(TWO)

McCallum Home, Adams Blvd. L.A. 1890s

l.-r. Harry, Emily, John Guthrie, Wallace, Pearl

They Can’t Tear Down the Mountain

Harry McCallum

1

  Water is the matrix from which the dream was born—dream of an “Eden in the Wilderness,” John Guthrie McCallum’s dream. By 1890 it had come to life—orchards of orange and grapefruit, green pastures, stretching out from the mountain; distressful days were behind them now. John Guthrie is free to accompany his  oldest daughter, May, to Boston for vocal study. His youngest son, Harry, can manage the ranch and the water company, while May realizes a dream of her own—to study voice, learn mezzo soprano roles for an anticipated career in grand opera.

  Harry knew his father had little confidence in him, that he hoped his eldest son, Johnnie, would manage things as soon as his health im­proved. But Johnnie and his brother Wallace were “here today and gone tomorrow,” appear­ing in Palm Springs occasionally; seldom at the family home in Los Angeles. While John Guthrie and May were in Boston, Harry would see to all family business, living with his mother Emily, and young sister Pearl, on Adams Boulevard. He was nineteen years old.

June, 1890 / Dear Father, I wrote to Wallace yesterday a letter of five pages and invited him to answer. Mother has lately been improving. She is having the garden fixed up to please you no doubt. We were all going to the beach today, but on account of business and work that pleasure is postponed. Mother thinks it might be well to start Wallace in some business pursuit if he and you are willing.

June 23, 1890. Los Angeles / Dear John, Am exceedingly glad you improve so soon and trust it will continue. . . Meanwhile write to me whether I had better go to Ventura. (Signed) Harry

Dear Father,  [June 23]  / Mother is annoyed at having received no letter from you or May for some time, hence I suggest that you both write to her at once. Will write again tomorrow, all well. I am yours affectionately. Harry

June 27, 1890. Los Angeles / Dear Wallace, Patience becomes exhausted when one waits months for the letter that never comes, and so I write first, and trust it will not be so dry as not to deserve an answer, i.e. one of those interesting letters descriptive of scenery and mankind or nature and human nature—which you so clearly bring out. In fact, the contents of your answer, whatever they be, will no doubt be very acceptable and interesting, especially to myself, who fears . . . [a missing page]

July 4, 1890. / Dear Father, I have finally received the melons from Mr. Greenwade and have written to all the local papers. This will be a great and genuine advertisement, you know.

July 5, 1890. / My Dear Jack [Johnnie], Mother has received no answer to her last letters to you. What is your correct address? Let this find you still improving and to hear from you soon.

July 10. / Dear Father, By this evening I expect to have all your papers arranged methodically. Mother, Pearl and myself are going to Long Beach tomorrow morning and expect to enjoy ourselves. Mother received a letter from May several days ago, and one from John yesterday who reports no improvement while at Ojai; so he has returned to Ventura where he formerly did improve.

July 16, 1890. / Dear Father, I cannot but notice the difference in Wallace’s letters. They read very well and are written in a sensible vein of ideas, I think, don’t you? At Ojai Valley John declined, but at Ventura is again improving. Mother occasionally gets a letter from him and will send them to you.

July 21, 1890 / Dear Father, Received a postal from Jack this morning stating that he is still improving. Enclosed please find the address of Mr. Kemper, Wallace’s friend. He dropped in today and spoke of wanting to ranch it at Palm Valley and would like to have you make him an offer as to renting or selling him land for partnership busi­­ness.

July 27, 1890 / Dear Father, Returned from Ventura yesterday and found Mother and Pearl in good health. Please give May the enclosed letter from Mother after reading it your­self. It gives her ideas concerning Wallace and the disposal of our Adams Street property and I agree with them. If I give up the office, the furniture will be properly stored and put away. It would never do to crowd all the papers etc. into your private Secretary which would practically undo all my work of methodically arranging those papers etc. I believe you consented the taking of an office here simply to please me and overlooked the business part of it; which by the way is a mighty big part indirectly.

So when Mother writes you (which she has just told me) you naturally want to discontinue it. But it is all a mistake about me dissipating. I have too great a regard for my future, and also the happiness of others, to ever do myself such an injury. Even if I decide to go to City College I think the office should still be opened and that you should have an assistant to aid you. Am very glad to know May is still steadily improving and present indications point to fame and fortune for her in the future. John owed all the money you sent him for hotel board and room.

I am very disturbed by the way Mr. Greenwade is handling things at the ranch.  It took him weeks to send me melons for the Chamber of Commerce display and this almost resulted in our not having any advertisement at all.

Now about college: You are aware of my defective education in the minor studies, and it would be impossible to enter the higher ones without passing an examination on the former, which I would not do. However, if they are indulgent, the embarrassment to me, of having to enter a very low class might be saved me. Circumstances have been such during the past that my studies have from time to time been interrupted just long enough to make me forget what I learned each time. When you consider the facts that my age is nearly twenty years [on October 19, 1890], am fully installed in business, and am in an enter­prise which may bring in dividends and quite a fortune in the future, I think you will agree.

I go to Palm Springs tomorrow. Will write to you tomorrow about the oil scheme. Another objection to attending college is the expense in going there, of an outfit, and getting started which would be felt heavily just at this time. Well, goodbye, and write soon. / Affectionately your son, Harry.

  And this from John Guthrie, September 16, 1890, after return from Boston with May:

Dear Mr. Greenwade, I heard from John this morning; he was better and much stronger than he has been for six months. He will likely return to the Springs about November. (Signed)  J.G. McCallum

  Johnnie did return, but not until the spring of 1891, and evidently no substitute for Harry. One day he fell asleep against the warm trunk of an orange tree. Precious, life-giving water flowed quietly from the Tahquitz pipe into the thirsting orchard beds, cooling his legs.

  When Dr. N. Borditch Morton told them Johnnie had Phthisis, after the fever and the dry cough started, Harry looked it up in his father’s medical encyclo­­pedia:  “Phthisis” – a word sounding like the hiss of a rattlesnake – “the blood of a bright red, thin, sharp, and hot; the skin transparent, very white and fair, with a blooming red in the cheeks; the wit quick, subtle, and early ripe and regard to age, and a merry cheerful disposition. . . .”

  Johnnie insisted on going to the Coast to recover. But even the sea air couldn’t save him. On July 17, 1891, in the Grand Hotel at Coronado Beach near San Diego, John McCallum died. Water which nourished John Guthrie’s dream brought death to his oldest and favorite son. Johnnie was twenty-six years old. He would’ve been twenty-seven on December 22 that year. The house on Adams Boulevard in Los Angeles was sold the same year, after Johnnie’s death. They moved to a great, Victorian home on Grand Street, high on Bunker Hill near downtown Los Angeles.

Johnnie McCallum

  It’s apparent from Harry’s letters that he was, indeed, a very serious young man. Eleven year old Pearl must have been put off by her brother’s insistence to place business before pleasure—riding the red cars to Long Beach postponed “on account of business.”  Family concern for the unsettled Wallace is clear. It would seem Wallace was somewhat of a poet whose “interesting letters descriptive of scenery and mankind or nature and human nature” might possibly “be very accept­able and interesting” to Harry. Then to find that Harry has noticed a difference in Wallace’s letters: “written in a sensible vein of ideas.” Wallace, the philosopher. No matter. Harry loved and respected both his older brothers.

  Harry’s appeal to his father to continue his education is poignant and he seems miffed that his mother has accused him of “dissipating” and that his father fails to recognize his value in handling business matters.

  In September, 1890, we learn from John Guthrie’s letter to Greenwade that he remains hopeful his oldest son, Johnnie, will return to Palm Springs and take charge—or at best, become involved actively in the ranch. Even so, there’s no evi­dence that Harry resented his brother and his father’s strong attach­ment to him. Harry’s loyalty and respect for his father continued unbroken.

  In 1895, Wallace, who would have been twenty-nine years old on Sep­tember 18, visited May and husband Dr. Hamilton Forline at the Western Springs Sanitarium near Chicago. May was expecting a child in November. A flu epidemic took Wallace’s life. Emily vowed she would never live in Palm Valley. They sold the home on Bunker Hill. Now the family’s only foothold in California was some two thousand acres of land in Palm Springs and “Johnnie’s Ranch.”  Emily and Pearl moved to Chicago to live with May and Doc Forline. There’s no evidence that Harry returned to school. As John Guthrie’s last surviving son, he stayed on in Palm Springs for several years with his father.

  French Gilman of Banning recalls a July Fourth celebration he witnessed while a resident of Palm Spring in the 1890s:

  It was the largest and most enthusiastic celebration of its kind I have seen. About three hundred and fifty people participated, coming from all the surrounding communities.

  In the evening there was a big patriotic celebration and Judge J.G. McCallum read the Declaration of Independence and delivered the best patri­otic address I’ve ever heard. Harry McCallum was the master of ceremonies. [John Guthrie never had been a judge. Perhaps “Judge” came from the initials, “J.G.”]

  Judge McCallum was one of the most interesting and best educated of men I ever knew. He was President of the Palm Valley Water Company and was the first one to bring irrigation water to this region long before the Imperial or Coachella valleys were irrigated. In 1885 he brought water from the White­water River to Palm Springs.

Harry and Wallace
earlier years

  So, of the five children, Harry was “the first non-Indian child” to live in Palm Springs for long periods of time, if one needs to make the distinction. In 1888 he built a house of his own up against the mountain—“Hillside House” in the northwest corner of “Johnnie’s Ranch.”

  By 1897, drought exacted its toll. Harry and his father still hoped they could keep their dying enterprise alive.