron lost
power. One night after dinner, I mentioned this some
friends, the Gillons, who had justed by for a visit. This
one question and its elaborated answer was a big influence
on my life to follow.
The Gillans were a family that lived on Lake Street between
24th ~ 25th. Ar. Gillan (who I really did not know) years~
Gillan a real nice woman on the large heavy side. The oldest
son, who later became an officer in Wells :Fargo Bank. Two
daughters and a son my age by the name of Robin.
Anyway on this particular evening Mrs. Gillan and the
younger daughter and her boy friend were over for a visit .
The boy friend, about twenty five year old, owned a garage
at the corner of twenty fifth and California, was also a
pilot and owned his own plane. His Name Ed deLarm. A native
Indian and I thought the smartest man I had ever known. I
explained the problem of "no power" in the car. He advised
that I grind and adjust the valves. I had no idea what he
was talking about, and said so. So Ed deLarm asked for some
paper and a pencil. Mom produced some large sheets of
butcher paper, and he went to work making diagrams down to
the minutest details of how to get the valves out. Bow to
make a few inches of broomstick handles into a 'grinder' and
how to get the valves back in the engine, and then how to
adjust them.
The next day when I opened the engine and started to take
the valves out, being careful to mark everything to back in
the same place, I marveled at how he knew where each and
every part was and how in was to come out and more
importantly, how it was to go back in.
Well the job took more than a week of after school time and
a weekend. Then came the time to fire her up. Like a miracle
she started and ran like the proverbial Swiss Watch. Ed
deLarm was some teacher. I'd have thought of him thousands
of times . . . . and thanked him;
The Saxson gave us lots of problems. She was big in body and
engine, the engine was an enormous six cylinder
International. The cylinders~ were the side of one pound
coffee cans. The biggest problem ~was flat tires. Today if
one has a flat tire, they call the DA and in a short while
the truck comes and puts on the spare. Away you go. . In
those days, one got out and go under Find the best place to
sit the jack on the s~are to be uneven road surface. Think
th~that's easy ? Try it on a 1925 highway of gravel. 'Then
struggle to get the tire, which came off the wheel with the
rim. Lay the rim and tire down, dis-engage the lock on the
split rim and pry the tire off with an old spring leaf and a
large screwdriver, all the while being careful to not cause
another p~problem by sticking the tools into the inner tube.
After the tire has been cried off the rim, the pull the
inner tube out and try to find where it is leaking. If the
leak is found it has to be patched, either with a cold parch
which is just a piece of rubber cemented on over the hole,
or with a hot patch, which was mostly a Shaler-patch. This
was a piece of rubber placed over the hole in the tube and
clamped there with a piece of tine between the clamp and the
patch that contain some sulphur. The sulphur was then
lighted with a match and the heat generated vulcanized the
patch and the tube together When the patch was finally on,
the inside of the tire casing was dusted with a talcum
powder, and the tube was placed inside~, all the while being
careful that no wrinkles or pleats developed in tube ~y~ The
casing, tube now inside was then mounted on the split rim,
very carefully. The rim spread and the lock lever moved into
place. Now we are ready for some air. Where the hell do we
get air. Not from a station, we are out in the boon docks.
Air comes from the pump stowed under the back seat.
Unfortunately no tire pumps that I have ever met work very
well . So you pump, not hard, just a little. Then bounce the
tire up and down to make out any possible wrinkles in the
tube, then back to the 'salt-mines' and pump 'till you are
blue in the face Once you turn blue there's a possibility
that you have the required fifty pounds pressure. Once
there, you put your ear to the tire casing and if your are
either lucky or deaf, you will hear no air leaking. I have
known this full procedure to be performed thirteen times
going over the grade East from Holland. In those days
Motoring was Real fun.
Dib - Additions for your page?
In our kitchen where most meals were eaten we nap a very
nice looking floor on inlaid aid linoleum A rather pensive
floor covering, that was partly paid for by an insurance
company at after our second In order to heat the house we
had in addition to the kitchen stove, which was going most
of the time, we had a Perfection kerosine heater. This was a
round sheet metal thing about thirty inches tall and ten
inches in diameter, its four short legs supported a one
gallon tank at the lower end, which we kept filled with
'coal-oil' or kerosine. Above the tank, was a wick of
cotton. The wick was circular, about three inches in
diameter and had a large hole in the center. More or less
like a donut. This wick could be extended by a screw on the
side, to make it longer or shorter. Turned 'up' or long it
burned with a bigger flame and thus produced more heat. We
had to be careful not to turn it too high as then it would
smoke and smell badly. Well one afternoon the perfection
heater was on in the dining room, next to the sewing machine
close to the doorway to the kitchen. It got turned over, oil
spilled all over the floor and a fire started . It could
well have burned the entire house, if it we not for the
quick action of Mom. She threw the heater into the kitchen,
when a second fire started, picked it up a gain, all ablaze
, and heaved it out the b back door. Mean while , Dad, who
happened to be home, raced down to Clement Street to a store
that had a phone to CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. Almost got run
over in his excitement, by a street car. The fire department
was there in a flash. The Fire House being only about a
block away, up 26th avenue. Its hard to believe what
happened next. By then of course Mom had the fire out. But
when the Fire Engine stopped almost in front of our house,
they could see no smoke
and really did not know which house was involved. One of the
firemen jumped off the truck grabbed a bucket of dirty water
that was on the sidewalk in front of the Robinson's house ,
two doors up the hill, then ran up the front steps of the
Lonergan's house, between us and the Robinsons, rang the
doorbell, did not wait for an answer, just opened the front
door and threw the dirty water into their hallway;. 'There
was much running around and hollering outside. Inside there
was Mom, cool as a cucumber, dusting her scorched hand with
Arm ' and Hammer.
This was actually our second fire. When I was about three
years of age we had our first. It was Christmas and we had a
Tree complete with home-made permanent and lighted with
candles. In those days, 1910, no homes yet were supplied
with electric current, so candles were commonly used. The
stores had for sale, small metal clamps like a clothespin
that had a little cup on one. side just the right size to
accept a thin candle. Our decorated tree was set on top of
the kitchen table, all decorated and candle lit. If I was
bug-eyed then imagine my absolute astonishment when Santa
appeared all dressed in red, complete with cap and white
whiskers. With a Merry Christmas
Christmas and a few 'Ho Ho Hos,' leaned over to distribute-
a few gifts Leaned too close to the candle lit tree and the
flame leaped to his cotton whiskers, started a small blaze
on the tree and table. Quick as a Flash (I noticed) Santa
reached under the sink and grabbed a pan filled it water and
doused the flames. No real damaged.
The next day I'm asking Mom, "How did Santa know where the
pans were?" I had noticed that they were concealed by a
small curtain that hung from the bottom of the sink. If I
got an answer it has long been forgotten. After all that was
eighty three years ago.
Lad continued to play Santa on Christmas Eve for the next
twenty years. In th years following 1911 many friends and
neighbors joined in on the fun. Santa would roam the avenue
gathering up neighbors like the Pied Piper, and our little
home would overflow. Since the early 1930s Brian took over
the job, in much the same manner, and hasn't missed for over
sixty years. Aren't we lucky!
More to add to your page 2
In the early days, ~when there were only the two boy
children, we had no bathroom. The was an early model of a
Chic Sales out in the back yard and there 'bias a cold water
spigot over a sink in the one of two rooms, which was the
kitchen. The only other room was the bedroom, later
converted to a dining room when the other two rooms were
added . 'Then Saturday night came along. Mom would drag out
a big round ~galvanized tub. I think they were called wash
boilers. Well anyway, the tub was set down in the middle of
the kitchen floor and filled with water that had been heated
on top of the cast-iron stove. Other days than Saturday we
were bathed in the kitchen sink. Well no matter where it
took place , the Fewer kids were clean. Oh, I don't mean we
didn't get dirty, but we never sat down to eat or went to
bed dirty. That little rule was one of the many that has
been remembered these many long years.
Eventually a bathroom was added off the kitchen, Actually it
was a covered back porch, before it was walled in. It was
one step down from the kitchen and was complete with a
basin, tub and toilet. The toilet looked much the same as
what we know today, but was flushed by pulling a thin chain
which opened a valve in a metal lined ~ wooden tank that
hung on the wall about six feet off the floor.
The other end of the porch became a small closet size room
when twin tubs were hung on a wall. I seem to remember that
even today these twin tubs are called laundry-trays. Mom had
washed all of clothes in these tubs, stepped out the door to
a side porch to hang the clothes out to dry.
In two corners of the porch there were pullies thru which a
ropes was strung. At the other end of the yard, probably
thirty feet away, here was a pulley on top of a couple of
poles . The 'clothes line was also strung thru these pullies
and Mom could stand on the porch, clothespin a sheet to the
line, pull the line a little over the pullies and make room
for another sheet. The line would get old and the wet
clothes were heavy. The line would break and our hearts
would bleed as we gathered them up off the sand for Mom to
do over.
Dib . . down near the bottom of your page ~.
Mom did not go to Hastings. I went to Hastings for more that
two years. It was and is today a Law School.
Mom went to Healds, which to this day continues to be an
outstanding institution . She studied shorthand and typing,
some English and math. As soon as she Graduated she got a
job as Legal Secretary in a law office. She kept this job
until I came along.
Dib. . . on same page below MORE ABOUT MOM LATER
Dad's name was not Edward, it was Edmund. He was born in
.City of Waterford, County
Waterford~probably 1895. Birthdate July 4th. ~Waterford is
where the famed
Waterford glass is made.
The reason for Dad being in Stockton shortly after he
arrived in this country, is that he had an uncle there.
Uncle Phelan, Mary Sanborn's father. I don't remember his
first name if l ever heard it. Nor did I ever hear his
wife's name She was always called by everyone Auntie
Phelan!.
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