By Larry Clinton, Sausalito Historical Society
PHOTO FROM “FROM FRANCES WITH LOVE”
Henry and Frances Reed Rideout in 1910
Frances Reed was born in Sausalito in 1887 to Rev. and Mrs. Frederick Reed. She was a skilled writer and avid diarist, and married Henry Milner Rideout, well-known novelist and short story writer and former professor at Harvard University.
When Henry Rideout died in 1927 while they were on a trip abroad, Frances returned to Sausalito to make her home with her mother—then Mrs. Ellie Avery Campbell. Over the years Frances compiled a collection of stories, some from her own memory, some from tales told by her mother and grandmother, who moved here in 1869. After her death in 1953, her daughters collated those writings into a book, “From Frances With Love – a journal 1869-1909.”
The Historical Society is proud to have two copies of the 293-page book, richly bound in gilt-stamped green leather with raised bands and silk bookmark ribbon, Illustrated with color and black and white photos. The charmingly written memoir offers unique glimpses into life in 19th century Sausalito. Here are some lightly edited excerpts:
I enjoyed my stay in Sausalito so much. It is the only place where all care seems to go away from me, and I can just throw back my head and enjoy living.
The English people lived on the hill, looking down physically and mentally on "the Waterfront." and when the Tillinghasts first built a home there, they called their place Government House, sometimes flew the Union Jack on a tall pole, and generally as other English people came to live on the hillside, set a pattern of snobbishness. But Belle was a sweet woman, and the life these early settlers lived was idyllic. Only two ferries a day, and the shore and Bay was as quiet as if much further from any city. There were boats to row and hills to climb—old clothes were worn and the days were spent outdoors as much as possible.
A few shops and saloons straggled along "the waterfront"; there was the hideous El Monte Hotel (near the present Presbyterian Church) and the wharves, primitive pilings and shacks, and the Pacific Yacht Club in South Sausalito, south of the boatyard. There was no Mill Valley and no Belvedere, but a railroad bridge crossed from Strawberry Point.
Even when I was a child, Sausalito was a very small town, a village. In 1870 houses were few and far between. The roads, dusty in summer, muddy and rutted in winter, followed no plan at all, and for short cuts up the hill, there were "alleys" with wooden steps. At night there were no street lights and only the glow here and there of a lamp in a window. Across the Bay "the City" showed its gas lamps, and a few twinkles marked Oakland. A few small yachts were moored in the cove, a few fishing boats pulled up on the beach by the saw mill, whose whine broke the primeval stillness by day. It was so quiet that Mrs. Mason could come out on her front porch and call to her coachman shopping in "the village" not to forget the bread.
At night one heard the waves lapping the shore, and then and now the hollow blare of the Lime Point [Military Reservation, later Fort Baker] foghorn when the fog came in. Trees were newly planted—cypress hedges beginning to grow up—and the scrub oaks. Picket fences and cypress hedged the gardens, but there were long sweeps of bare hillside still which are now built on and thicketed. The houses were all wood, steps and gateways and fences and bulkheads—all wood. They were rather ugly houses, too. But everyone said Sausalito was beautiful—its natural beauty saved it from any danger of being commonplace.
There were some fine new houses. Captain Harrison's, the Millers', the Campbells', the Wheelers'. Mama's friend, Lilah Townsend, had married gay, young Arthur Lowe. At the Hutch, Claude Terry Hamilton kept bachelor quarters and camped one summer in a tent above the Nook garden, where the Meads built "Hollyoaks." There were the Jacksons, the Beasleys, the Windsors, and soon, the Sperrys. Mrs. Campbell continued to be dearest to my mother.
Now the ferries ran oftener. The San Rafael, imported from the Hudson, sped more quickly than the old Princess, or even the Tiburon. She tied up sideways at the Ferry wharf, where the railway came in beside the smelly mudhole that is now The Plaza. More shops were built along the waterfront—and also more saloons—and many of the vacant grass lots were built on. My uncle George and his wife and little daughter came to live in Sausalito. The old settlers may well have thought it was getting urban, but there were no street lights, no fire department, no police except one most unreliable town constable. If there was a fire, the church bell was rung till it turned over and everyone flocked to watch the house burn down.
To be continued…