The Trophy

I was still quite young, perhaps seven, but I still thought that it was odd I had never been to see Coloma State Park––also known as Marshall Gold Discovery State Historic Park, but we never called it that.  I felt that I had been all over the hills of El Dorado County and it seemed strange to me that I wouldn’t have been visiting the unique park surrounding the preserved Gold Rush buildings and the recreated Sutter’s Mill located at the spot where gold was discovered in 1848 before.  We toured around the small museum, watched the film about the Gold Rush, looked at the various historical buildings and watched the mill operate.  Then we approached a path called the Snake Trail.

The Snake Trail climbed a mountain, snaking back and forth for a hike that would take a good half hour.  About ten minutes into the climb we came to some hikers on the way down and we asked what was at the end of the trail at the top of the mountain.  One of the hikers said, “There’s a trophy.”  I don’t know why none of us asked for any more details, but I guess we figured we’d see this trophy eventually.  So, onward and upward we climbed.  Long spans of the trail were luxuriously lined with a cut log fence––this had been a major project of the State Parks Department, designed with care and purpose.  Something good had to be at the finish line. 

The trail finally opened up to a large flat area with a house and circular drive.  We spied some inviting steps leading up a hill and as we ventured forth, we began to realize that the “trophy” was looming before us.  Hardly a trophy, this was a monument––a tall and impressive pedestal with a bronze statue of James Marshall on top, looking down and pointing at the spot in the river where he discovered gold.  The statue is larger than life at ten feet, six inches in height and the famous fellow is buried beneath the thirty foot monument––quite a grave marker!

There is a road enabling cars to drive up to the monument, but the Snake Trail (officially called “Monument Trail”) is a lot more fun.  Many a time did my brother and I have the thrill of a terrific run down the winding path.  However, if you take the road back down the hill you come across a Gold Rush era cemetery across the street from James Marshall’s cabin.  You can’t go in the cabin, but there are plenty of windows and you can walk around and look into all the rooms, which are dressed to resemble pioneer life.  I used to think that James Marshall’s tiny cabin would have been impossible to live in for any length of time until I moved into a New York studio apartment.

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John Sutter had engaged James Marshall, not a millwright, but ingenious at almost anything, to build a sawmill.  It was raining very hard when James Marshall burst in upon John Sutter at his Sutter’s Fort in Sacramento with a sample of the first gold that was discovered in California.  Marshall was very worried about the word getting around and wanted to get back up the hill to Coloma to guard the area.  He was also worried that if word got out the employees working at the sawmill would defect to start panning and digging for gold, which would stall the completion of the new sawmill and the potential of a profitable lumber business.  Sutter tried to convince him not to make the journey back in the storm, but Marshall was insistant––loyal to the Sutter investment in a business he did not own himself.  Sutter took the credit for the gold discovery as it happened on his property and by people in his employment.  History has awarded James Marshall the honor of having been the one, but others at the time told Sutter that they found the gold before Marshall––it was just he that first showed the discovery to Sutter.  Sutter had made a ring out of that sample brought to him by Marshall.  Inscribed inside the ring: “The First Gold.”  This was proof of his claim that he was the official discoverer.

Marshall described to Sutter how in order to deepen the tailrace to carry the water back to the river after it turned the wheel of the sawmill, he would leave the sluice gate open each night so that the water flowing through would wash away the sand and gravel.  While walking the length of the ditch he chanced to notice some small flakes of shining yellow metal at the bottom of the race.  He asked an Indian to go to the cabin and fetch a tin pan.  Scooping up a few handfuls of sand and gravel into the pan, he washed away the lighter material.  At the bottom of the pan remained a small amount of the yellow metal, about as much as a ten cent piece would hold.  When Marshall told the other men he thought he had discovered gold they just laughed.

Next he asked workers to shut down the head gate early in the evening and to make it all tight.  The next morning while everyone was at breakfast, Marshall went down alone to the race and saw the sparkling metal about the size of wheat grain.  He pounded them with a hammer and they flattened to the thinness of paper rather than crumbling.  Mrs. Wimmer the cook had a pot of lye going in order to make soap.  He dipped the metal in the lye and it had no effect.  Marshall told the crew that he needed to report this finding to Sutter and raced down to Sacramento to take Sutter back to Coloma immediately.  

With the storm blowing, Sutter didn’t think it was necessary to rush back to Coloma.  Besides, he had too much work to do at the fort and thought it would do just as well to travel in the morning.  Marshall was fearful that time was not on their side––too many people already knew about the gold and felt the secret couldn’t be contained for long.  With Sutter refusing to ride immediately, Marshall felt that at least he should go back to keep things calm at the sawmill.

Upon Sutter’s arrival to the sawmill the next day, Mrs. Wimmer’s little children came running up to her exclaiming their find––small handfuls of gold dust!  You could nearly pull the stuff right out of the river.  Sutter brought out the libations and celebrated.  He wanted to keep the good will of the crew, for all the while he was worried about what would happen next.  This gold discovery came just as Sutter was expanding his businesses on all fronts.  He knew that once word got out, all of his workers would leave in mass to the hills to strike it rich.

Sutter asked his men to not speak of the discovery for at least six weeks and they agreed.  He thought that he might be able to take care of some important business in that short time, but knew a secret like that wouldn’t be kept for more than six weeks.  Most importantly he needed that mill finished.  James Marshall was trustworthy and true and stuck to the task of finishing the mill.  Sutter was paying the workers fair wages and they knew it, so all were dedicated to finishing the mill...at first.

The spot of the mill was well beyond the boundaries of Sutter’s New Helvetia grant.  So, he had about six weeks to secure legal title to the site.  Sutter negotiated a treaty with the Indians of the district.  He would supply the Indians with clothing, farming equipment, and other goods having a value of about $150 a year.  With that, Sutter and Marshall were to receive a twenty year lease on a great deal of the land surrounding the mill site.

In his official capacity of Indian Sub-agent for the Sacramento valley, Sutter drew up a document and both parties signed it.  He sent it by messenger to Monterey, to Colonel Mason, the military governor, asking his approval of the agreement on the ground that it would be of great benefit to the Indians by furnishing them with food, clothing and such, and would teach them habits of industry.  There was no mention of the gold discovery.  The reply was that the United States did not recognize the right of Indians to sell or lease the lands on which they resided, or to which the tribe may have a claim, to private individuals.  As soon as the Indians’ titles to any lands were extinguished, they at once became a part of the public domain.  

Sutter sending the deed to Colonel Mason was an ill-advised action, responsible for spreading the news of the gold discovery sooner than might have been the case.  The messenger, Charles Bennett, could not resist the temptation to share his knowledge with those he met along the way.  He had on him six ounces of the secret, which by the time he reached Monterey had become too heavy for him.  When the news spread across the country that the foothills of California were rich with gold, enough to pay off the national debt and then some, the region flooded with people and Sutter lost his workers and control of his assets.  To what was a place of happy working people with no signs of crime, came all the worst of humanity, taking what they needed in a wave of destruction of Sutter’s assets.  Yerba Buena, soon renamed San Francisco, must have cleared eighty percent of its population overnight––lost to the foothills.

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Once the largest populated area in California, Coloma is now a very small town, distinguished mainly by the state park.  There are more visitors than residents, but the little town has its special joys.  Through my childhood there were many picnics in the that park––birthday parties and reunions.  There was rafting on the American river, a melodrama at the Olde Coloma Theater, a chocolate soda at the amazing Sierra Nevada House soda parlor, or a rather good dinner at the Vineyard House––a large old home that was said to be haunted.  The house was a hotel on top, restaurant in the middle and saloon in the basement.  The basement had a jail in it––used in the days before official prison facilities.  The ghost of the original owner, Mr. Chalmers, was said to appear in that jail room.  He had been locked up there when he went insane.  Mrs. Chalmers roamed the hotel halls to spook the guests.  I loved the idea of the Vineyard House being haunted and would have loved to have seen a ghost, but never did.  The place was popular for many years, but eventually went out of business.  So did the soda parlor, though new management has kept a restaurant going at the Sierra Nevada House through the years.

Overseeing it all, of course, is the trophy––the first such monument erected in California.  That man, pointing to the spot that changed not just California, but America, is quietly profound. Although that spot has been given its just due and is visited by people year round––especially school buses full of fourth graders learning their California history––that dot on the map represents a humble place.  When the last gold nugget was pulled out of the ground, the people left for Sacramento, San Francisco and Los Angeles––places where you could catch a boat or a train.  That left Coloma a little lonely, but it also meant that its beauty was left in tact.  

Wagon Train Days

As a child I did not mark time by the calendar, but by holidays and events through the year.  For me a year began in September with the start of school and then was divided up in my mind by chunks.  Months didn’t matter, but the distance from the first day of school to Halloween did.  Then the next hurdle was Halloween to Thanksgiving, which was the day that instigated the anticipation of Christmas.  From Christmas, through Valentine’s Day seemed like a bright spot in the rainy winter, the next bench mark was the annual TV showing of The Wizard of Oz, which always meant that Easter was around the corner.  The main thing about Easter, besides an egg hunt and a basket of candy, was that there was a week off from school.  Once Easter was out of the way there was the final haul to the last day of school—always a triumphant day and just a hop, skip and a jump to Placerville’s self-created holiday time known as Wagon Train Days.

Wagon Train Days coincided with the El Dorado County Fair, so there was quite a to-do in town.  Main Street merchants decorated their shop windows with a pioneer theme and there were parades.  The important parade was made up of a group that would follow the old pioneer trail in wagons and teams of horses, camping along the way and finally riding into Placerville’s Main Street lined with the citizens cheering their arrival.

The other parade was for kids, decked out in pioneer costumes, which were judged and awarded ribbons.  The group of kids at the top of Morrene Drive, known first as “The Top O’ the Hill Gang,” won the blue ribbon many years in a row.  I was generally the leader and instigator of parade participation for this group––to me it was another chance to perform.  This time our concept was to emulate the big headed characters seen in a Disneyland parade and so we fashioned our own big head masks out of paper grocery bags.  The group started out with Kim and Kristin Sullivan from down the road and me and my brother Mark.  Then the mothers started talking to each other and we gained Heidi and Jason Knochenhauer from next door as well as Scott Youngdahl from across town.  Our group story was that we’d walk the parade route single file, with Heidi as a helpless pioneer girl being held up by a band of big headed outlaws, each with a gun in the next one’s back.  Then followed the sheriff with a gun pointed at the outlaws.

Mrs. Knochenhaur volunteered to fill out the entry forms and took it upon herself to name us “The Top O’ the Hill Gang.”  I wanted to protest, more so because I wasn’t consulted than any real opposition to the name, but there was no use.  Somehow our big heads and little visual story charmed the judges because we won a blue ribbon in the group category.

Over the next few years I took a stronger hand in our presentation, making more of a theatrical show out of it.  We built a train engine out of cardboard and staged a train robbery one year—blue ribbon.  Another year we built a piano out of cardboard, had a kid inside of it with a tape recorder playing Scott Joplin, and had a western saloon scene with saloon girls and outlaws that came in to make trouble.  The outlaws shooting off their cap guns caused the piano to run away from me in fright and we all went chasing after it—blue ribbon.

All this was followed by the county fair with displays of crafts, baking contests, blue ribbon wines, the Miss El Dorado beauty pageant and nightly entertainment on a stage set up before an expansive hill blanketed in cool grass.  However, my chief interest was the carnival, a tawdry little midway of rides that was more fun than anything that happened the rest of the year.  When I was 14 and had outgrown the children’s parade, I devised a street performer act with my trained dog, Penny, and Drama Club pal Laura.  The entertainment director liked the idea, but didn’t have room in the budget for us, so our pay was free admission to the fair, which wasn’t too shabby.  One day a year at the fair was never enough, but now I could be there for the whole week.

Dressed in goofy hats and colorful clothes, we ran through our act several times a day to small but appreciative crowds in picnic areas.  Laura and I quickly found the repetition of our act to be more drudgery than fun and we spent more time just prowling around the fair.  The next year I tried another act with my brother Mark, still working only for free admission, but this time as Marcel Marceau style mimes.  We dressed in blue striped shirts, suspenders, berets and proper mime makeup.   We went through routines like playing invisible tug of war, being trapped in glass boxes and picking invisible flowers to hand to old ladies who blushed with delight.  We also had a spot in a variety show in which we recreated our famous routine from our “youth.”

A few years prior, my brother and I devised an ingenious act for the Old Coloma Theatre’s annual 4th of July variety show called Firecrackers.  The sketch was a pantomime of a couple at a party.  Mark was in drag playing my wife and when his attention was diverted I slipped a little poison into his drink.  After a toast, Mark went through comical convulsions and died, eyes wide open.  The rest of the routine was all about how I would pass off my wife as still being alive when party goers would come along.  We went through all the ways I could puppeteer a dead body into looking alive and ended the skit by dancing him off stage.  For two pre-teen kids to come up with this routine, struck the audience as pretty hilarious, but two years later when we looked taller and older the charm had worn off.  For some reason, the county fair crowd barely made a snicker at our antics and after a smattering of polite applause we decided to retire the act.  We were more successful as street mimes opening invisible doors.

Independence Day in Placerville never held any special allure for me as a kid.  Perhaps it was because we always did something different.  I can only remember actually bothering to go to the fireworks display at the fair grounds a time or two.  I loved fireworks, but other shows I’d seen had been more spectacular.  There were other things to do, however, such as Coloma’s Firecrackers variety show of dancers, musicians, comedians and patriotic songs.  Often we went out of town with the grandparents or visited far away friends, though one year sticks out in my mind for a simple reason.  This particular Independence Day we went to the apple barn of family friends.  Placerville is next door to the town of Camino, which is lovingly known to all of Northern California as “Apple Hill” because of the concentration of apple farmers there.  On this 4th of July we ran through the orchards playing hide and seek, had a wonderful barbeque picnic on checkered oil clothed tables, and there was watermelon and apple pie.  

That night the sky was unusually bright with stars and as we all sat around the farmhouse porch looking up to the heavens I lamented not having any fireworks that year.  Our hostess said something that stuck with me and I repeat it often: “Who needs fireworks when you’ve got stars?”

The last remaining chunk of the year was from Independence Day to my Birthday at the end of August and then it started all over again with the first day of school.  I still think of a year as September through August rather than beginning from January 1st.  Even if Halloween, Christmas and The Wizard of Oz are of enduring importance, they would be any place.  However, in Placerville the real highlight was the Wagon Train Days—those simple joys of parades, blue ribbons and county fair carnival rides—not Disneyland, no, but something that captured our imaginations none the less.  Who needs fireworks when you’ve got stars!

Blue Ribbon Winners, 1979

What the Heck?

I just started writing about Placerville one day––personal essays.  Here I am living in New York, the biggest and most exciting city in American and I am feeling nostalgic for small town life.  I'm not sure if I would actually survive living in a small town again.  I mean, I need the theatre, ballet, international restaurants, concerts, art house cinemas and all the rest that comes with metropolitan life.  And yet, I do like to visit the small towns and my hometown of Placerville, California was a great example of what it means to live and grow up in small town America.  So, I started writing about Main Street and went on from there and then didn't know what to do with these essays.  Perhaps after about twenty chapters I'll do a nice little book.  Maybe some of the stories will be attractive to certain magazines.  Maybe they'll just sit here on this blog, but at least they'll be in the universe.  Most of us that grew up in a small town wanted to get out and here I am 3000 miles away in New York––I really got out.  At my last high school reunion I won the award for traveling the longest distance to be at the reunion.  

My parents are still in the same old house in Placerville, so I do go back from time to time and both enjoy and mourn all the changes.  There seems to be a lot more people in the area and signs of growth, but a lot of Placerville retains the same small town world, embracing its Gold Rush history and keeping up the traditions of Main Street parades, Christmas decorations, county fairs and apple pie (literally).

Read on and go back, just for a little while.