“That brown shingle house across from the high school? It’s probably a Julia Morgan,” an architect told me shortly after we moved into the neighborhood in 2006, naming the famous designer of Hearst Castle. In a recently updated survey of work by Brainerd Jones – the architect of Comstock House – it is listed as one of his buildings. Somewhere in the years between, I was told that while it was unlikely to be an actual Frank Lloyd Wright design, it must have come from the drafting table of someone who trained in the master’s office.

930 Mendocino Ave. PHOTO: Wikimedia Commons

For decades, the identity of the architect who designed the lovely home at 930 Mendocino Avenue has been a mystery. Even the late Dan Peterson, who literally wrote the book on Santa Rosa’s architectural heritage, didn’t know who designed it – and he not only had it placed on the National Register of Historic Places, he owned it for a number of years, using it as his architectural office. But it’s now known that the building was designed by Mary Rockwell Hook.


She was related to the property owners (more about that in a minute) but this was not nepotism at work. Mary was a capable architect as this building shows, even though it was only the second of her designs to be built. She was also a pioneer several times over, for whom recognition is overdue.

Mary Rockwell Hook (1877-1978) decided to become an architect in 1902, during an era when few professions were open to women and any who wanted a career were suspected of being something between an ardent feminist or political radical. She had qualified support from family; her father approved of the artistic aspects of architectural study and paid her tuitions, yet expected she accept no salary when she found a job. And of all the professions to pursue, architecture was among the least welcoming to women at the time, having evolved from the manly building trade. At the first firm she approached for a job she was told, “We’re sorry but we could not take a woman. You can’t swear at women and they can’t climb all over full sized details.” But the next office was glad to accept her. “They never needed to swear and I could manage full size details,” she wrote in her memoir. So rare was her kind that even by the time she reached middle age, you could have assembled every single American female architect in a small school auditorium that seated 200.

Although she was denied entry to the fraternal system that advanced the careers of her male colleagues, she had a major advantage: Mary was a Rockwell. The wealthy and esteemed family (introduced here) spent much of their time traveling abroad or visiting each other; she and her four sisters were immersed in high culture. After she graduated Wellesley College in 1900, for example, the family spent eight months in Italy and Switzerland. They were barely back home in Kansas when her uncle, General Adna Chaffee, was appointed military governor of the Philippines. So off they went again, this time visiting Japan and China and the Middle East as well. The next year were trips to Venezuela and Sicily. And so life went for the Rockwells.

Her architectural studies began in 1903, when she was the only female student in that department at the Art Institute of Chicago. Reference works state she studied and/or graduated from the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris, but that’s not quite true. According to her autobiography, she was enrolled in an atelier operated by Jacques-Marcel Auburtin, a rising star in French architecture (and who had recently proposed marriage to one of Mary’s sisters). Mary did take an entrance exam – being the first woman since Julia Morgan to get that far – but received a failing grade. In truth, she could not have attended the school for very long, even if she had passed all the exams; although it was no longer off-limits to women, there still was a policy that students couldn’t be older than thirty, and Mary was already 29.

But at the same time, being accepted by an atelier was a not insubstantial achievement. They acted as an adjunct to the Ecole proper; some were even located inside the main building. It was a bit like having workshops training medieval journeymen grafted onto a modern college. You studied – often for years – at an atelier prĂ©paratoire to prep for passing all three entrance exams, then once you were admitted your student work was prepared under the guidance of an atelier, possibly the same one. A very good overview of the tradition-bound Beaux-Arts system as it worked around the turn of the century can be found in this book.

Here is exactly what Mary wrote of her Beaux-Arts experience, which biographers consistently misstate:

Through Kitty’s acquaintance with Marcel Auburtin, I arranged to study architecture at his atelier in Paris. He had seven Americans enrolled – all graduated of Yale and Princeton. When these boys heard a girl was coming they didn’t like the idea. They decided to name me “Liz.” It turned out that we all became lifelong friends. These boys worked three years before they passed all the examinations to enter the Beaux Arts.

We all took the first examination. I learned that I was the second woman who had ever taken an examination at Beaux Arts. The other woman was Miss Morgan of San Francisco who later devoted most of her life to the building of the Hearst Palace of great renown in California.

One must pass the first exam to qualify for the second, then must pass the second for the third, and so on for several weeks. None of us passed the first one, but what a memorable day! They put me in a big library with guards and locked the door. Hundreds of French boys begin to take these exams every six months, beginning at 14 or 50 years of age. All day I could hear them yelling and singing.

When the day was over one of the American boys came to rescue me. He said he would take me by the back way because all day the French boys had been planning to throw buckets of water on me as I entered the big courtyard. He had a taxi waiting and we ran, falling into it with our drafting boards, “T” squares and triangles.

Incidents of gender harassment aside, it left fun memories. She and a couple of her sisters lived in the raucous student quarter of the Left Bank and she wrote happily about bicycle sojourns into the countryside. She was still in Paris when the April, 1906 earthquake hit Santa Rosa. Her mother later told her, “On the morning of the earthquake she [mother] appeared fully dressed with hat, veil, and gloves and wondering if she shouldn’t call her sister, Mrs. Finlaw, to cancel their dinner engagement. A call she couldn’t have made. All the phone lines were down.”

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Mary returned to Kansas City later in 1906 intending to join an architectural firm, only to be told by father Bertrand that he would consent to her working in an office only as an unpaid student. It would be easy here to wave off Bertrand as being a paternalistic jerk but he was a loving parent and notably forward-thinking. The Rockwell family has a 1911 newspaper clipping that commented Captain Rockwell had “recently attracted considerable attention by the assertion that the daughter or daughters of a family, no matter what their station in life, should be taught a profession in which they could earn their own living.” It was more likely that he was being protective, knowing she faced discrimination that might be insurmountable and it would be easier for her to walk away from an unpaid internship than bear the professional stigma of quitting a position without expecting references, should she feel a need to leave. And Papa did actively support Mary’s ambitions; he purchased a lot in a Kansas City subdivision for her to build her first house (modern view to right).

She later wrote that house “followed the latest trends of California cottages” and the design, with its asymmetrical saltbox roof with extended eaves and dormer windows, was in keeping with the contemporary Arts & Crafts style. In particular, it resembles Gustav Stickley house design No. 28 (example here) which she could have seen in a 1905 issue of his magazine, “The Craftsman.” After it was completed, she lived it in for a month “to try it out.”

From her autobiography: “Next came a house for my sister Florence Edwards in Santa Rosa, California.” The Edwards’ moved in autumn of 1908, so the home at 930 Mendocino was designed 1907-1908.

She designed a house for a college friend and her father purchased another Kansas City lot, this intended for her to build an 11-bedroom family manse. That home and eight others she designed in the area between 1908 and 1927 are on the National Register of Historic Places (PDF). Together, they describe what might be called a “Mary Rockwell Hook style” that was in step with the progressive craftsman designs coming from leading architects at the same time.

RIGHT: Mary Rockwell c. 1911 PHOTO: Rockwell Family Archives

Her homes were usually asymmetrical, according to the authors of the Register nomination for the Kansas City houses, with a “T” or “L” shaped ground plan instead of a square or rectangular box. Windows were plentiful and also not symmetric, and the floor plan was often multi-level with irregularly shaped rooms. In some, she included an area that could be used as a stage. The home she designed for herself was described as “a rambling aggregation of intersecting wings and extruding gables, dormers, decks and porches.” She incorporated outdoor space into the designs with sleeping porches, upper decks, balconies, patios that were called “outdoor living rooms” and even integrated swimming pools. She gave rooms an Old World touch by often making fireplaces and chimneys out of rough stone and antique tile. “Long before recycling of materials became an economical advantage, Mrs. Hook was rummaging in demolished buildings and salvage yards for useable or picturesque artifacts, which were employed both structurally and decoratively.”

The Santa Rosa house matches her typical style, although in appearance it’s quite different from the Kansas City houses. It fits into the shingle-style “First Bay Region Tradition” that characterizes residential designs from that period by Julia Morgan and others and she may have also been encouraged by character of the neighborhood, where there were new and prominent Brainerd Jones buildings in this style – Comstock House, the Saturday Afternoon Club, and the lost Paxton House – just down the street. Mary would have been very familiar with those shingled places; she was designing the house for sister Florence, who was a past president of the Club, and the Oates family (first owners of Comstock House) threw a party for another of the Rockwell sisters in late 1907, just about when Mary would have been drawing architectural plans.

Mary loved sleeping porches, and wrote in her memoir, “This and That,” of once waking up with snow on her blankets. Her original design for the Rockwell family home had a sleeping porch off of every bedroom, and the Edwards House in Santa Rosa had a screened porch as large as a regular bedroom. Now enclosed with windows, the exterior of the porch can be seen above left, and the door to the porch – shown here opened – has a diamond paned lattice window that lights the second floor hallway.

(As the building has been converted to private offices, only common areas are pictured here. CLICK or TAP on any image to enlarge.)

Similarities to her first home design can be seen above in the dormer windows, strong roof corbels, and square bump out window seat in the living room. The earlier house also had a juliet balcony, although the railing is currently steel and not likely to be original. The balcony on the Edwards House faces south and is now heavily shaded by mature trees, but would have brought considerable natural light into the second floor hallway. Note the decorative balusters that continue the craftsman design of the glass doors, discussed below.

The ground floor plan of the Edwards House is quite novel. From the front door is a large entrance hall with a free standing stairway in the center. Walking directly forward passes under the stairway’s landing and directly into the living room. At the foot of the stairway on the other end of the entrance hall are four matching glass doors partitioned into a Arts & Crafts pattern very similar to Stickley designs of that same period. Above left: The double doors that led to the dining room, and to their immediate right, another door into the living room.

Above: The glass door leading into the panty with the alabaster stained glass illuminated from behind.

The pantry is quite large in proportion to the 3-bedroom house and suggests Mary’s sister, Florence, had quite a dish collection. In a short essay about the 1906 earthquake (transcribed here) she lamented that  “…[We] listened to the crash of our beautiful wedding china and glass as it smashed on the floor. My parents screaming as they both fell down on the floor amid glass and china and cut their knees and hands.”

Although the kitchen is bungalow-sized, the lighting is very good with a pair of east windows and one facing north providing supplemental light. A sunny kitchen was not to be taken for granted; in many home designs of that period the kitchen was an afterthought. In Brainerd Jones’ original 1904 design of Comstock House, for example, the stove was in the least ventilated part of the room with the single source of natural light being a window connected to a porch, several feet behind the cook – it must have been onerous to prepare the simplest meals. Inclusion of a well-designed kitchen shows the architect understood how domestic work functioned, and may demonstrate a significant advantage for architects who grew up in Victorian America as girls instead of boys. Mary wrote in her autobiography that at her first job, the head draftsman asked her, “tell me, what does a butler do in a butler’s pantry?”

Most of the windows in the Edwards House are casements, which were very modern at the time and part of the Mary Rockwell Hook “style.” But the latches on these dual windows above the stairway landing would require a ladder to open, making it impractical to cool the second floor at the end of a hot summer’s day by inviting in the foggy marine layer.

Current owner Trae Seely deserves highest praise for his good taste and judgement in restoration of the house, but the interiors may have been modified by some of the (at least) five previous owners. The complete lack of ornamentation is surprising; except for the alabaster glass doors and picture rail, the house is spartan. There is no wall crown molding, nor basic details such as returns on door or window trim. Missing are typical craftsman style features such as box beams and natural wood paneling, except for the fireplace mantles. As the closeup above right shows, the crown molding above doors, windows and cabinets is not just simple, but minimalist. But while there are examples such as the newel post that do show signs of replacement, why would someone would tear out substantial original woodwork? It would be very interesting to compare these interiors to those in other houses she designed in that period. If original, it would be notable as a pre-modernist take on the general craftsman style.

Mary Rockwell Hook’s career divides neatly into two chapters. The latter part began in 1935 when she purchased 55 acres near Sarasota, Florida for only $10,000 and designed many of the homes there, including an artist’s colony (more about that period here, including another portrait).

But the first part began with the house for her friend and sister Florence, and concluded in 1929 with the final construction of another California house for her sister Katherine in Woodside. That chateau-like manor house, called “Le Soleil,” is as opulent as the Santa Rosa house is humble, with gold leaf ceilings and a 12-car garage. Sister “Kitty” – the same one who was once engaged to the Beaux-Arts atelier master – married Francis Crosby, who was president of the famous Key System streetcar service that linked San Francisco and the East Bay cities (until General Motors, Firestone Tire, and Phillips Petroleum conspired to put them out of business, that is). Like the Edwards House, Le Soleil is mostly unknown as a Mary Rockwell Hook design, and her name wasn’t mentioned in promotional materials when the estate sold in April, 2013 for $8,400,000 (photos here, here and here).

Also in the first part of career she designed most of the campus for the Pine Mountain Settlement School, a boarding school and local cultural center in a remote area of the southern Appalachian Mountains. From her memoirs it is clear this work meant much to her and although the site is now a National Historic Landmark, it never brought her great acclaim. But that certainly was okay with her; while she clearly loved architecture, she did not have the ego driving her to want to be The Great Architect. By the age Mary decided that she wanted to pursue a career in the field, Julia Morgan already had a BS from UC/Berkeley in Civil Engineering and had completed an internship with Bernard Maybeck. There were years that Mary did not practice architecture at all; near the end of WWI she worked for the Post Office translating “Spanish trade mail” and later spent a year working for a charity assisting French peasant-farmers trying to reestablish their lives postwar. She often spent hours a day riding horses and sometimes toured in amateur theatrical productions. It seems that she had a well-balanced and happy life right up to her death at age 101.

As for the Edwards House, Florence and her husband did not live there long. It appears that they moved in during the autumn of 1908, judging by the newspaper clipping mentioned below and because the Rockwell family scrapbooks contain an October 12, 1908 receipt from the Fountaingrove Vineyard Co. for five gallons of “Saut (sweetened)” – presumably sauterne, which was quite popular in the day – that cost 75 cents a gallon, plus another buck for the keg. Presumably there were more gallons of the cloying sweet wine on hand when James was elected mayor of Santa Rosa in 1910 and invited the congratulatory crowd that gathered outside their home to come in and have “something to eat and drink.” Hopefully Florence didn’t lose too many pieces of her replenished dishware collection that evening.

The Edwards apparently sold the house in 1913 to Milton Wasserman, one of the larger hops dealers in the area. Florence and James Edwards moved back to McDonald Avenue, where he had lived most of his life, this time taking up residence at number 925, directly next to the Mabelton mansion.

     The James R. Edwards are now comfortably installed in their handsome new residence on Mendocino avenue. They have certainly good reason to be proud of their new home and the friends who have been privileged with an inspection of the interior furnishing and arrangement cannot say too much in compliment of the taste displayed.

    – “Society Gossip”, Press Democrat, November 22, 1908

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Few made a greater impact on early 20th century Santa Rosa than the extended Rockwell family, and members will be mentioned often in upcoming articles. Here’s a quick guide:

Bertrand Rockwell (1844-1930) was a Civil War veteran who rose through the ranks from a private to captain in the Iowa Infantry. He saw combat in seven states, including the Battle of Fort Blakely in Alabama, now recognized as the last major battle of the war (in the last charge, a brigade of African-Americans advanced with bayonets, causing the Confederates to race towards white Union soldiers to surrender). In civilian life he became wealthy as a merchant and grain dealer, then later the president of a national bank as well as a director on several other national banks. He is still remembered today for his much-needed cash donations in the days immediately following the 1906 Santa Rosa earthquake (see accompanying story).

James Edwards married Florence Rockwell in 1903, one of the five daughters of Bertrand and Julia Rockwell. Edwards was the assistant cashier at Exchange Bank at the time of the 1906 earthquake and was named treasurer of the Earthquake Relief Fund. He served as mayor of Santa Rosa 1910-1912 and later president of the Luther Burbank Company. Their home at 930 Mendocino Avenue was designed by Florence’s sister, Mary Rockwell Hook, a notable architect who created several homes now on the National Register of Historic Places, including the Edwards’ home.

Anna Finlaw (profiled in an earlier story) was the sister of Julia Rockwell and the aunt of Florence Edwards. She was the founder of the Saturday Afternoon Club and sponsored cultural events. Like other members of the family, she shared a great yen for culture and travel. All made several lengthy tours of Europe and some visited China and Japan. When in the states they were frequently visitors at each other’s homes for extended stays.

There will always be mysteries surrounding the 1906 Santa Rosa earthquake, but now two of them are resolved. Well, one of them, for sure.

As the decades passed, the tale of the earthquake became enshrined into myth. The basic story holds that downtown area was completely destroyed, over 100 were killed (making the ratio of deaths worse than in the San Francisco quake), but the plucky litte farm town quickly rose from the ashes, phoenix-like. None of that is true, but that version has a nice dramatic arc.

All good myths need a hero, and ours was an elderly visitor from Kansas named Bertrand Rockwell. Realizing local banks were closed and Santa Rosa would have an urgent need to pay rescue workers, he and son-in-law James Edwards drove to Petaluma where he cashed a check for $5,000, as legend has it. What happened next has appeared in print several times, most famously in Santa Rosa: A 19th Century Town by Gaye LeBaron et al:

With the cash in hand, Captain Rockwell organized and paid gangs of workers to extricate the dead and wounded from the debris. He helped set up two emergency hospitals–one at the new Church of the Incarnation rectory, the other at the Saturday Afternoon Clubhouse. When the crisis had passed he divided the surplus money among all the minsters in town, for distribution to the sick and needy.

Trouble is, there’s no evidence that most of that happened. Yes, he went to Petaluma and came back with an auto probably groaning under the weight of silver dollars which he used to pay workers, but nothing can be found in primary sources that even suggests the rest of the story is true. There was no mention of him organizing workers and two hospitals (the latter is particularly easy to dispute because the Saturday Afternoon Club clubhouse wasn’t built for another two years). Nor did the newspapers and surviving letters from that time say anything about Rockwell showering the local churches with riches that would have been worth around a million dollars today.

The first mention of Rockwell’s involvement appears in the City Council minutes for April 19, the day after the earthquake: “Mr. Rockwell stated that he was willing to pay the workers for the first 2 days for their service in rescuing those caught in the wreck the amount subscribed was $800.00. On motion duly made and seconded the offer of Mr. Rockwell was accepted with thanks.”

That terse notice is of great significance. Rockwell put an $800 cap on his donation, which could imply that was all the cash he was able to get. But that he already had the money is what’s remarkable; as all banks in California were closed on April 19th by state order – and remained closed past the end of the month – which meant he had to have made the trip to Petaluma on that chaotic, end-of-the-world day of the quake itself, when few were thinking clearly. Another possibility: They obtained the money as a special favor when the Petaluma bank was not open at all, either after hours or on the morning of the 19th. In a later memoir of events, Florence Edwards specifically mentioned Frank Denman cashed her father’s check. As cashier of the Sonoma County Bank of Petaluma, Denman had keys to the bank – but he was also James Edwards’ brother-in-law, married to his older sister, Charlotte.

The next mentions of Rockwell came on April 21, the third day after the disaster. The combined Democrat-Republican newspaper reported, “Captain B. Rockwell of Junction City, Kansas, father of Mrs. J. R. Edwards, who donated $800 in cash to pay off men employed in removing debris and recovering bodies from the hotels gave each man his wage on Friday night and will do so again today.” The same edition noted, “[Relief Committee] Treasurer Edwards reported this morning subscriptions to the amount of $970.60, including the $800 donation from Captain Rockwell.”

According to the May 4 City Council minutes, Rockwell’s total donation ended up being $692 – enough to pay 173 men for working that Friday and Saturday. That is also the exact amount specified in a commendation sent to Rockwell at the end of May by the City Council.

The only other known primary source came from a letter by Florence Edwards published May 9 in the Wellesley College alumni newsletter (a remarkable discovery by local historian Neil Blazey). Florence wrote, “Father went right to the rescue and began to pay the workmen to unearth the bodies, and has spent a thousand dollars (all the money he could get) on the work.” The letter also mentions Rockwell had “sent for money to come by express,” so if he did make other charitable donations, it could have come later from those funds.

When Rockwell returned for a visit here in 1908, the Press Democrat reminded readers, “he was signally generous in his offers of assistance in that trying hour” without mentioning any dollar amounts, though the San Francisco Call noted he “paid nearly $1000 for wages to men.” During his next visit two years later, the PD stated, “At the time of the disaster in 1906, Captain Rockwell hurried to Santa Rosa and contributed hundreds of dollars in ready cash to pay for the rescue of the bodies of unfortunates and the demolition of buildings, thus providing employment for many men out of work and their pay.”

By the time he died in 1930, the legend was growing. According to his Press Democrat obituary, “He rushed off to Petaluma where his check for $2,500 was cashed and he brought back the coin in silver dollars. It was then he said: ‘Put men to work at once. Here is the money, and more will be coming.'” It’s a good heroic quote, but clear fiction.

At some unknown point later, the size of his generosity swelled to $5,000. That number is specified in an undated essay by Florence Edwards, so accurate or no, this became the family memory. A 1953 Press Democrat earthquake anniversary article on Rockwell’s gift is nearly verbatim the account that appeared later in Santa Rosa: A 19th Century Town.

Enlisting his son-in-law, an Exchange Bank officer, to drive him, Capt. Rockwell cashed a check for $5,000 in Petaluma and returned to Santa Rosa.

With the money, Capt. Rockwell paid organized gangs of workers to dig the dead and the trapped from the debris.

He also helped to set up 2 emergency hospitals–one at the newly-finished Episcopal rectory, the other at the Saturday Afternoon Clubhouse.

And when the crisis was past, the Good Samaritan from Kansas City gave funds to every minister in Santa Rosa for distribution to the sick and needy.

So in sum, Rockwell’s donation was officially $692.00 (which was still the largest contribution from an individual and more than an average Santa Rosa annual household income at the time) but in the telling and retelling and sloppy newspapering it was inflated until we reached the $5,000 figure now repeated as gospel. But here’s the thing: Exaggerating what Bertrand Rockwell actually did for Santa Rosa only gilds the lily. It was absolutely remarkable that he had the foresight to dash for cash and perhaps more amazing that he was able to get any money at all. His act need not be super-sized to make him a real life hero.

And I readily concede I could be wrong; trying to prove a negative is always a chancy business. There’s a gap in the Santa Rosa newspaper microfilm between May 3-18 (presumably a snafu at the town library, which archived the newspapers) and those editions might have reported in screaming headlines that Rockwell was going from church to church throwing money from the pulpits. But in those weeks other newspapers around the Bay Area were reporting on relief efforts in Santa Rosa and would surely have mentioned that a visitor was performing extraordinary act of charity. Also, Santa Rosa had no urgent need for cash donations past those first days of crisis; the relief fund had collected nearly $31,000 after two weeks had passed, most of it lying undistributed in a safe deposit box until the end of the year.

The second part of the Rockwell legend concerns a letter of gratitude. Again quoting  Santa Rosa: A 19th Century Town:

His only reward was a letter dispatched from Santa Rosa to his Junction City, Kansas home on May 11, 1906…the letter was signed by 132 Santa Rosans–Luther Burbank, Herbert Slater, Frank Doyle, and Dr. James W. Jesse among them. It was apparently thanks enough. On the back of the letter, which passed to his heirs, Captain Rockwell had written, “I consider this the best thing I ever did.”

It’s a touching epilogue, but also appeared to be a fiction. In the City Council minutes can be found a resolution of thanks (again, specifically mentioning $692) but it was written a few weeks later and had a different text, plus there was nothing mentioned about having it signed by every prominent man. I queried archivists and other historians in California and Kansas, but no one knew where the document was, or could even say with much confidence it existed. At best, the response was, “I think I saw it once somewhere.”

As it turns out, there is a copy of the letter in a scrapbook maintained by Rockwell descendants – in the form of a yellowed clipping from the April 17, 1953 edition of the Press Democrat that published a reproduction of the thank-you letter. The PD chopped it up to format on one page, but it is shown here reassembled in what is believed to be its original form. (CLICK or TAP to enlarge.) At the time it was owned by 81 year-old Florence Edwards, but is now presumed lost.

So there were actually two letters of thanks sent to Captain Rockwell; the May 11 one with all the signatures and the formal city document of May 29 (the Rockwell family has that document). And I’m guessing there was a good story behind both.

On May 10, the City Council met and approved resolutions of gratitude be sent to Petaluma and Sebastopol for their assistance the day of the earthquake. There is no mention in the Council minutes of a similar resolution be drafted for Rockwell. It seems significant that the public thank-you was written the very next day and closes with a line that suggests enmity among the Council members: “We regret that some of us were prevented from personally expressing to you our appreciation of your generosity.” The big John Hancock at the top the signature list was Councilman William D. Reynolds. It is easy to imagine Mr. Reynolds, a real estate man by trade, storming downtown door-to-door collecting signatures to correct this affront. It was also Reynolds who introduced the May 29 resolution for the city to formally thank Rockwell, presumably after some arms were well twisted.

Also below are two memoirs of the 1906 earthquake, transcribed and published for the first time, courtesy the Rockwell family. Both speak of the terror of the moment “when the earthquake came crashing through this town,” as Florence Edwards wrote. Her mother, Julia, later recalled, “From the windows we could see great clouds and columns of what appeared to be smoke, going skyward…the town was on fire. No, it was dust from seven blocks of buildings down.” Both mentioned “We saw the pictures hung on long cords turn over to the wall,” which has to be one of the creepiest images of that terrible event I’ve ever encountered. Imagine fearing it is the actual end of the world and seeing the portraits of your departed ancestors and other loved ones turn around, as if even they could not bear to watch.

May 29 Resolution to Captain B. Rockwell

Councilman Reynolds offered the following Resolution-
Whereas Captain B. Rockwell, a citizen of Junction City, state of Kansas, was a visitor in the City of Santa Rosa on the 18th day of April, 1906. and seeing the distress of our people and their great financial loss, was moved by his generous impulses and sympathy for these in distress, to assist our people in the removing the ruins of our fallen buildings in search for the unfortunate dead, and for that purpose contributed from his private funds the sum of $692, and
Whereas in full gratitude to him for his timely assistance and also realize that such acts of generosity should not go unnoticed by a grateful people, therefore for it
Resolved, that Captain B. Rockwell has the heartfelt thanks of our people and especially of the Mayor and Common Council of the City of Santa Rosa for his timely assistance and generous act, and be it further
Resolved, that this preamble and Resolution be spread upon the minutes of the Council and that copy thereof certified by our Clerk with the corporate seal of our City attached, be forwarded to Mr. Rockwell and a copy for furnished the press of our City.
Respectfully submitted

The letter here quoted was written from Santa Rosa, California, by a sister of Miss Bertha Rockwell, 1893-1894, and Miss Mary Rockwell, 1900.

“After four days of horror, with death and destruction on all sides, I must tell you that we are alive and altho’ penniless, have a house which can be lived in by having the foundations strengthened, new plaster and new chimneys.

“Father is going to have it done for us and will of course keep us in necessary food until I can command some sort of a salary.

“Our dead friends are buried, and we’ve been working in the hospitals and trying to dig out our houses. Not a brick building stands and our beautiful town in flat, most of it burned too. Oh, I cannot tell you what we’ve been through and still we are not as desperate as San Francisco. Five to ten millions won’t cover our losses here. We have had the most ruin of any place from the earthquake. I can’t describe the shock to you. We were all without our senses but I remember the frightful roar and my mother’s screams, the cracking of bricks and timbers. We couldn’t stand up, were rolled out of bed and around like nine pins. All the charm of this land is gone. We hate the roses as they cling about the ruin.

“Father went right to the rescue and began to pay the workmen to unearth the bodies, and has spent a thousand dollars (all the money he could get) on the work. There is no money to be had. We couldn’t get away if we wanted to, we can’t get credit and here we are, on the mercy of the public for our food. Oh, it’s terrible!

“All the money in the world could not a telegram sent from here. There are no lines. Father went away on the train to the nearest line to cable the girls we were alive, and also sent for money to come by express. There will be great want here and we must have help at once. I fear that everything will be sent to San Francisco and we will be forgotten. Anything people send will be appreciated.

“We do not need anything; but many many people will need. J. is treasurer of the relief fund, without much to deal out thus far. Perhaps the Wellesley girls will be interested in sending a small sum to ten thousand ruined people.”

– “Alumnae Notes,” College News, Wellesley Mass., May 9, 1906

My parents Capt. and Mrs. Bertrand Rockwell came to visit us in our home (rented) out on Humboldt Street when the earthquake came crashing through this town. I started to run to my screaming parents but was held back in a doorway where Jim and I stood and watched our grand piano roll to the other side of the room and back. We saw the pictures hung on long cords turn over to the wall and listened to the crash of our beautiful wedding china and glass as it smashed on the floor. My parents screaming as they both fell down on the floor amid glass and china and cut their knees and hands.

We dressed as fast as we could and ran to my aunt’s home (Mrs. Finlaw) opposite the Episcopal church – she could not open any of her doors, the locks were all banged and smashed. It was like the world coming to an end. Destruction on all sides. The problem was what to do – and then began to save those who were alive but underneath the buildings that had fallen.

My husband Jim Edwards and my father Capt. Rockwell drove to Petaluma so Frank Denman could get my father $5000 which he gave to Santa Rosa to pay men to work to release the people who were caught under blocks of destruction. Many lives were saved by the money my father donated. The bodies who died and those who were saved under the bricks of the Hotel Santa Rosa on the corner opposite the post office now standing. At that time all there was at the corner where the post office is now was the residence of Mrs. Edwards, Jim’s mother. We laid the bodies out on her lawn as they were taken from the Hotel Santa Rosa on the corner of 4th and B Street extending into 5th Street. For days the work of saving lives and removing bodies went on all over Santa Rosa as the pictures of the wrecks can be seen. We finally went to San Francisco hired one of the wagons who carried sight-seeing people all through the ruins of San Francisco from Van Ness Avenue out to the Presidio. Every one cooked in the streets as no houses had any lights or cooking facilities for months. Just masses of plaster and destruction for miles around where laid before what was our beautiful city of San Francisco.

– undated essay by Florence Rockwell Edwards

Coming across a letter dated April 25th 1906 to Emily then at Detroit Michigan school told her in rather mild terms, I think now, not to alarm her unnecessarily about the earthquake. This was a week after it happened. The accounts I have read descriptive of the earthquake, and the movie of the same [presumably the 1936 Clark Gable, Jeanette MacDonald movie, “San Francisco” – Ed.], have passed over this dreadful catastrophe lightly than it really was I can vouch for that. Moveover it was detrimental to the growth of the state, which was all right. That morning of April 19th at five o’clock in the morning people wakened from sleep thought the world had come to the end. Terrific noise and the thought of self preservation ran as we did not conscious in the flight where to. Nothing that I’ve ever experienced in my life was as terrible as that shock. Evidently we got from our room into the hall, to be thrown down by a leather gun case, which had stood in the corner.

What a sight came to our eyes on coming to, was the living room, bricks from the living room fire place were scattered over the floor, all the ornaments from the mantle, books everywhere along with vases of flowers, and the only thing standing was bronze head of Wagner.

Jim immediately knowing it was an earthquake held Florence from going to me screaming as I was, while the plastering was falling about them, and I saw them standing in the doorway looking at the wreck. Not for long however, for Jim was at the telephone, no answer. He was dressed and on his bicycle to go see his mother and sister.

From the windows we could see great clouds and columns of what appeared to be smoke, going skyward…the town was on fire. No, it was dust from seven blocks of buildings down. Though several blocks did burn, and more destruction been caused, had not one Fireman driven his horse out at the first tremble and so saved some of the city.

I remember how cold I was, shaking, and with trembling fingers, adding more wraps to my already warm costume, to go see what was happening to my sister.

A woman running down the street screaming, “Oh, my sister, my sister” added to my trembling. No thought of breakfast had entered our minds, the china closet had opened, and all across the dining room the china and glassware, lovely wedding presents, along with jelly had crashed in a mass, but we did not stop except to step aside.

The milk and bluing bottles had emptied their contents on the table on the porch, and along the floor out the door, and the ornamental posts of the elaborate fence gate were lying across the street. What impressions one gets under such circumstances. Our maid had gone we knew not where so leaving the house all open we too made our way toward the city.

How crazy things looked, houses partly over, some on one side, others entirely down, people everywhere. A friend ran to tell us she could not have us that evening for dinner, we had entirely forgotten it in all the distress about us.

Sister had escaped being killed by a huge gun falling across the doorway, the pictures in the living room with its high ceilings were turned to over, come to think of it, was funny. No chimneys on any house, and the destruction grew worse as we neared the city.

The fine courthouse partly down, the dead and injured were being take out of buildings and laid on the grass in a yard, others being taken into homes not badly damaged or friends taking the bodies away, others brought in a wagon their clothing covered with blood, a gruesome sight. We could only stand and look since already many were at work.

The courthouse was badly damaged as were the places of business along the streets such a sorry sight one seldom sees and the smoke going up in clouds from the burning buildings.

I could look back at the Saturday before when a party of us came to the city from Inverness where we were summering, and found the Bay gay with flags on the shipping to greet a Governor coming from the Philippines, and now from our window we watched that city burning three days and nights.

In the twenty days after the earthquake we had many “shakes” and it was a question what to do, but the rescue of the dead among the ruins went on day and night, until more than one hundred were recovered, and people began to restore their homes, for no one had a chimney, ourselves among the number. We had a place out in the yard where we cooked and heated water and left the doors open at night so that we might run if another shock came.

A week after we were allowed to go to the City, where in a little wagon and one horse we drove about, indeed we went as far as the Presidio to see our friend Mrs. Andrews, then post mistress and passed the Park with its hundreds of campers, and many out on the sidewalks kitchen.

It was terrible sight the City of San Francisco no pen could describe the desolation. The water mains having been broken with the earthquake the ground went down leaving great ditches along the streets and this lack of water caused the fire. No water. No telegraph wires, so Mr. Rockwell took the train to Vallejo to send word that we were safe to the daughters, one in Detroit Michigan and the other to three daughters in Paris France.

– undated essay by Julia Rockwell

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