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Remembrances of Times Past
(A supplement to “The Days of My Life”)

The Rev. Dr. Grant S. Carey
Canon Residentiary

“In the Beginning …”
My earliest memory is swinging between sliding doors that separated the living room from the dining room. I may have been less than a year old, looking out the living room window onto the world outside. I can’t recall more that that, but I must have been impressed by what I saw because I can still visualize it after more than eighty years.

Another memory is when I was a toddler. I was “perched” on my father’s shoulder.  We were looking out a little window at a rainbow and my father sang:  “There’s a rainbow ‘round my shoulder…” That was one of the happiest memories of my father-son relationship.  The worst when he took me fishing with him somewhere on the San Francisco Bay north of Oakland.  I was six or seven.  He was an ardent fisherman.  I was playing on the beach and stepped into a tar-pool (they were rather commonplace) and was completely “messed up.”  He was furious, and we went home; I was in tears, as I remember, and he was angry because I had ruined his day. Sadly, that event clouded our relationship though it is possible that he soon forgot the incident.

On a happier note, I recall asking where babies came from and my mother (or grandmother) said that I had been found under a cabbage-leaf in the garden. At four, I believed everything I was told, and so I spent hours in the yard looking under bushes (we didn’t have cabbages.)

I was an obedient child, but when I did do something wrong I was punished by having my legs switched (I wore short pants then).  I can’t remember any other corporal punishment though I once was sent to my room when my brother, at dinner, said: “Buddy, toss me a biscuit.”  And I did. - - literally!”

I had a picture in my bedroom which I still remember.  It was of a little boy (in knickers, as I recall) sitting on a curb, looking dejected. The caption was” “Nobody loves me.  I am going to go into the garden and eat worms.”

When my parents went away, I stayed with my Grandmother who lived in (what seemed to me) a huge mansion on Telegraph Avenue in Oakland. She lived there with her two widowed sisters, Aunt Nellie and Aunt Pink (so-called because she had reddish hair unto her late 80’s).

Aunt Nellie was fun to be with.  She had a bottle of port stashed away in the basement and would go down there once in awhile for “a wee nip…”  Aunt Pink was a teetotaler and my grandmother was diabetic.  But Nelly liked her "nip".  I recall going with her and “nipping” a little wine - - and then having to eat cinnamon to make sure that there wasn’t an odor of wine on our breath.

After both Aunt Pink and my Grandmother died, Aunt Nelly came to live with us in Auburn where we moved in 1935. She lived with us between 1939 and 1943. She was happy because now she could enjoy her “tiddley” without Aunt Pink’s knowledge. She enjoyed the freedom to be herself, and we became great pals. I remember her saying, “I am never, tired, and never hungry.  Sometimes, however, I am a little bit thirsty.”

Everyone loved Aunt Nellie.  She was delightful and witty, but she missed her sisters since they had been a threesome for many years (all widowed). She died suddenly.  My mother found her in her bed.  There was no prior indication of ill health, but there was, by her side, on the floor, an empty bottle of aspirin tablets.  Mother never told the Funeral Director so I suppose that the coroner ruled “Old Age.”  She was 72.

I was about 14 or 15 at the time of her death, and was deeply saddened since Aunt Nellie was the kind of person who loved kids and we had a great rapport.  I remember waking up in the night shortly after she died, and “seeing her” standing in the corner, smiling. Then the vision disappeared.  I took this as her farewell to me and I never forgot it.

My mother told me many family stories. My Great Grandmother (Agnes Jones) came from Memphis to California after the death of her husband, John Jones, (my great-grandfather) who was a lawyer.  They apparently had some money because she made the trip by train which must have been a difficult experience.  She had five Children.  The eldest, Eugenia, was about twenty and was convent educated.  She seems to have been the emotional support of the family.  They were also accompanied by “Uncle Venable,” himself a lawyer, who intended to start a new life in the West.

They were well on their way to California when, at Battle Mountain, Nevada, the train was side-tracked.  There was a chorea scare, and the train was left on a siding.  The passengers were eventually rescued by the US Cavalry and escorted to Sacramento where they took a river boat to San Francisco: - - Agnes Adelaide Jones, her five children, and Uncle Venable.

I have often marveled at the spirit of these people. The Jones’s had been well-to-do in Memphis where her husband, John, had a successful law practice. I never heard anyone speak of his death, though I recall hearing that following the Civil War, he had lost considerable money and property and that he had died under “mysterious” circumstances. What these were, apparently, no one ever discussed.

After their arrival in San Francisco, “Mother Jones” acquired a spacious house on Van Ness Avenue and took in boarders.  Some years later a young man rented rooms in the basement and opened a secretarial school.  He was Professor E. P. Heald, and his school later became Heald’s Business College.  He married one of the Jones daughters, Rowena, (“Aunt Pink”) Of the Jones’ children, Nellie was the youngest and Eugenia was the oldest.  Eugenia seems to have been the “backbone” of the family, never married, and was devoted to caring for the Jones children all of whom did very well in life.  John (the only boy) became President of The Bank of Fresno. Rowena (“Pink”) married Mr. Heald whose college became very successful (and still is). My Grandmother, Rosabelle, who was called Belle) had a beautiful voice and sang at the Tivoli Opera House, went east and became one of the early Gilbert and Sullivan performers.  While singing the role of “Yum-Yum” in the Mikado, she met my grandfather (Herman Perlet) who led the orchestra.  They married and were the parents of Mildred, my mother.

Herman  was not his birth name; he was christened Herbert Haskell Perley, but, probably for professional reasons, he took the name Herman and changed his last name from Perleyto Perlet. He was born in Erie, Pennsylvania.  His father served as an officer in the Civil War and spent time in the infamous Libby Prison. He and his wife settled in Washington where they raised a family and he worked at the Library of Congress.

Being a lawyer, he wanted his sons to follow him in that profession. Herbert, however, was gifted musically and wanted only to become a professional musician, something his father did not approve of. As a result, while a young a boy, he took lessons secretly and practiced someplace other than at home. At the age of twelve, he was playing the organ at Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church in Washington, D.C.

After he left home there is little record.   I have heard that he studied  abroad with Sir Arthur Sullivan.  One thing is clear, however, and that is he was an early interpreter of Gilbert and Sullivan Operettas.  When he and my grandmother visited Europe in 1903, she was impressed both with his knowledge of the streets  of London as well as his fluency in speaking  German when they visited Germany and Austria. She no doubt knew about his early life and travels, but she never communicated this knowledge to my mother.

Aunt Nellie, the youngest sister in the Jones family, was a precocious child, much loved by all. There are two stories about her childhood that are worth telling.

The first is that when she was about three she went to a fair where she discovered ice cream which, at that time, was a novelty.  It tasted so good that the decided to take some to her mother, and put it in her pocket!

The other story took place in San Francisco in the 1870’s when she and her mother encountered the famous “Emperor Norton,” (one of early San Francisco’s famous characters who dressed as if he were a king and was  encouraged by the public).  He took little Nelly in his arms and proclaimed, “Here is my Princess.” Mother Jones was not amused, and soon little Nell was once again with her mother.

The mainstay of the family seems to have been Aunt Eugenia. She was around twenty when the family came to San Francisco.  Though mother Jones was a staunch Presbyterian, Eugenia was educated in a convent and became Roman Catholic.  She appears to have been a principal force that kept the family together while Grandma Jones was the business-person, running the boarding house and managing affairs.  Of Uncle Simeon Venable we know little except that he became a Superior Court Judge.  I found his name in California state archives, but I could find little else about him probably because many San Francisco courthouse records were destroyed in the “Fire and Earthquake” of 1906.

Aunt Pink had been married to a man whose last name was Jaycott and they had two children, Frank and Howard. While it ws never discussed, there was a divorce (rare in those days). Frank, the eldest child, made a name for himself in business and married (or rather “lived with” a woman of some means, Nellie Jacobs; as a result, the couple  never found favor with Aunt Pink. They lived most of their lives in France where Nellie who had a lot of money had a grand home with servants  on the French Riviera.

(This reminds me of an old song; I may not have all the words right but it goes like this:

“We never speak of Aunt Clara,
Her picture is turned to the wall.
She lives on the French Riviera.
Ma says she is dead to us all.”
                         

Howard lived in New York and was manager of Schubert’s Theatrical Agency.  He held a very high position and was responsible for both  discovering Al Jolson, and starting his career on Broadway.  In appreciation, Al Jolson gave Howard a ring which is still a family treasure.

Apparently Howard was “gay.” In the early part of the century such life-style was never spoken of openly - - only in whispers. No one knows what finally happened to Howard except that he fell from a window. It may have been suicide, or because he fell asleep (no air-conditioning in those days) - - or because he had too much to drink. Whatever the reason, nobody  talked much about him - - he was one of those “family secrets,” but Mother was especially fond of him and he of her which is probably the reason why he gave her the “Jolson ring” which she wore on a chain around her neck.  One day, after his death, Aunt Pink asked to look at it - - and kept it! Years later, after she died, it returned to mother and was treasured.

My mother, whom we later called, Mimi was born in San Francisco . . . on the dining room table in the boarding house because the doctor believed that there should be a flat, hard surface for a successful delivery to take place.

At that time, Grandma Jones was sick. Aunt Nellie took the newborn baby upstairs show her and said, “Here is Belle’s new baby,” and she (who was always pious and genteel) rose up from her pillow, took a long look at the baby, and cried out in a loud voice, “It’s a god-damned lie.” Thus was Mildred Belle Perlet welcomed into the world!

At the time of the San Francisco Fire and Earthquake in 1906, Herman, Belle’s husband was living in New York, while Mildred and her mother were in San Francisco. The family story is that when news reached him that San Francisco was in ruins and that there had been tremendous loss of life, his hair turned white. Whether or not this is true, pictures of the time indicate that his hair was indeed white.  He was forty-one at the time.

The Fire and Earthquake devastated much of the “The City,” including the boarding house. Next door there was a caged parrot that kept calling, “MAMA” until the chimney fell on it. This was Mother’s particular memory of the Fire and Earthquake.  The fire burned the boarding house to the ground. The typewriters and other equipment from Heald’s College were rescued by students and buried in the front yard.  Mother and others were taken to Fort Mason where they lived in tents for awhile.  Mother thought it was great fun, but I am sure that the Aunties and Grandma Jones did not!

Herman later left New York made his home in “The City,” His studio was located in the Sherman Clay building in San Francisco...

After the fire and earthquake, The Family moved farther up Van Ness Avenue, and later (Mother Jones, Perlets, and the Healds) moved into a grand home on Telegraph Avenue in Oakland. It was there Mildred attended high school.

I remember seeing the residence which in later years had become a mortuary.  It still remained a grand and stately mansion. The top floor, which had originally been a ball-room, had served as grandfather’s studio.

At the turn of the century, Belle retired from her operatic career, while Herman became director of “The Peoples’ Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra of San Francisco”, conductor of “The Columbia Park Boy’s Band” and “The San Francisco Choral Society.”

When the San Francisco Symphony orchestra was organized, Herman was considered for the post of conductor; however he died of a heart attack before a final choice was made.  The post went to his great friend, Paul Steindorff, who held the position for many years.  His daughter, Lillian, was a great friend of mother’s and they remained close until she died in the 1980’s.

After the family moved to Oakland, things changed. Aunt Nellie’s son, Milton was a gifted musician (the whole family seemed to be talented on one way or another).  Milton made a name for himself in Vaudeville, very popular form of entertainment at the time. A brilliant pianist, he was part of a foursome known as “The Piano Bugs.”  They were on a nation-wide tour, and when they reached San Francisco, Milton became ill.  They found that he had cancer, and in those days there was no cure.  He was the first to die in the new home.  Next came Grandma Jones who, at 89, was still “the Rock.”  Next Mr. Heald had a stroke and lingered on for several years dying in 1925... Herman died in 1916 of a heart attack.

The story is that he returned home from his studio in “The City” and complained of feeling ill.  He got worse but refused to have a doctor because at that time he had taken up Christian Science. He asked his wife (Belle) read to him from “Science and Health,” written by Mary Baker Eddie.  Finally, as he grew worse, he allowed a doctor to be called, but it was too late. He was only in his early fifties. 

His funeral was one of the largest in Oakland with a grand procession from the home on Telegraph Avenue to the crematorium in Piedmont, and led by the Symphony Orchestra.  The Family (as they called themselves) knew how to do things right! They were champions of “high drama.”

Later, after my mother came to live in Sacramento, she decided to donate a trunk full of music and other writings relating to her father and mother to the Music Department at the University of California.  Information regarding this collection is available by “Googeling” Herman Perlet.  There are several pages about him and his work.

One amusing story of their time in Oakland concerned my grandfather who travelled to the City by ferryboat (that was the only way as there was no bridge at that time.)  On his way home, he passed a market and bought an expensive roast.  Sitting on the deck, another gentleman sat beside him with a package and explained that his favorite cat had died and he was going to give it “burial at sea.” He went to the rail and with ceremony dropped is package overboard.  When my grandfather got home, and opened his package, he found not a roast but a dead cat!

Another of the family stories I found interesting concerned the time when Herman and Belle were living in New York. They had many interesting musical and theatrical connections including being friends with Lillian Russell and her close friend “Diamond Jim” Brady.  There are two stories that stand out in my memory.

One was that after an evening performance, my grandparents plus Lillian Russell and “Diamond Jim” went out for a late supper. Diamond Jim consumed something like four dozen oysters on the half- shell. (He weighed well over 300 pounds, I am told.)

The other story is that when travelling on a train, mother sat on Lillian Russell’s lap.” This was something she remembered all her life.

Mimi’s young life was spent in New York. She never disclosed the year when she was born and the records were lost in the Fire and Earthquake of 1906. She claimed that she was born in 1900; however, I believe it was closer to 1896 or 97 because of her vivid memories of living in New York before moving with her mother to San Francisco. She told of going to school by herself.  Because her parents had been up late at the theatre, she, instead eating breakfast, would drink the cream off the top of the bottle of milk that had been delivered to the flat where they lived.

One year she went to a "Convent School for Young Ladies" and she hated it.  That must have been just before she and her mother moved to San Francisco.
Herman was a loving but very strict father and was very careful that his beloved daughter, Mildred, have an education beyond what was normal for young women of her day.  He determined that she should attend the University of California (which few women did at that time). However, after he died she married at the urging of Aunt Pink who (according to mother) was jealous of her youth (and I am sure her beauty) and wanted her “out of the house.” Actually, mother agreed!

Aunt Pink was instrumental in encouraging her to marry the son of one of her friends. The marriage was a failure because the relationship was abusive, and mother obtained a divorce which carried with it a certain stigma in those days.  Aunt Pink was furious because she considered divorce improper (however, Aunt Pink first marriage had been quietly ended by divorce after giving birth to two children, but nobody apparently never talked about it.)  So for years, Mother and Aunt Pink had a  strained relationship, and Mother was left more or less on her own as far as raising her child as a single mother. Fortunately, she had an excellent position at The Fox Piano Company in Oakland and she lived with a family where the landlady took care of Bobby.
She was a talented and resourceful woman. She had attended Heald’s Business College and was able to support herself and her little boy.  Later on, after she married my father, Auntie relented because she was no longer single divorced woman.

Aunt Pink seemed to like my father and welcomed him into the family.  There is the story that when the newly married couple visited the home on Telegraph Avenue, shortly after they were married, Aunt Pink grandly sprinkled rice before them as they left the house. It was “puffed rice.”
After everyone else in “The Family” had either died or moved on, the three sisters, Rowena, Nellie, and Belle (my Grandmother) moved to a lesser-grand home on 32nd and Telegraph (which still remains though in rather sad condition).  The original home became a funeral parlor. I remember seeing it many times as I was growing up. It was a most impressive structure, but what impressed me was the name of the funeral directors displayed: “Freeman, Cox, Roach, and Leonard.” (The Cox-Roach part amused me no end).
Mother’s meeting with my father was due to her boy-friend at the time, Byard Taylor, who led a dance orchestra.  She and Byard had been invited to a party, but her beau accepted a “gig” - - and mother being, an independent woman of the 1920’s, determined to go anyway.  There, at the party, she met Grant (my father-to be) who offered to take her home.  She was careful not to tell him that she had a child and had been divorced. She was upset that her boy-friend had chosen to play in his orchestra rather than take her to the party, so when her new young man asked her for a date she said yes - - and the rest in history.
As an interesting footnote - - I believe that she always had a soft spot in her heart for Byard. Shortly before she died in 1992, when she was living in a senior care facility in Sacramento, Byard (a widower of some years) came to visit her.  He professed that he had always loved her and grieved that they had never married. She was deeply touched because, I believe, she secretly had a soft spot in her heart for him.  I reflect how different things would have been (especially for me) if he had taken her to the party rather than accept a “gig.”

Mother (who in her later life was known as “Mimi) and my father were married in Modesto in 1924. The story is that he asked her to take a ride in his “motorcar.” One thing led to another, and they found a minister (of what denomination I do not know) who married them in his parlor.  Somewhere along the way they had obtained a marriage license. They immediately drove back to Oakland and it wasn’t until later that they had their honeymoon in San Francisco, staying at the Chancellor Hotel (which is still standing on Powell Avenue).
There was some concern about breaking the news to The Three Sisters (Aunt Pink being the one feared). Apparently all was well, Aunt Pink was apparently pleased that her niece was respectably married, and when they left the home on Telegraph Avenue, since there wasn’t any real rice to throw, they threw “Puffed Rice.”  But at least, the marriage was acceptable.

Mother had a very good job at The Fox Piano Company in Oakland.  I can still remember being taken to visit Mr. Fox who remained a close friend to my mother. While she apparently managed the business office before her marriage, my father insisted that she quit her job after they married. She was also interested in the music end of the business and was a talented pianist. One song she composed was called “The Waltz of Yesterday.”
After her marriage, she showed her composition to a friend who was a well known San Francisco musician whose name was Horace Hite). He returned it to her after some time and said that while he liked it a lot, it wasn’t what he was looking for. Some months later, her piece was published with enough changes to satisfy the copyright law, and carried the title “It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie.”  She was furious, but could do nothing about it.
Years later, when she was abut 90, I took her to a nice restaurant for dinner and the pianist played “It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie.”  It was all I could do to keep her from leaving, but she finally accepted the “grim humor” and we were able to laugh.
I grew up during the Great Depression.  I am aware that it was a difficult time, but as I recall, we did rather well.  Just before the “Crash,” Dad took a job and we lived temporarily in Carmel-by- the- Sea.  I can’t recall what he did, but whatever it was, he made lot of money (This as just prior to the “Crash in 1929).  We had a lovely cottage close to the ocean. I recall my mother saying that they paid $25.00 a month.  There were five of us, Mimi, Grant, Bobby, Uncle and me.
I have three special memories of our time there.  One was sticking my finger into an electric socket.  I never did that again. Another was watching my grandfather prepare abalone by beating them with a hammer to “make them relax.” The third was playing on the beach which was a block away. That was a happy summer for us all. I presume that the next year “the market” “fell apart,”  but I never recall our being without.
My parent’s dearest friends, Ruby and Myron, suffered financial difficulties and while she (Rubie) had a steady job, Myron,  a salesman, did not.  They moved in with us along with her father (Mike Fox). We had a large house and pooled our resources, and as far as I can recall, the arrangement was a harmonious one. I remember mother saying that for 25cents she could buy enough round-steak to feed the family.
We moved to Auburn in 1935 because my father was offered a good position with the Auburn Lumber Company. My brother, at that time, was a either a junior or senior in high school and chose to remain behind, boarding with the people who rented our house.
Auburn was a great change for me. I was 9 going on 10 years of age. I entered the fifth grade and thrived.
For the first couple of months (maybe less) we lived at “The Auburn Hotel,” later moving into a rented house that was old, dank, and rather spooky.  Months later, we moved to a duplex in a private estate overlooking the American River. It was a great place for a  ten year old to play.  I recall that the elderly couple from whom we rented (and who seemed to me to live in a mansion) had a Pierce Arrow automobile in the garage.  It hadn’t been driven for years, and I was allowed play in it. Living there was like living in a park with a gorgeous view of the American River.
In 1936, my parents bought property that also overlooked the American River and built their dream home.  Ours was the first house in the recently opened tract.
There were many advantages growing up in a small town.  One was that it was easy to get around. Mother learned to drive. She was doing rather well when she went up a steep him and stalled.  She was so frightened, that she decided never to drive again.  She walked everywhere at a good pace which may be a reason why she maintained a healthy and active life for most of her 97 years!
Shortly after World War II,  my parents purchased  property at Cisco Grove (near Donner Summit) and built a spacious summer (and winter) home. We spent a lot of time there, mostly weekends and summer vacations. When my father started his own business after the War, he contracted for jobs in the ski country and he and mother spent their summers at Cisco. Their rustic mountain home was located close to the Yuba River where there was ample fishing on our own property.
I remember at night lying in one of the chaise lounges outdoors, looking up at the stars. In the 1950’s there were numerous reported UFO sightings. We were convinced that there was indeed UFO activity ... Lights would zoom cross the black sky, turn abruptly, and disappear.  This happened night after night, but nothing was ever reported that I know of.  I remember being amazed at what was taking place in the heavens.
After he graduated from Oakland High School my brother, Robert (Bob) lived with us in Auburn and attended Junior College.  Instead of completing his college education, he enlisted in the Army prior to our entering World War II.  While a student, he had a job one summer delivering ice. Those were the days when electric refrigerators were considered quite a luxury.  He was also quite talented in drama and took part in the college drama group. In a sense, he was following a family tradition, and I believe that, had he stayed with it, he could have been successful in the entertainment field. Theatre was “in our blood.”
Bob had always shown himself to be a very independent young man, and I don’t think he was particularly happy living in Auburn after growing up in the East Bay and having many friends there. After completing a year at Junior College, he moved back to the Bay Area and eventually enlisted in the Army, attended OCS, served successfully as an officer, married, and soon began a family of his own.
Mimi and Grant, Sr. remained in Auburn. He died of cancer in 1978 - - attributed (we believe) to years of heavy smoking - - though he had quit the last few years of his life. While he had never shown any opposition to my becoming an Episcopal priest, he showed little interest church because of his mother’s involvement in Seventh Day Adventistism when he was a youth.  However, in his last illness, at the hospital, he asked me to baptize him - - which I did, and he made it known through his tears that that was a very special and happy day for him. He died shortly thereafter, and I, along with the Masonic Lodge, had his funeral. He is buried in Auburn, his grave overlooking the American River Canyon, a sight he dearly loved.
Since mother did not want to remain in Auburn, she moved to Sacramento to be near me. We found her a delightful duplex two blocks from my home where she was most content.  The house in Auburn sold for (what in 1978) was a good price ($76,000.00); however, I have been told that the property alone would be worth a million today. 
Mother adjusted to living in Sacramento and enjoyed the urban life. She was 79 at the time, vigorous, and had a zest for travel, something she always wanted to do but had little support from my father who would rather spend time at the “cabin” at Cisco Grove.
In 1979 she and I made her first trip to England and she loved it. We spent six weeks there, exploring and absorbing its history.  During the years following we visited Hawaii (three times) the Caribbean, England (several times) Ireland and Scotland, and parts of Western Europe which involved taking “The Orient Express.”
Eventually, she moved into a lovely retirement home in Sacramento where she lived comfortably until her death at 97. More than twenty years later, she is still remembered for her charm and wit.

CONCLUSION

I have written this especially for my beloved nieces, Diana and Susan, and their children, so that they might have a glimpse into another world and discover a bit more of their heritage. One aspect that is very precious to me is realizing that through the Perley side of the family we trace our family history to the founding of Boston in the early 1600s. The Perleys were patriots of the New Nation. One of our direct ancestors, Alan Perley, rode with Paul Revere as a Minuteman and was executed by the British - - but fortunately, not before he had a son who carried on the Perley line.