As I've made my way through the lives of my ancestors, I am continually dumbfounded by what has simply been forgotten. It's hard not to keep asking oneself, Did anyone in the family know this? How come they never said…
Above: Dr. H. H. Clark courtesy of Marla Novo and the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History
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SANTA CRUZ, California, ante 2012 (All the people, places, and things in this tale are true - especially the one about the doctor's old ghost...)
Talk about genealogical baggage. They didn't want him there. They wanted him out of the house.
He guessed he'd been causing too many problems, like making funny noises and keeping the kids up at night, or, at least, that was the scuttlebutt he'd heard coming from the parlor that day when the woman had come to claim him. He felt a bit conflicted about it. It was, after all, his house. It was his house at 104 King Street. He'd built it adjacent to the gore point, where King, Mission, and St Lawrence Streets met, and where one could see parts of the city from every direction. He'd planned that there should be light in every room and that his house would not square with the points of the compass. It was a handsome house. It was the very same house he'd charged to be designed and built by the architect Mr. LeBaron Olive. No wonder they wanted to take the place away from him. Mr. Olive designed for only the most progressive families.
He'd spared little expense designing it for his dear Matilda, building it in an appropriate Eastlake Style with its hipped roof, gabled veranda, and prima vera wood alongside elegant Spanish Cedar flooring. Matilda's tastes could be so extravagant from time to time, you know. Still, he didn't mind. It was a respectable home for his family. He'd even made sure that there was a choice of lighting—electric or gas. He chaffed a bit at that thought, chuckling to himself that if it weren't for him the whole damn town would still be sitting around in the dark waiting for the next earthquake to happen. After all, hadn't he been the one who'd brought electricity to the city when few others wanted to? Hadn't he done enough for that damn city?
He heard them ring her up on what he assumed was some sort of Bell's candlestick. But where were the wires for the telephone? Things were so curious anymore. They referred to her as the woman from the museum. A museum? What in God's name did they need a museum for? And then there was that man of the house, his house, that "Great Pretender" sleeping in his bedroom, you know, the one who'd raised all the fuss. He'd heard him say to the woman from the museum, "But will you please take him???" while pointing to his portrait. Honestly, did they think it was taking up all that much space?
Need he remind them all that he'd been mayor of this city once?
When she arrived, there was much of a 'to do.' They spoke softly about his children; they said he'd had a child who'd died there in the house and that was why they thought he was 'restless.' He grimaced a bit as they spoke about his personal affairs. He was a private man in keeping with the times. His small children had died years ago; he and Matilda had buried them in an Illinois cemetery right after Grant had triumphed in the war and long before they'd come west. They were partially correct, though. However, it was his older son's ghost that they heard about the place at night, and not his. Poor Teddy, he'd just never recovered from his business losses or from Cora's leaving him. It was his and Matilda's son, Theodore, that they'd found in the house's kitchen that day. His lifeless body was sitting all too near the gas stove. No, the children who roamed his house on King Street had already lived their lives.
Oh, he could see what they were up to. He'd learned how "to see" a lot more than most people throughout his lifetime. After all, wasn't it he who had purchased the town's first X-ray machine to help him diagnose and cure what ailed them?
As they picked up his wooden stethoscope, his "diarrhea pellets," and his "anodyne for infants" out of an old box the "new laird" had brought up from the basement, he couldn't help but feel somewhat indignant. Did they not have any respect for a physician's belongings? If they had no respect for him as a doctor then surely they must respect him as a man. Perhaps they'd forgotten that it was he who'd greeted and accompanied the President of The United States to town. However, he was humble and thought it best not to say anything. He didn't wish to remind them of it, but he had done his best to create an industrious and enterprising, and yes, even a scientific life - and a life of substance.
He supposed that he should write to his sisters. Perhaps a cable to Eveline in Wyoming, or to Fannie in Nebraska to let them know what was going on. Did they live at the same address as before? He couldn't seem to remember. Perhaps he was getting old. He thought about dear Charlotte in Iowa, his brother Theodore and family in Chicago, and his sister Ophelia in San Francisco. He was so glad that Ophie hadn't followed their sister Isabelle and chased after that show provocateur Luke Schoolcraft. He recalled the tragic death of his brother Dewitt and the unresolved questions regarding Dewitt's "accidental" death just a few short years before. Poor Dewitt was always chasing the next dream.
Perhaps the lady from the museum was right. Maybe he was a bit sad after all.
He watched out behind the curtains of a second-floor window as the polite lady from the museum loaded his things into her automobile. He heard her say to the man and his wife that she'd ensure Dr. Clark's things were well preserved, remembered, and taken care of. Odd, he felt no reason not to believe her, and he trusted that she would be true to her word. He saw the sunlight glance off his portrait photograph as she closed the door to her car and drove off down King Street. The thing of it was that he wasn't truly gone, though, and it was still his house despite it all. He was simply moving on, and well, taking his time to do so. He still had Teddy here to look after. There was still much to do before he could meet his dear Matilda in the tomorrow of a new morning's dawn.
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What my great-great-great Uncle Hulbert's things were still doing in his home at 104 King Street, Santa Cruz, CA, nearly one hundred years after his death (and well after the deaths of his adult children) does baffle me a bit. While I can find no direct descendants of his (all his children may have died childless) couldn't someone have cleaned out the basement, say, by 1978? I guess I should be glad that the new owners of the house on King Street did call the museum, and I am truly sorry that the restless ghosts of my aspiring Gilded Age kin might have been trying to frighten them. (Ummm....maybe not...)
Uncle Hulbert looks to have been quite a guy.
So let me get this straight: Hulbert Henry Clark, a Civil War Dentist/Surgeon under General Grant, moved from Illinois to Santa Cruz in the early 1880s to practice medicine. He then helps to purchase a "start-up" company to provide something small like "ELECTRICTY" to the city—a company that later becomes collectively known as “Pacific, Gas, and Electric." Then he’s elected Mayor, and then plays host to the 23rd President of the United States. Oh, and did I mention that he bought one of the first X-ray machines, you know, "just because?"
Who was this guy? Are you sure he's really related to me? Well, go figure…
As I've made my way through my family tree, like you, I am continually dumbfounded by the lives I meet. It's hard not to keep asking oneself,
How did anyone in the family not know this???
RIP Dr. Clark