IN LOVE WITH DOROTHY ANNE

The year following the 1906 earthquake was one of the most remarkable periods in Santa Rosa’s history – but you wouldn’t know that from reading the local newspapers.

From both the Press Democrat and Republican we see only glimpses of how drastically life was interrupted during this patch, such as what shoppers must have endured with all of Fourth Street turned into a construction zone (not to mention a dangerous obstacle course). Only a year later was it finally mentioned in the papers that most professional offices had been operating out of a shantytown at Mendocino and 5th Street.

There can be little doubt that both newspapers intentionally kept quiet about such details. The earthquake had brought to Santa Rosa the national spotlight that boosters always craved, and the last thing they wanted was for out of town papers to reprint disparaging news that the downtown core of the City of Roses was no better than a muddy, plank-sidewalk mining camp. Instead, it was claimed over and again that progress was seen everywhere and rebuilding was proceeding “nicely.” So relentless was the cheerful spin that had flying saucers from the planet Mulduhr descended and swept away all the children, the papers doubtless would have boasted that Santa Rosa sidewalks were free of annoying orange peels and that exciting career opportunities had opened up for fruit and hops picking.

But despite these dry pages, I always looked forward to reading the next edition of the Press Democrat after I discovered my guilty pleasure: Dorothy Anne, Society Gossip.

“Dorothy Anne” – real name unknown to me (read update here) – began writing about two months after the quake, and her first column recounted her origins, as she and (presumably) editor Ernest L. Finley strolled downtown:


When I was asked to do the society work on this paper I looked up at my interrogator in amazement. It was just two days after the quake. There was no paper and no society. “But,” I exclaimed, “there is nothing to work with.” “There will be,” he replied, as we continued our walk through the burned district

Whether by Finley’s instructions or her own inclinations, Dorothy Anne steered clear of writing directly about post-earthquake issues, alas. Nonetheless, she was a good observer of her social world, and soon became something of Santa Rosa’s own Pepys. (The analogy is apt; Pepys was famously indifferent to disaster when he saw the beginnings of the 1666 Great Fire of London from his bedroom window, shrugged, and went back to sleep.) The digirati set can think of her as the town’s first blogger, albeit typeset.

My favorite Dorothy Anne columns are the ones that appeared that summer, where she recounted imaginary (or not?) conversations over afternoon tea that included herself, the “Matron,” and the “Sarcastic Girl.” In an offering transcribed below, it’s revealed that there were an estimated one hundred social groups for women in Santa Rosa, a town with a population of only 10,000. Yet despite all that elbow-rubbing, they still were bored to tears. They griped that men didn’t like to socialize with them and the women-only party scene was a grind. So monotonous was their social life that another column found them waxing enthusiastic about a near-legend “ghost party” from 18 months earlier (which actually sounded as if it was sort of Goth). “Card parties, card parties, card parties,” complained the girl, “until the sight of an ace of any suit puts you to sleep.”


“No wonder we get blase before the winter is over,” said the Matron. “It’s a case of too much sameness. Why, sitting at the same tables on the same chairs and with the same cards, from one end of the season to the other we play the same game with the same good and the same bad players, say the same inane things, eat the same refreshments arranged and served just the same way on the same trays, give the same prizes…”

Dorothy Anne wrote less about her “little afternoon affairs” with the Matron and friends once the abbreviated social season began in August and she finally had something more newsworthy to cover than doings at the town’s roller rink. By then she also had the confidence to toss out bits of her opinions with her gossip. “Good men often make politics, but politics seldom makes good men, in my opinion,” she mused that month. “Women as a rule are very poor politicians. They are, a great many of them, natural intrigues, but few can plan and plot and think about it for six months or a year and not tell some one how its going to be.” And then she wrapped up her column with notice that the Fork Club met and Mrs. Woodward took home the fork that day.

Her talents as a writer were limited (as if you couldn’t tell), which sometimes made columns unintentionally funny. Items often could be dismissed as “catty,” although I mostly disagree; it seems more that she didn’t really care if she was liked or not, which is an admirable quality in a real journalist. But her weak writing skills undermined her. When the rival Republican (re)started its own society column, “Our Social Affairs by Madame Trice,” Dorothy Anne penned a welcome that may come across as snide and condescending; but read it again to find sentiment and introspection revealed. Here her flaw was being inartful more than mean-spirited:


“Madame Thrice [sic], I welcome you into the uncertain field of journalism. I should judge that you, like myself, are one of the products of the quake. I might mention, quite incidentally, that I recognize you. In fact I had to read but a few lines before your identity flashed before me, and my mind traveled back many years ago, and I saw two small girls wending their way to school together. In those days both you and I had high ambitions. You were scheduled to be a High School teacher, and I a missionary. What would our Alma Mater say, I wonder, if she realized that we were devoting the result of her training to writing complimentary squibs about our society people?”

But there are other columns that are indisputably cruel or snobbish, and there’s no defending her honor there. My alternative theory about Dorothy Anne is that she really was an insufferable snoot who sadistically took pleasure in insulting her neighbors. In this scenario, Ernest Finley gave her the job of society editor so this unlikeable scorn had to be invited to a party if the hostess wanted to be mentioned in the newspaper. Finley apparently didn’t socialize much, himself; maybe Dorothy Anne was his unwitting agent for tormenting the farm town sophisticates who took on airs.

…When I was asked to do the society work on this paper I looked up at my interrogator in amazement. It was just two days after the quake. There was no paper and no society. “But,” I exclaimed, “there is nothing to work with.” “There will be,” he replied, as we continued our walk through the burned district. The paper has readjusted itself–at least partially–but society has not. It will probably be some time before any one will feel able physically or financially to give a party. I for my part, think things should soon commence to resume their former tenor. We can’t go on always without any social life, so I hope soon to see the ice broken and some social functions take place…

– “Society Gossip” column, Press Democrat, June 17, 1906

“What we need is originality,” said the matron.

“What we need more is individuality,” said the pretty girl.

“What’s the discussion about, ladies?” said I, as I joined a quartet of well-known society women seated around a very pretty tea table the other afternoon. It was one of those informal little afternoon affairs that happen frequently, and where are expounded a great many bright and original ideas.

“Our discussion was on the time-worn subject of how we were to avoid becoming blase in society,” replied the Matron.

[“]People haven’t had much chance to become a victim of ennui in Society lately, have they?” asked the Sarcastic Girl.

“No, but why?” asked the Pretty Girl. “There hasn’t been enough going on to warrant unpacking our party clothes.”

“Yet,” said I, “last week it looked as if things were really going to pick up.”

“Yes, and how?” said the Engaged Girl. “Card parties, card parties, card parties, until the sight of an ace of any suit puts you to sleep.”

“No wonder we get blase before the winter is over,” said the Matron. “It’s a case of too much sameness. Why, sitting at the same tables on the same chairs and with the same cards, from one end of the season to the other we play the same game with the same good and the same bad players, say the same inane things, eat the same refreshments arranged and served just the same way on the same trays, give the same prizes–“

“To the same people,” interjected the Sarcastic Girl as she calmly reached for another lump of sugar.

“Now, wouldn’t that list of sameness make anyone blase by the end of the season?” continued the Matron. “If we could only have some original parties this winter! We have had them. Don’t you remember Mrs. Ed Merritt’s ghost party?”

“Just one objection to that party,” said the Engaged Girl. “No men.”

“That didn’t worry anybody but you,” said the Sarcastic Girl.

“What a party that was!” said the Matron, “How funny some of the girls did look! And do you remember what a shout of joyous laughter went up when dominoes was known to be the game of the evening?”

“Yes,” said I, “and do you also remember how there were not more than three in the assemblage who knew how to play a game of dominoes, and how Mrs. Merritt had to reveal her identity in explaining the game?”

“Yes.” sighed the Engaged Girl. “I remember I didn’t know how. And I didn’t learn until the evening was almost over.”

“Then Mrs. Marvin Vaughan gave an advertising party,” said the Matron, “and it was a great success, and Willie Finley’s musical parties were always delightful and generally had some original features.”

“The Irene Club usually manages to do something that shows individuality. Maybe they will start the ball rolling this year,” said I.

“I don’t see how we can be original or individual in our parties when times are so hard,” said the Matron.

“Don’t use your pocket book; use your brains,” said the Pretty Girl, in reply.

“We might go back to husking bees and quilting parties,” said I. “Or we might organizing an old-fashioned singing school. We might even dig up tiddle de-winks, [sic] or ping pong, or arrange a few spelling matches, We might give literary parties–“

“Stop her, somebody, before I faint!” cried the Matron. “Imagine the most of our men at a literary evening! How they would enjoy it! One of those evening, say, when you are called upon to guess the names of authors from about three-quarters of an unheard-of quotation.[“]

“But the men don’t really care for card parties,” said the Engaged Girl. “Only the married ones ever get a chance to see whether they would like them or not,” here spoke up the Sarcastic Girl.

“Well,” said the Matron, “we used to invite the young men, but they have treated us so unpolitely we simply have had to leave them out. They ignore our cards when we send them, they never call on us after a party, and they never entertain. They seem to have no sense of obligation. Why, I gave a party last winter and invited them all. All came, but do you know, only one has even so much as intimated in any way, shape or form that he owed me a call, and he mentioned it on the street.”

“I remember an awful nice party,” said the Pretty Girl, “and although it started with cards, after refreshments we guessed the names of musical selections played by Bud Parks.”

“Oh, you did?” said the Sarchastic Girl.

“Well,” said the Matron, “I must be going home. I have a husband who fortunately enjoys my society. We will have to all put our brains to work this winter and try to break the monotony of our social life.”

Yes, we all chimed in together, as we arose to leave, “we must have some original parties this winter.”

– “Society Gossip” column, Press Democrat, August 12, 1906

“She said she didn’t believe women ever got as foolish over anything as men do when they get the lodge fever,” remarked the matron.

“What is the discussion, ladies,” I asked, as I seated myself and accepted a cup of tea.

“Not much of a discussion,” replied the pretty girl as she passed me the sugar. “She was simply repeating the remarks of one of our society leaders upon the time-worn subject of ‘Why men become so devoted to lodges.’

“One has but to see a few of their homes to know why,” said the sarcastic girl.

“Are men more devoted to their lodges than we are to our clubs?” I queried.

“Not at all,” replied the matron. “I’ll venture to say none of you have ever enumerated the women’s clubs and lodges in this town. Let’s try and see how many we can name. I’ll begin. First of all there are the churches. There are fourteen churches in town and say there is an average of three women’s societies to a church. There you have a starter of forty-two societies to commence with. We have the card clubs, including the Married Ladies Club, the Book Club, the Cup and Saucer, the Fork Club, the Third Street Club, the McDonald Avenue Club and the College Avenue Club. These last two have not played this season yet, I believe, but”–

As she paused for breath, the pretty girl came to her rescue. “Yes, but they will later!” she said.

“Then,” continued the matron, “there are the literary clubs, too, of which there are several. These include the Saturday Afternoon Club, the Irene, the Starr King Club, the Shakespeare Club, the Philomath Club and the Teachers’ Club.[“]

“Yes,” I added. “There are the sewing clubs headed by the Cozy Corner Club, and followed by the Saiho Gakko, then the T. J. E.’s, the D’s D’s and the Thimble Club.”

“I don’t think the the T. J. E.’s are a Sewing Club,” ventured the pretty girl.

“They used to be, when they were little girls, and made fancy articles to sell for sweet charity’s sake,” said the matron. “Everybody keep still while I try to think of the lodges. They are the Eastern Star, the Court of the Amaranth, the Rebekahs, Ladies of the Maccabees, Daughters of Pocohantas, Companions of the Forest, Ladies of the Grand Army, German Ladies Aid Society, Royal Neighbors and–“

“Shades of our Ancestors!” said the sarcastic girl. “Don’t tell me you know any more!”

“Yes,” I replied, “there are more, for the ladies share jointly the lodges of the Fraternal Brotherhood, the Grange, the Linnean Society and the Short Story Club.”

“Then,” remarked the matron, “there is the Ladies Improvement Club, the Woman’s Relief Corps, and the one musical club, the Etude, now a section of the Saturday Afternoon Club.”

“How many does that make, any way?” suggested I timidly.

“Nearly eighty, including church societies, and we have probably omitted a third–the small clubs,” continued the matron. “It will be safe to say there are one hundred women’s clubs, lodges and societies in the town. No wonder the men are advocates of lodges! They could hardly be expected to do anything else with that example set them.”

[..]

– “Society Gossip” column, Press Democrat, September 16, 1906

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ABSOLUTELY THE BEST PARTIES OF 1905

There were two really good parties in 1905 Santa Rosa, and you weren’t invited to either of them.

Not a week passed without the papers describing a party or three. There seemed to be no end to the social clubs that apparently existed for no other reasons than to throw parties. Mattie Oates was a prominent member of “The Bunch,” which rented a hall at least a couple of times a year for a big shindig, including one on New Year’s Night, 1906. More common were ad-hoc clubs that were an excuse to get together and play cards at a member’s home. One such ladies’ group was the Fork Club, which awarded the best player a silver fork, and was actually a spinoff from the Cup and Saucer Club, which gave away… wait for it… cups and saucers.

If the house party was thrown by a family, it seems that there was an unwritten rule that there had to be an associated theme, such as the “Dutch Colonial” prizes given out at the housewarming at Comstock House. Cute, but despite the effusive praise always doled out by the society editor, these events sound pretty bland; you sit with your friends around card tables and play “500” (or another variation of Euchre) until someone scores high enough to win the fork. Play you next month for the dishware?

One party stood out far away from the others: The women’s Ghost Party on Monroe street. Here the house was tricked out with glow-in-the-dark effects (this is 1905, remember) and guests were expected to dress as ghosts, devils, or demons. None of the guests were allowed to speak or unmask until two games of dominoes were played. No giveaway of trinkets here. The whole affair sounds as if it was quite novel, interesting, and, well, Goth.

But the big social event of 1905 was the coming of Alice Roosevelt, daughter of President Teddy.

Alice Roosevelt was the 20th century’s first true celebrity — someone famous for the sake of being famous. She was the darling of her age, adored and reviled in equal measure. With an annual allowance more than her father’s salary as President of the United States (coming from separate trusts established by her late mother’s parents), she lived a life of luxury among the super-wealthy Newport set; “I care for nothing except to amuse myself in a charmingly expensive way,” she wrote in her diary.

She smoked cigarettes, drove an automobile, stayed out late unescorted, gambled with bookies, and smuggled booze into a formal dinner where alcohol was not served. A family friend remarked that Alice was like a “young wild animal that had been put into good clothes.”

Newspapers were always eager to print the latest true-or-no reports of “scandalous” behavior by the First Daughter, and now that Alice was 21, it was decided that she would be sent tagging along with Secretary of War William Howard Taft on a four month junket to Asia. The train caravan loaded with the Roosevelt-Taft entourage arrived in San Francisco July 4, and Alice celebrated Independence Day by shooting at telephone poles with her revolver (!) and slipping away from her chaperones for a visit to the city’s notorious Chinatown. But the day before the boat sailed, she was the guest of honor at that all-male bastion of power, Bohemian Grove.

This was not a Sonoma County party or even a San Francisco gala society luncheon, but a West Coast reception for Alice as ambassador to the White House. There were at least 140 guests, including the California Governor, elected officials at the national and state levels, European nobility, Cabinet members, judges, military leaders, noted scholars, and even Mrs. Phoebe Hearst. But the only three invited guests from this area were Rep. McKinlay of Santa Rosa and his wife, plus Luther Burbank.

In her autobiography she mentioned the banquet in passing (“we lunched at the Bohemian Club Grove, where the Bohemian Club, one of the most famous organizations in the country, holds its annual ‘jinks,’ in the sun-flecked gloom of the great redwood trees…”) but as described in the Press Democrat article below, there was more to it than a lunch in the woods: “As the guests alighted from the train they were greeted by music from a male chorus concealed on the mountainside,” and apparently it only got more luxe from there.

Alice married a few months later, and newspapers predictably had a field day over her White House wedding, many publishing special supplements with pictures suitable for framing (the PD offered a large front page spread with photographs). Valuable gifts poured in from world governments, as if it were the wedding for President Teddy himself. King Edward VII gave her a gold snuffbox with his portrait in diamonds; the Kaiser sent a bracelet with his portrait in diamonds. The Cuban government had to be talked out of giving her an entire bedroom suite studded with jewels. So many presents were sent that many went directly to storage, and over sixty years later, an inventory found stacks of wedding gifts that were never opened.

After the ceremony was over, Alice embraced her stepmother and thanked her for the wedding. Edith, who had been at loggerheads for a decade or more with the willful daughter of Teddy’s first wife, reportedly said, “I want you to know that I’m glad to see you go. You’ve never been anything but trouble.”

(This 1902 photo of Alice gazing into the camera is one of the few to show the full effect of her eyes, which were much commented upon. The Wikipedia entry is quite good for more about her life. All quotes and anecdotes found here, however, come from “Princess Alice: The Life and Times of Alice Roosevelt Longworth,” which I highly recommend, and her memoirs, “Crowded Hours,” which I do not.)

DELIGHTED WITH GRANDEUR OF FAMED BOHEMIA GROVE

THE ROOSEVELT TAFT PARTY ROYALLY ENTERTAINED

MR. AND MRS. A. W. FOSTER PLAN DELIGHTFUL OUTING IN SONOMA COUNTY FOR PRESIDENT’S CHARMING DAUGHTER AND SECRETARY TAFT

Great Hospitality Shown Distinguished People on Thursday–Elaborate Luncheon Served in Natural Amphitheatre While Sweet Music Steals Over the Woodland–Luther Burbank One of Guests

The special train bearing Secretary of War Taft, Miss Alice Roosevelt, and some two hundred other guests of President and Mrs. A. W. Foster of the California Northwestern railroad, arrived here on its way to Camp Bohemia Thursday morning at 10 o’clock.

A large crowd had gathered at the depot and when the train stopped to take on Luther Burbank, Judge and Mrs. Albert G. Burnett and Congressman and Mrs. D. E. McKinlay of this city, Miss Alice Roosevelt appeared on the rear platform and waved acknowledgement in the greetings extended by townspeople. Secretary Taft appeared at a car window, but did not come out.

All who saw Miss Roosevelt were charmed with her appearance. She was simply, yet elegantly gowned in lavender and white and wore a hat to match. Her intelligent face and winsome smiles reflected the sunny disposition which she is said to possess at all times, and she impresses one with the assurance that she is a hearty, unaffected American girl.

Camp Bohemia is in the redwoods, on the beautiful Russian river, about four miles from Guerneville. It has been made famous as annual meeting place of the Bohemian Club of San Francisco. On every hand forest giants tower to the skies, some being three or four hundred feet in height. As the guests alighted from the train they were greeted by music from a male chorus concealed on the mountainside and this proved to be only one of a series of pleasant surprises planned by the thoughtful host and hostess.

After spending something like an hour wandering through the giant grove enjoying its beauties, the attention of the guests was directed to the elaborate luncheon which had been prepared and which was spread on an immense circular table built beneath the redwoods in what is known as the amphitheatre. A beautiful fountain sprayed in the middle of the space surrounded by the table and ferns and choice California fruits were used for decoration.

The luncheon was served under the direction of the Bohemian Club’s famous chef and the orchestra under the direction of Prof. Vogt contributed the feast progressed, several of the selections having been composed especially for the occasion. The photographer accompanying the train took some fine pictures of the party at luncheon.

President Foster opened the speech-making by introducing Judge W. W. Morrow who was followed by Senator George C. Perkins, Governor George C. Pardee, Mr. Cheesebrough of San Francisco and Secretary Taft. The speeches consisted principally of felicitations. Secretary Taft ended his remarks by proposing a toast to “Our Alice.” At the table Secretary Taft sat next to Mrs. Foster and Miss Alice Roosevelt on the right of President Foster. Congressman “Nick” Longworth of Ohio sat next to Miss Foster.

After enjoying the elaborate menu, many of the guests rested on the lounging seats provided while others, including Miss Roosevelt, wandered through the grove again enjoying its beauty and grandeur…

…An entire carload of choice fruit was provided and four cars were required to transport the provisions and service. Fifty people were on hand to minister to the comfort and convenience of the guests. The luncheon menu was as follows: Oyster cocktail in grape fruit, consomme royale in cups, pecan nuts, ripe olives, roast squab, roast chicken, new peas, Roman salad, Parisienne potatoes, ice cream in own form with whipped cream, strawberries, fancy cakes, coffee, champagne, cordials, white rock water.

[..]

– Press Democrat, July 7, 1905

GHOST PARTY WAS VERY ELABORATE

DELIGHTFUL AFFAIR AT WHICH MRS. MERRITT AND MISS OLSON WERE HOSTESSES

Many Fair Women Masquerade as “Ghosts” and the Party Scheme Was Very Cleverly Carried Out

Mrs. Edson C. Merritt and her sister, Miss Pauline Olson, were the hostesses at a “ghost party” last night at the Merritt residence on Monroe street at which a large number of their lady friends were guests and ghosts. The hostesses made the most elaborate preparations to have everything as realistically ghostly as possible. In face the scheme throughout was very cleverly conceived and carried out.

None but “ghosts” went to the party, as far as their outward appearance betrayed. The fair guests masked in most approved ghostly style, and in the array there were “hob goblins,” two or three impersonations of “his Satanic majesty,” and all kinds of ghosts.

The decorations of the handsome home were in accord with the general plan of the party. For instance when the guests passed into the house, they had to pass under portals of weeping willow. The creepy sensation that phosphorous in a dark room will produce was not forgotten and conveniently in view were several skulls and cross bones, numerous plicards and pictures, while ghostly colors were arranged so as to give the effect if was intended they should. In addition there were drapings of white sheets, etc.

It is somewhat hard to imagine such a state of affairs, but with all due respect to the ladies, quietness was preserved and in fact no one was allowed to speak during the first two games of dominoes. After that the “ghosts” were permitted to remove their masks and talk. Then they were the merriest of ghosts and a delightful time was passed and all present declared that it was the best planned and sustained party scheme they had ever witnessed. None but the fair sex were present at this party…A dainty supper was enjoyed and after midnight the ghosts “glided” to their own happy homes.

– Press Democrat, February 25, 1905

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BAN BUSTER BROWN, HOOLIGAN

The first Sunday funnies appeared in 1897; probably the following Monday, the first critic snorted indignantly that comics were corrupting the youth of America.

In early 1905, a growing number of newspapers were offering Sunday comics sections that included such gentle offerings as Little Sammy Sneeze, a strip about a small child with high-velocity sneezes, and The Upside-Downs of Little Lady Lovekins and Old Man Muffaroo, a novelty cartoon meant to be viewed from both ends. The roughest stuff came from the Katzenjammer Kids (a slapstick cartoon that probably inspired many of the contemporary nickelodeon comedies) and Buster Brown — in the panel to the right, he had just released some mice at a ladies’ party. Both were about pranksters that might have been the great-great grandpas of Bart Simpson, although these rapscallions rarely got away with their misdeeds; Hans and Fritz usually ended up with spankings, and Buster always repented with a final panel reminding kids to obey their parents, tell the truth, or uphold other virtues.

Neither Santa Rosa paper had a Sunday comic supplement in 1904, so the author is probably criticizing funnies that came with the San Francisco Examiner or San Francisco Sunday Call.

FUNNY PAPERS ARE DISCUSSED BY CLUB

The Saturday Afternoon Club held a very interesting meeting Saturday afternoon at the High School… Mrs. C. D. Barnett read a paper on “The Influence of the Funny Paper.” She took the position that the paper had a bad influence on children and they would be better without it.

– Press Democrat, February 5, 1905

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