From the Los Angeles Herald, April 9, 1900


Enthusiastic Reception Given the Democratic Champion


No man ever received a more enthusiastic welcome at the hands of the citizens of Los Angeles than [did] . . . William J. Bryan on his arrival from the North yesterday.

The train on which he came from Fresno was 20 minutes late, reaching the Arcade Depot [5th and Alameda] at 1:50 p.m.

. . . the interior of the waiting room . . . was a packed and jammed mass of humanity, through which passengers to and from the various trains could scarcely force their way.

Outside the depot and extending clear to the street car tracks, another crowd was wedged. . . . The presence of a large number of women, who cheerfully withstood the discomfort of a tedious wait in order to catch a glimpse of the Democratic leader, was one of the features of the crowd.

When the train finally steamed into the depot, there was a rush for the Pullmans, but it was some time before the crowd ascertained which car was occupied by the Bryan party. Mr. Bryan was the first to appear, and as his figure blocked the doorway of the Pullman, the crowd surrounded the platform and gave a cheer.

Hon. Stephen M. White, Major William R. Burke and George S. Patton were on hand to receive the distinguished guest and escort him to the Nadeau Hotel . . . .

Two carriages, each drawn by four magnificent horses gaily caparisoned, were in waiting . . . The drive to the hotel was an ovation all the way. Crowds lined the sidewalks, . . . the men raising their hats and the women waving handkerchiefs. Mr. Bryan, a pleased smile on his face, bowed right and left continuously. . . .

The police arrangements were excellent, Chief [Charles] Elton himself taking charge . . . .

Mr. Bryan determined that he could not receive the public. . . . he is a strict observer of the Sabbath and was not willing to turn it into a public reception day. . . . Slowly the crowd melted away, and only the intimate friends of Mr. Bryan remained. . . .

At 4 o’clock Mr. Bryan . . . was driven to a photograph gallery, where . . . [he] good-naturedly submitted to several sittings for the Herald.

“This is the greatest trial to which I am subjected,” said Mr. Bryan, “but there is no avoiding it. Many people misconstrue a visit to a photographer and think it is prompted by vanity, while, as a matter of fact, it is the result of a request which cannot properly be refused.”



Official Schedule for the Democratic Leader’s Movements in Southern California

TODAY, APRIL 9 — Leave Los Angeles for Santa Ana 8:50 a.m., arriving at 10:05 a.m., where he will speak at 1 p.m. Leave Santa Ana for San Diego at 3:08 p.m., arriving at San Diego at 5:45 p.m.; will speak at San Diego same evening.

TUESDAY, APRIL 10 — Leave San Diego for San Bernardino at 8:10 a.m., arriving at San Bernardino at 12:35 p.m.; will speak there at 1:15 p.m. Leave San Bernardino at 2:30 p.m. for Pomona, arriving at 3:32 p.m.; will speak there on arrival of train. Will leave Pomona at 5 p.m. for Los Angeles, arriving at Los Angeles at 6 p.m., and will speak at the Velodrome at 8 o’clock same evening.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 11 — Leave Los Angeles for Phoenix at 2 p.m.

During the sitting he jocosely remarked that he thought he had been photographed in every position except standing on his head and changing his attitude on a public question. . . .

Stephen M. White had been a United States senator and a lieutenant governor of California. He was a noted scholar of constitutional law (supporting the exclusion of Asians from the U.S.), but he was better known locally for leading the fight to create the Los Angeles Harbor at San Pedro. His statue is at the entrance to the Cabrillo Beach Museum in San Pedro. White, who lived at 1058 S. Main St. (near the corner of present Olympic Blvd.), died in February 1901 at the age of 48. Read his biography in the Catholic Encyclopedia.

George Smith Patton (1856-57), also known as Frenchy, was the first city attorney of Pasadena, in 1877. He was District Attorney in 1886-87 and became the first mayor of San Marino. Patton “swam against the tide as a stubborn opponent of women having the vote.” (From For the People, by Michael Parrish; takes a while to load.)

Both images are from the Los Angeles District Attorney’s Office.


From the Los Angeles Herald, April 8, 1900


By Grace Kingsley
Her buttons she pins on her tailor-made gown.
She travels alone and afar;
She has her shoes blackened at stands down town,
And even wears neckties, like pa.
Golf and tennis she does ’stead of tatting and lace,
Belongs to all clubs that there are.
But sharpen a pencil she can’t for her life,
Nor properly get off a car.

“Like a Chinaman, of course!” says my gen’lm’n friend — thereby proving himself neither gallant nor original!

But listen, little woman, and you shall learn how to get off from a car like a man and a brother!

We are traveling on the Daly Street line [Lincoln Heights], and I turn to the blue-coated Knight of the Trolley, who tells me just exactly how to get on and off a car . . .

To descend safely, face the front of the car, grasp the front railing with the inside hand and step free of the car with the outside foot.

To get on the car, take hold of the front railing with the hand toward the front of the car, raise the corresponding foot to the step, and you are safe.

Never get off a car on the outer side as it rounds a curve, as the motion is, of course, swifter on that than on the other side . . .

“I do not so much blame women” says he of the blue coat. “You see, they have no pockets, and have to carry things in their hands, and then there are the long skirts. . . .

    “And they do much better out here than in the East. No, I don’t know why.”

I think I do. It is because more care is required of car men here than in the Eastern cities, where “making time” [keeping to a timetable] is of paramount importance.

Here in Los Angeles, when being helped on the cars, one is treated like a human being; in San Francisco one is handled like a meek domestic animal, and in New York and Chicago like a piece of baggage of a sack of meal! . . .

Out on a West End line, the Bilious Conductor collects fares. . . . Said he: “No, no — there is no teaching women how to get off a car correctly. I do not believe they will ever learn.” . . .

I sat on that car beside a woman who was reading “The Fate of a Life” and chewing gum. . . . she had a pie beside her on the seat. . . . She dismounted in the usual way, backward, the car started up a little too soon, the “Fate of a Life” fell to the earth, . . . and the fate of a pie occurred a little to the left.

I saw the Fat Woman, too, that day — she who grasps both handles and gradually and imposingly elevates herself to the car.

And the woman who takes hold of the handle and turns round to talk to her lady friend standing bare-headed on the pavement. The conductor swears, and she feels her day has not been wasted. The funerals of these do not occur often enough.

I saw the New Woman, too — who invariably gets off the car while it is moving.

And the Shopping Woman, with her bundles, who steps onto the car and her dress at the same time, shifting her bundles to one arm, while she grasps the handle with the other hand and manages to hoist herself . . . while everybody looks contempt at a woman who would carry so many bundles home . . . .

And the dear little tippy-tilty girls, coming home from High School.

I do not know whether a woman hates worse to be told that she cannot sharpen a pencil or that she cannot board a car properly. She can do the former, you know, “if you give her plenty of time and plenty of pencils,” but the latter — ? . . .

The trolley car is America’s own, along with the Gibson Girl. It is swift and sure and would hardly be recognized as belonging to the same generic family as the car of European cities, which is a double-decker and resembles a summer cottage on wheels.

And the oriental cities have the safest cars of all. They are drawn by two very undersized donkeys, and a native runs before them shouting, “Warda, warda!” which, being interpreted, means “Get out of the way!”


The author, Grace Kingsley, later went to the Los Angeles Times, where she was writing through the mid-1920s.

From the Los Angeles Herald, April 1, 1900

For a personal look at Los Angeles in the 1920s and 1930s, click for
He Usually Lived With a Female: The Life of a California Newspaperman