Education of Elsie
Baum
Where did you go to school?
Martinez
I had very little schooling — only four years of grade school and
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two years of high school. When I was a child, I was a very sickly child.
On my grandfather's side I come from a family of hardy Dutch and Scotch pioneers in Canada, whose average age was 100 to 102
years of age. My grandfather died at 99 and eight months and the family said, "Dear me, he died young, he didn't reach 100."
Despite the record of both sides of the family for longevity, my mother died at thirty-seven of appendicitis and my father
died of cancer at fifty, although his mother, a witty, charming old lady lived to be 87.
So, believe it or not, I was a sickly child, the only delicate child in the family. I didn't come quickly or graciously, I
was a problem from the moment of my arrival. After 15 years of ill health, I reached the peak at 15 contracting pneumonia
and diptheria together and survived both thanks to the Dutch stock. Then to break the record, I was ill only six days in the
45 years between 15 and 60 and at that only three days apiece for the big flu epidemic during the war and a minor flu ten
years later. My mother's tales recalled the Vandecars as religious fanatics, but I must applaud their longevity, for which
I am grateful.
I was too frail to go to school, so my father taught me to read in Charles Dickens' A Child's History of England, that set my love of history. From then on he took over my education and I didn't go to school until I was ten. As my father
always said, "Elsie was a formidable child." If I didn't like the teachers of
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the schools I tried out from time to time, I'd go home and go to bed. That settled it. Then my father took over and went on
teaching me. I got an English background — of the far flung Empire. In my entire life I've only been in school for four years
of grade school and two years of high school.
In the seventh grade I had a remarkable teacher, Mr. Greenwell, who was later head of education in Oakland. He gave us an
hour of Shakespeare every day. You couldn't drag me away from there. Greenwell very wisely familiarized the class with the
plays by assigning us the parts and having us read them aloud. I stayed four years in the Piedmont grammar school and when
I graduated, I went to Oakland High School.
Since I was mostly educated by my father, I found it difficult to fit into the high school curriculum. My father wanted me
to go to college, so I had to take high school. However, it proved useful for I took French, Spanish, mathematics, and American
history. I loved the colorful pioneer history and was proud that I was born in a log cabin like the great Lincoln I revered.
So, I went to high school in the mornings only, attended my classes and went home at noon with my homework.
I had no contact with youth there. I had five brothers and a sister to care for so youth had no attractions for me. There
were no distractions in our life — no cars, radios — and no money to buy pleasures. So life was very dull, save the hours
spent in the Oakland Library or in my father's study listening to
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him and his friends talk or reading books. He had a small but good classical library bought up at fire sales and all our books
had water marks that proclaimed their origin. I still remember the old Morris chair with its worn green cushions in which
I spent so many hours and I recall, when small, my mother taking me to bed when I fell asleep at night.
My oldest brother, Herman, became a prizefighter and was Oakland's lightweight champion for some years; Relf was a mechanic
in the Oakland Water Company and later became head of their machine shop; Laurie started as assistant to a kindly railroad
engineer and worked up to yardmaster in the Western Pacific; Percy ran away to sea at fifteen, was cabin boy on a ship, transferred
to the Navy and wound up a naval officer; John, the youngest, worked in the Water Company, too. Unfortunately none of the
boys developed intellectual interests in their youth which was a great disappointment to my father.
My sister Vera, four years younger than I, was a pretty creature with large brown eyes, bronze-colored hair, a wide mouth
and bewitching smile, a gay and lovable person. She and I could hardly have been taken for sisters. I was the classic blonde
with masses of golden hair, regular features, slim and inclined to be haughty. She married three times and had three uninteresting
children. Her last marriage was a happy one, at least, and she died of cancer at sixty years of age. I have an excellent study
of her in the manuscript of the Whitaker book I am giving to the library.
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I, unfortunately, was the only one of the whole family who loved books. Father once said in annoyance, "You're a beautiful
girl, why should you have brains and want knowledge?" But since I had mental interests, he did his best to develop them. Before
I was sixteen, I had covered a stiff course in European history, drama and literature and a thorough study of the British
Empire. Then I decided to try philosophy. I started with the natural philosophers — Darwin, Spencer, Huxley — then Nietzsche
and Schopenhauer. Father would let me stumble through the first chapter then he would go over each chapter with me smoothing
out and elucidating the parts that to me proved to be a stumbling block. I dropped Kant because father assured me I would
need logic for him. Plato and Aristotle, along with the Arabians, Avicenna and Averroes, were too profound, so I did not attempt
to explore them until many years later. Thanks to Voltaire, I became interested in satire and waded through the Greek, Roman,
French, Spanish and English satirists, much to my father's amusement, when I quoted them to the discomfit of an occasional
friend who took himself too seriously. On becoming a Catholic in middle age, my stumbling block was the difficulty I had in
loving humanity due to my satirists.
The one thing I enjoyed with my brothers were jaunts down to the picturesque estuary, wandering about the old wharves and
looking at the old ships, wondering what seas they had crossed, the storms they had weathered, or staring at the jaunty clippers
and listening to an old sailor who hung nostalgically about the
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estuary reliving his life at sea. Once, tired and having strayed from the boys, I sat down on the steps of Johnny Heinold's
"First and Last Chance Saloon", Johnny came out and with a surprised look at me said, "Little girl, what are you doing here?"
I got up, gave him the coldest stare I could muster and walked off with great dignity to be taken in tow by the boys who were
looking for me.
We had no cars in those days and we could not afford the streetcar, so I walked down the four miles, with my arms full of
books, to the Oakland Library once a week. We were all great walkers in those days and thought nothing of walking five, ten
or more miles. Each evening, when home, Father took the family for an evening stroll, winding through the canyons and over
the hills of Piedmont for five miles or more — to keep us fit, he claimed.
When talking with Professor Walker I mentioned my father having known the celebrated historian Theodore H. Hittell. Mr. Walker
exclaimed, "Did you know Hittell?" in a tone that implied a surprising distance into an historical past. Of course, it was
in the last years of his life when my father knew him.
The only time I saw him was when his sweet daughter Kitty asked my father to bring me over to dinner at his home in San Francisco.
The dinner was given for father. Because Miss Kitty was giving most of her attention to me, I have a clear picture of her.
She reminded me of a picture I had of Elizabeth Barrett Browning with her clusters of little curls about her delicate face.
Of her brother, I carried away only the impression of a tall, distinguished figure
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who held the attention of the guests with his extensive knowledge and his skill and ease in answering all questions asked
of him. I wanted to listen to the conversation, as I was accustomed to with my father and his friends, but Miss Kitty kindly
chatted to me on what she thought would interest a little girl, so I missed their conversation.
The Hittell home was large and handsome, with great bay windows. The interior was a Victorian splendor with red velvet curtains
and rich upholstery.
Baum
How come you stayed there?
Martinez
When Miss Kitty requested that I stay the week-end with her, I was overcome and a bit frightened. The bedroom with its rich
furnishings and great canopied bed, reminded me of the pictures of court scenes with the queens and great ladies of my history
books.