Great Grandfather, James Mason

This is the story of James Mason, my Great Grandfather.  It was written about 1935 by Nelson Mason, James’ son and my Grandmother’s brother.  The author, Nelson Mason was a family genealogist when research had to be accomplished by snail mail.  It is mostly the account of the one time Nelson and his father spent some time together and includes a letter written to Nelson by James Bardin, the man James Mason worked for after he returned from his first sailing expedition.  All the notes in [Brackets] were added by me, Robert Henderson.

James Mason’s father [Robert Henderson’s Great Great Grandfather] was a ship’s carpenter residing in Boston, a man standing nearly six feet in height.  His wife was of Irish lineage and very probably was one of those who came to Boston from Ireland in the great Irish migration of 1847, due to famine.  To this union there were born two sons: James [Robert’s Great Grandfather], born January 23, 1856, in Boston, and John, Jr., two years younger.  The father was a protestant; the mother, Catholic.  When the boys were respectively eleven and nine years of age, John Mason, while building a house in rainy weather, contracted a cold and pneumonia, and soon his family was left to face life as best they might.

James Mason accepted employment on a farm.  Here, finding the duties imposed upon him unduly strenuous, he wrapped his few belongings in a handkerchief and ran as fast and far as breath would permit.  Then, hiding until dark, he proceeded into the city, and next morning shipped out of Boston harbor as a sailor.  Following the sea for several years he returned to Boston finding his mother married again and with a young daughter.  His brother John Jr. was comfortably settled with an uncle.

Striking out toward the west, James stopped over night at the Bardin farmstead in Dalton, Mass.  Then a husky lad of seventeen he was offered work on the farm and accepted.  Having had little opportunity for education he took advantage of the rural school facilities.  Unable then, to divide by long division he nevertheless made such rapid progress that he was the local teacher two years later.  Town reports state he taught at the South, the East, and the North schools, and lastly at the Grammar school in the village during the years 1878 – 79 and 80.  The reports indicate “he gave excellent satisfaction to all concerned.”  In the census of 1880 James Mason is found at Dalton, a school teacher, with birth-place of both parents given as Ireland.  This probably was true in the case of the mother, but not of the father.  The Bardins doubtless gave this to the census enumerator during James’ absence at school and as their best guess.  He was there in 1883, as indicated by Irene’s birth certificate obtained from the town clerk.  He united with the Congregational Church of Dalton.

Learning of the science of Phrenology, James went to New York City, enrolling at the American Institute of Phrenology, later known as Fowler & Wells, from which he was graduated November 12, 1880.  Here he met Martha Scott Fair, slender brunette of Sandyville Iowa.  They met again in Denver, Colo., where on June 1, 1882, they were married at the home of the bride’s maternal uncle and aunt, Isaac and Sarah Cooper.  Everybody said it was an ideal match.  James was a man of fine bearing, fair, ruddy complexion, blue eyes and aquiline nose, with heavy, straight brown hair and sandy whiskers.  It was popular then to wear a beard and his plans to be a world traveler and health lecturer clinched his decision to allow no razor to come upon his face from the age of 19 to 49.  He was 5 feet, 8 inches in height, reaching a maximum weight of 220 pounds.  He became a dynamic, forceful public speaker.

Upon their marriage James and Martha Mason went to Dalton, Mass., where he resumed teaching.  There on February 15, 1883, a daughter, Irene Leila, was born.  Determining to enter upon his profession of phrenology, then at its height, Prof. Mason moved with his family to Cleveland, Ohio, traveling out from there.  They made their home last at 250 Oregon Street, where an elderly widow, Mrs. McKay, resided.  The city Engineer’s office advises that this is now [ca. 1940] 2136 Rockwell Avenue.  The Cleveland directory for 1884 shows: “MASON, James, Phrenologist, 376 St. Clair,” and “McKay, Esther, wid. John, r. 250 Oregon.”  They resided at this address when the writer [Nelson Mason] joined the family on January 18, 1884.

A letter from James E. Bardin of Dalton, dated February 2, 1928, says relative to the life of James Mason:

He worked on the farm, studied, went to night school and picked up education to teach a country school.  He taught in three districts here in Dalton.  I went school to him.  He went to an academy at Wilbraham, Mass. – (this undoubtedly was Wilbraham Academy, an old institution still in a prosperous condition.  It is in the nature of a college preparatory school.)  He then taught the grammar or high school a few years, boarding at home and riding back and forth on a wooden velocipede.  While teaching in this school he would go to a professor in Williams College, in Williamstown, Mass., for special instructions.  (This is a nonsectarian men’s school, high in the Berkshires, and operated by a private corporation.  Here the Institute of Human Relations held sessions in 1935, 1937 and 1939 [The 1939 session, under the auspices of the National Conference of Christians, and Jews, was the largest group of Protestants, Jews and Roman Catholics ever to assemble in the history of the world.]  Then became interested in phrenology and went to school in New York for a year, - went on a lecture tour of the west, headquartering for a time at Bozeman, Montana.

Mr. Mason worked out a butter stamp or mould that would cut and stamp butter from tub or as made.  These mould were made in different sizes from individual prints—one-half pound and pound cakes.  One was made for cutting pound cakes of lard, which was not successful because lard is so sticky.  While in this business his headquarters were at home.  The wooden stamp was made in a nearby town, and the other parts were made and nickeled in Waterbury, Conn.  (Several moulds are still in the family attic at Dalton.)  On his way from the west he married Martha A. Scott of Iowa.  They came home and my parents helped them get started in housekeeping in one part of a neighbor’s home.  Irene was born there February 15, 1883.

After that Mr. and Mrs. Mason moved to Cleveland, Ohio, which is the last we knew of them for a while.  Some years later we received a letter, signed by James Mason from a city in eastern Massachusetts, stating that he had fulfilled his heart’s desire to go around the world, and would call and see us but we never saw him.  One other thing, he worked with the Board of Assessors one year with my father, making out the taxes for the town, for Mr. Mason was a good penman.  (He had taught penmanship.)  I saw the book last summer as I was looking back for records.  I am now on the Board of Assessors.  His brother, John, lived here a short time when James was away.  He was a laborer on the railroad.  I do not know what became of him (A tin-type of John was seen in the family album.)

[On Oct. 11, 1946 James Bardin was killed by a car {without (illegible side note)……..?} into the herd of his cattle he was driving, in his 80^th year.]

[Tomorrow, Chapter 2]

Thoughts of yesterday

It seems silly to me to argue whether Clovis man is the oldest in the Americas, or if the first people “walked across the Bering Straits, or if they traversed an “Ice Free Corridor” when they moved south to populate what is now the U.S. and South America.

With all the evidence it is clear to me that beyond the Aztecs and the Mayans, before the Egyptian Kingdoms, the Assyrians, and all the other so-called ancient civilizations we know about, there was another world of people who populated this planet.  They were technologically advanced, even beyond what we are today.

Then, something happened.  It could have been disease or warfare or other natural disturbances, but something almost wiped out human kind.  The few souls that were remaining struggled to survive and for the next few generations they were scavenging for food and living in caves or whatever shelter they could devise.  There were people everywhere, but they were sparse and technologically speaking, they were starting from ground zero.

After a few years, stored gasoline would be used or turned to gel and combustion engines would become useless.  There would be nobody refining oil, making steel, or producing much of anything except food.

After a while, all the metal objects would rust away, wood products would rot or wear down to nothing and the only things that would remain would be stone edifices, pyramids, henges, etc.  These edifices would probably become congregation points for the people who survived, their link to the past, and legends would grow up around them.

Even assuming a population growth rate of 4.0 percent (only achieved by the country of Liberia) it would have taken a tribe of 20 individuals 100 years to reach a population of 1,000 persons.  After 200 years, the tribe would be almost 50,000 people strong who, no doubt, would have split up into several different tribes, probably already warring amongst themselves and other surviving tribes  By this time, all technology would have been lost as well as many talents.

This is the stage where we find our ancient ancestors, the Assyrians, Aztecs, Mayans and Egyptians.  This is where we start recording history again and the cycle continues.  There are legends on all continents by diverse peoples that point to this scenario, the legend of Noah’s Ark is just one of them.

Remembering Uncle George

Old Uncle George!  He wasn’t really an uncle, just a family friend, but we called him uncle.  His real name was George Burbank, and he lived alone on Natoma Street in San Francisco, just about 3 blocks south of Market Street, in a four story walk up that was probably built right after the great earthquake and fire of 1906.  Even at the time, I was well aware of the dangers of that building.  Staying the night at Uncle George’s was comparable to sleeping on a match head!  If any one of the idiots living below fell asleep with a lit cigarette, there would be little chance of escape.

Despite the dangers, I visited Uncle George as often as I could.  It was a nice getaway for a young teenager living in the Sacramento basin.  San Francisco or Frisco as we called it, had much to offer and there wasn’t much of it that I did not see.  A typical trip would find me at the Greyhound Bus Depot in Sacramento, boarding one of those Scenic Cruisers for the 2 hour drive to the Frisco bus depot, just two blocks from Uncle George’s.

Dinner, the first night always started with a shrimp salad and was followed by steak with macaroni and cheese, a favorite of mine to this day.  Uncle George was a Ham Radio enthusiast and had a large “Heathkit” model on his kitchen table.  He worked during the day at “Gumperts,” a company that had something to do with food products.  I think Uncle George worked in the warehouse, but I’m not sure.

I was usually up by the “crack of noon,” and often would take in a movie at the Fox Theater on Market Street.  The Fox Theater was a site to behold.  It was the most magnificent theater I’ve have ever seen.  The seating consisted of the lower floor, the Mezzanine, and two balcony levels, all in red velvet.  Two side stairways exiting the Mezzanine emptied onto the main stairway that must have been 25 feet wide at the top.  The main stairway was divided by a polished brass rail and flared out into a lobby of plush flowered carpet, all in crimson and greens.  Inside the theater, was one of the largest pipe organs on the West Coast and on weekends there was usually somebody playing music until the movies started.  At the time, I took all this in stride, but looking back I can see that I was witnessing the last of its kind.  They don’t build theaters like that any more.

After a movie, it was not unusual for me to walk to Powell Street and catch the cablecar to Fisherman’s Wharf or Golden State Park or, if I had extra money, Fleishacker’s amusement park.  In those days you could hop on the cablecar while it was moving and hang on the side rails for the entire trip.  The last time I was in Frisco I noticed that they don’t allow that anymore.  All passengers have to be seated, and the car must come to a full stop for loading and unloading.  Much of the charm has been lost.

At the time, no trip to Frisco would have been complete without a visit to the “Emporium.”  The Emporium was a department store ahead of its time.  Five floors of goods where you could find anything from a safety pin to an airplane!

Two or three days was usually sufficient to temporarily satisfy my need for the “big city” experience and I was soon on my way home again.  I probably reenacted this scenario two times each summer between my 14^th and 17^th birthdays.

Thoughts for the day

Education

Someone once said “education is wasted on the young.”  I think they were mostly right because, as youngsters, we are too focused on our immediate environment and learning to cope with it to be much interested in reading about it’s intricacies.

The learning process is somewhat like constructing a pyramid.  You start at the base and hope to reach the apex and place the final capstone.  In the beginning, there are so many things to learn about that it can seem overwhelming, and many would-be intellectuals are just swamped by it all and give up.

The difficulty in becoming educated is that the “base” is wide and there are many things to learn about and often it is like groping around in the dark, not knowing what is in front of you.   How often have you heard students say “I will never use that knowledge again,” or “why do I have to know that”?  I was one of those.  History, languages, social studies, the arts, mathematics, geography and sciences, are all parts of the pyramidal base.  As we progress through these subjects, they all tend to blend together.  History becomes a study of social behavior, mathematics is strongly linked to the arts and ultimately becomes a precise language, and the sciences engulf our entire physical world which can be described by that precise language.

On the ‘bell curve” of life, we are all of about the same intelligence.  What makes us different seems to be our level of interest.  I have never been able to figure out whether we are good at the things that interest us, or whether we are interested in the things we are good at.

Love & Marriage

Love is that invisible force that allows us to be attracted to our opposites.  Normally, we do not associate with people who are not like us.  Our friends tend to think like we do, enjoy the same things we do, and have our same values.  When “love” takes effect, all that goes out the window.

In nature, it is opposites that attract each other, but our judgements preclude that natural law and we gravitate toward those that are most like us.  Love removes “judgement” from the equation, and we find ourselves being attracted to our most opposites, people we have the least in common with.  This is a good thing because those people have the attributes that we are lacking and together we complement each other and should make a good team.  This is what marriage is all about.

Problems arise when we forget the love.  Suddenly we begin to notice the differences and start trying to correct them.  We begin to think that we want our mates to be just like us; battles ensue and divorce is usually the result.

Whenever these situations crop up, remember.  Remember why you fell in love in the first place.  Remember.  Try it, it’s really quite that simple!