Herbert Eugene Bolton_Historian of the American Borderlands Read online

  Early during the war a tragic death gave Bolton an unexpected opportunity to extend his influence in the public sphere. He had sent Leslie Albright, one of his doctoral students, as a Native Sons Fellow to work in the archives in Seville Spain. Within a short time Albright contracted typhoid and died an agonizing death.39 It fell to Bolton to arrange for the shipment of Albright’s effects to his next of kin, Horace Albright, acting director of the newly created National Park Service.40 Horace Albright was a Cal graduate (class of 1912), as were many other early park service officials.41 “I want to know you better because you were my brother’s teacher and friend,” Albright explained, “and also because, in your own line of work, you are doing a great service to the West.” The park service had charge of the national monuments, which had historical significance.42 “For instance, Father Kino’s old mission, Tumacacori, is under our jurisdiction. Also Morro Rock, or ‘Inscription Rock’ in New Mexico. I want to find out how we can fit our work in with yours.”43

  “You may be interested to know,” Bolton replied, “that I am just now bringing out a two volume work on Father Kino in the Arizona and Sonora region.”44 During the early seventeenth century Eusebio Kino, a Jesuit missionary, had founded Tumacacori, San Xavier del Bac, and Guevavi and explored places within the jurisdiction of the park service. “It is quite possible that I could help you materially in some aspects of your work, and that, on the other hand, you might assist me.” Bolton was working on other Spanish explorers associated with the national parks and monuments. Perhaps, he told Albright, “our interests could be combined.”45

  Bolton’s correspondence with Albright was the beginning of a close working relationship with the National Park Service. Bolton sometimes received remuneration for advising park service personnel, and he got material assistance from, as well as special access to, the parks and monuments in the Southwest. In 1924 NPS director Stephen Mather appointed Bolton “Special Agent of the National Park Service in connection with your work in the Southwest.”46

  Bolton’s relationship with the park service was important. It gave him quasi-official status when he investigated historic trails and sites on federal lands. Through his friendships with important people in the federal government, Bolton’s work became widely known among officials who made decisions about historic sites. Bolton’s interpretation of Spanish Borderlands is implicit in the national monuments today. His recommendations for employment were respected and often favorably acted upon. This gave him an important source of patronage for his students, especially during the Great Depression when academic employment dried up. As his students moved up the ladder in the federal bureaucracy, Bolton’s reputation and influence grew accordingly. These relationships helped Bolton to forge a professional empire that extended far beyond academe.

  Meanwhile, Bolton extended his reach within the university. The Bancroft Library was his research home, but the curator, Frederick Teggart, was its master. At first Bolton worked closely with Teggart. They even co-wrote an elementary-level history of California, which was rejected by the Board of Education in 1915.47 Teggart was a difficult man to get along with. One source of contention was Teggart’s control of the Bancroft. Bolton had placed his Mexican manuscripts there for convenience and safekeeping, but Teggart treated these papers as if they belonged to the library. He went so far as to make it difficult for Bolton to access them. One Saturday afternoon in 1915 Professor John Van Nostrand happened to overhear the rising voices of Bolton and Teggart in the history department offices. Teggart insisted that as curator he had the authority to keep Bolton out of the Bancroft whenever he pleased. Bolton threatened to knock Teggart’s false teeth down his throat if he tried it.48 Happily, the two men parted without exchanging blows, but this verbal fight no doubt put an end to thoughts of any further collaboration on a book for school children.

  Feuding with Bolton was foolish. With the help of Judge Davis, Bolton was emerging as a public figure in the state. His academic accomplishments helped to elevate the reputation of Cal among academics throughout the United States. President Wheeler and Stephens would have no choice but to side with Bolton in any controversy with Teggart that came under their purview.

  Without an advanced degree, Teggart represented an older generation of autodidactic university professors who were being steadily phased out of regular faculty positions at Berkeley and elsewhere. Realizing this, Teggart and Stephens agreed that the curator should obtain the doctorate so that he would have the bona fides required of professors in the modern era of academic professionalization. They also agreed that if Teggart published a book that satisfied the requirements for the PhD in history, the University of California would confer the degree under Stephens’s mentorship. However, when Teggart published Prolegomena to History: The Relationship of History to Literature, Philosophy, and Science in 1916, Stephens reneged on his promise to approve Teggart’s book as a dissertation. Many years later Mrs. Teggart said that nothing in forty years of marriage matched her husband’s “fury and bitterness” at Stephens’s treachery.49

  By late fall Bolton replaced Teggart as curator, with Bolton’s student Herbert Ingram Priestley continuing as assistant curator.50 In 1917 Teggart was moved out of the history department. Although he continued to teach a history course, he was a man without a department. In 1918 he left Berkeley to help philosophers John Dewey and Arthur Lovejoy establish the American Association of University Professors at Johns Hopkins University. Of course, President Wheeler participated in these personnel decisions. Hoping that Teggart would find permanent employment in the East, he approved a one-year “nominal” appointment without pay.51

  Stephens, following the time-honored pattern of strongly recommending a despised colleague for employment elsewhere, plumped Teggart to Jameson for a permanent job as a bibliographer in Washington. “I believe him to be the very best man in the whole United States to undertake a job of the kind he contemplates with headquarters in Washington,” he wrote, adding that he was better trained for such a job than “for anything else.” Alas for Stephens, Jameson was not optimistic about Teggart’s chances for a post in Washington.52 Jameson’s assessment of Teggart’s job prospects was not an accurate barometer of professional respect for Teggart’s published work. The book that Stephens would not accept for a dissertation was widely admired on the East Coast and in Europe. The founders of the New Republic honored him with a luncheon, where (characteristically) Teggart criticized the editors for publishing a “Journal of Opinion” instead of “knowledge.” Indeed, Teggart turned down offers to teach at eastern universities, including Johns Hopkins, because he preferred to return to Berkeley, where he was not wanted.53

  Teggart’s ouster occurred just as the United States was about to enter the world war. University enrollments declined because of military enlistments, while course offerings were reduced because faculty took military assignments or civilian war work. Even the forty-eight-year-old Bolton considered leaving the university to help the war effort in diplomatic service or for the National Board of Historical Service, a group that included Turner and produced propaganda.54 Bolton finally decided to stay at Berkeley because he could not support his large family on the salary the board offered.55

  Bolton got his share of patriotic work at home. The university formed the War History Committee, which Bolton chaired. The committee was supposed to gather and preserve the records of servicemen and civilian war workers who were associated with the university. He also served in the war cabinet of the State Council of Defense.56 Bolton’s war work brought him into contact with Edward A. Dickson, a hard-charging member of the Board of Regents.57 Probably at Dickson’s insistence, the War History Committee work was added to the California Historical Survey Commission, headed by Judge Davis and Bolton with Coy as their field man, and this brought Bolton into uncomfortably close contact with the regent. Born in Wisconsin in 1879, Dickson had been raised in California, graduated from Cal, and worked for the Los Angeles Express. He eventually acquired
the Express and had important banking interests as well. Dickson cofounded the Lincoln- Roosevelt League, which was instrumental in the election of Hiram Johnson to the state governorship. In 1913 Governor Johnson appointed Dickson to the University of California Board of Regents. He was a primary moving force in converting the Los Angeles State Normal School into the full-fledged University of California campus now known as UCLA.58

  Regent Dickson was imperious and insistent in his dealings with Bolton. As far as Dickson was concerned, he was Bolton’s boss and the professor should act accordingly. He thought writing history was essentially a clerical task that any good secretary could do. Consequently he arranged for the appointment of Southern Californian Genevieve Ambrose, finagled office space for her at Berkeley, and told her to go to work. Dickson’s meddling caused trouble. There was no provision in the state budget for Ambrose’s salary, so Bolton and some members of the Native Sons actually had to arrange for a bank loan in order to carry on the war work.59 Dickson wrote to Bolton demanding that Ambrose be placed “in charge of the historical department, giving her a change in status which will automatically carry a salary.”60 Such an arrangement would make Ambrose, who was essentially a clerk with no historical training, the supervisor of Coy and perhaps even Bolton as far as the war work was concerned. This seemed a bit high-handed (not to mention insulting), and Bolton resisted. It did not matter to Dickson that Bolton and Coy would be responsible for writing the history of California’s participation in the war, or that it made no sense that with Ambrose in charge they would not be involved in the selection of historical materials on which they would rely. Ambrose, Dickson argued, would make more efficient decisions.61

  This arrangement did not work out. The added war duties interfered with the commission’s original obligation to preserve historical archives. The state legislature did not provide adequate funds to support the work that Dickson had envisioned. Ambrose proved incapable of writing some of the basic reports that had been assigned to her, so Dickson asked Bolton to put more of his time toward war work. The war project eventually died for lack of funding. In the meantime, however, Bolton was harassed on all sides. “You, with your kindly urgency regarding the Missions,” Bolton drily explained to Judge Davis, “and Dickson’s solicitude that I take the war work of the Commission under my personal charge, are highly flattering to an humble person like myself, but I hope you will not forget that I am Professor of History, Curator of the Bancroft Library, Chairman of several University Committees, Editor of two series of University Publications and Co-Editor of two Historical Magazines, and that there are only twenty-four hours in the average Berkeley day.”62 Eventually the war work went away, but Dickson did not. He remained on the Board of Regents until his death in 1956. In the 1940s Bolton and Dickson would find themselves working at cross-purposes once again.

  While Bolton, Dickson, Ambrose, and Coy fought the war at home, Edward Doheny saw the conflict as an opportunity to forward his interests in Mexico. When the war was over, perhaps President Woodrow Wilson’s interventionist thinking could be concentrated on the problem of Mexico and petroleum. Maybe Bolton and other scholars could help. “For 30 years I have had association with Mexicans,” the oil baron told Bolton. Most of them were “worthy people…capable of gradual development into industrious, self-governing communities.” Doheny wanted “to see gathered by scientifically trained persons all the facts which have to do with the industrial and social life of Mexicans.” The ultimate purpose of this enterprise would be to present “a comprehensive and interesting statement, which may be presented to the President of the United States,…together with practical suggestions as to the ways in which the people and government of the United States can best aid Mexico…to realize an orderly industrial state.” Doheny’s scholars would also produce a book for popular consumption and publish source materials. “I offer to provide $100,000 to conduct the work I have indicated,” Doheny concluded.63

  Doheny hoped at one stroke to co-opt academe, influence the federal government, and shape popular opinion. It was an expensive scheme, but if it all worked out, it would be worth it. While he claimed that he wished to safeguard Mexicans from exploitation and oppression, Doheny was primarily interested in protecting his own interests in Mexico through U.S. intervention. Nevertheless, President Wheeler approved Doheny’s plan, and the Board of Regents provided office space at Berkeley for the Doheny Foundation. The reasons for the regents’ enthusiasm are easily found in the agreement that enjoined George W. Scott, the head of the Doheny Foundation, “do all in his power to provide a fund for the development and maintenance of the Bancroft Library in order that it might be brought to the desired usefulness and efficiency.”64 Here was the potential source of the large private endowment that Stephens, Bolton, and Wheeler had been looking for. Bolton and Bernard Moses represented the university and served on the foundation’s executive committee.65 The university appointed twenty research associates (mostly from outside the university) and gave Professor Priestley a temporary leave to do foundation work in Los Angeles.

  Nothing worked out as planned. Scott proved to be disorganized and made unwarranted demands on Priestley.66 The hope that twenty academics from widely scattered places would work harmoniously proved illusory. Far from providing riches for the Bancroft, the Doheny Foundation funded only a few small projects for less than $3,000.67 Out of spite, Scott even refused to pay one of the research associates for his work, a willful act that brought down the wrath of Professor Moses and the monitory attention of a university lawyer. With the war’s end, it became clear to Doheny that Wilson would not undertake a new adventure in Mexico. The Doheny Foundation faded away, but Bolton remained hopeful. In 1920 he reminded Doheny of his promise to provide $50,000 for Bolton’s work over a period of five years. “I trust that we can proceed at once with the first $10,000,” Bolton wrote to his presumed benefactor.68 But the money (or even a response) never came.

  Doheny’s failure to become a major donor to Cal came just when the university lost one of its greatest patrons. In April 1919 Phoebe Apperson Hearst died. A large group of faculty and administrators attended her funeral in San Francisco. Stephens, Bolton, and other historians paid their respects. Stephens had been in poor health for some time. After the services he sat with Dean Walter Morris Hart on the cable car to the ferry building. The two men chatted about the beauty of the words in the Episcopalian service conducted for Hearst. Suddenly Stephens swayed and fell away from Hart. He gasped a few times and then was still. Stephens was dead.69

  Stephens had sensed that he did not have long to live. A few weeks before his death he had written instructions for memorial services to be held in Faculty Glade “without fuss and feathers, and as cheaply as possible.” It was as he had wished. An academic procession entered the glade, where attendees heard the beautiful words of the Episcopalian rite that Stephens had so warmly admired a few days before. After a reading of selected psalms, someone read “Lead Kindly Light,” which was then echoed by the carillon in the Campanile. A solemn recessional heralded the end of the ceremony. Henry Morse Stephens, founder of Berkeley’s first nationally respected history department, a man of letters who circulated among California’s elite, tirelessly advocating for the university and historical studies, the one who was most responsible for the acquisition of the Bancroft Library and the hiring of Bolton, was gone. He left a large institutional inheritance at the University of California. Bolton was the principal heir.

  Thanks to Stephens the Bancroft Library and Cal were now synonymous with historical scholarship in California. Indeed, Berkeley was the only practical place to study history in the state, but this situation was about to change. Henry E. Huntington, formerly of San Francisco but reestablished in the Los Angeles area, had become a very serious collector of art, rare books, and manuscripts. Like his uncle Collis of the Southern Pacific Railroad, Huntington had made his money in railroads. Henry expected to take control of the Southern Pacific when Collis died, but oth
er investors prevented it. Consequently Huntington sold his shares to E. A. Harriman, the SP’s most determined rival. In Southern California Huntington invested his considerable wealth in interurban railroads and real estate development, a winning combination that further enhanced his fortune. Huntington used some of his money to purchase books—and not just books, but whole libraries. He dominated the world’s rare-book market from 1911 to 1926. He was an Anglophile and his taste in books and art reflected his preferences. By 1919 he possessed one of the most remarkable collections of rare books in the world, and it was still growing. For several years he had been discussing the fate of the library with trusted friends. George Ellery Hale, the famous Cal Tech astronomer, convinced him to endow an independent research library at Huntington’s ranch in San Marino that would be open to the public, at least to the select public of qualified researchers. In 1919 Huntington’s lawyer drew up an instrument that provided for the creation and maintenance of a library, art gallery, museum, and park for the public. It was a grand idea, but making it so was not easy. Years would pass before the library was open to researchers.70

  Bolton had hoped that Huntington would give his collection to the University of California, but at least the new library would be open to scholars.71 Perhaps Huntington could aid the university in other ways. In 1919 Bolton visited Huntington at his mansion to explain the needs of the Bancroft. Huntington did not contribute money to the Bancroft, but he and his staff cooperated with Bolton and the Bancroft by granting access to Cal researchers and loaning rare documents. Occasional institutional conflicts were unavoidable when the two libraries competed for new acquisitions. The chronically underfunded Bancroft was almost always at a disadvantage.72 So it was that the two libraries emerged as friendly competitors. In some areas their collections overlapped, but in other ways California’s great libraries were quite different. One institution was public, underfunded, and devoted primarily to the Spanish Borderlands, Latin America, California, and the West. The other was privately financed, was comparatively rich, and specialized in England and Anglo-America, California, and the West. Just as the Bancroft was made for Bolton, the Huntington reflected the outlook and interests of Turner. In time the Huntington would lure Turner just as the Bancroft had attracted Bolton.