Irma Axinger Miller Evans

May 6,1908 - February 16, 1981

My mother was born in Oakland, California in a home owned by her grandfather, Christopher Miller, on San Pablo Avenue. She only ever provided me with sketchy references, perhaps because she only lived there briefly, if at all.

Her cousin Irene (more on Irene, later) provided an interesting story about my mother’s birth to me and my son, Andy, in the late 1990’s. She said, “Let me tell you about your grandmother’s birth, Andy. I remember it well because it occurred on May 6th, 1908, the day Admiral Dewey’s “Great White Fleet” sailed into San Francisco Bay.”

Needless to say, both Andy and I were shocked to hear this from a woman who had passed her hundredth year milestone of life. She spoke of the event with a clarity as if it had happened in the recent past. I had no idea that Irene had been at my mother’s birth. I did know that Irene and my grandmother were more like sisters, in age than aunt and niece, so it made sense that she might be there to assist my grandmother with the birth of her second child.

Some background information is in order. My mother’s grandfather, Miller had been a watchmaker in San Francisco. According to my mother, he was reasonably affluent and active in local politics, so it’s not unreasonable that he owned property in the Bay Area. Perhaps, he even lived at this location. I don’t know.

My mother’s sister, Eileen, was four years older. I assume that she was born in Oakland, too, but I never thought to ask her. A little less than two years later, my mother’s brother, Marden, was born most likely in Oakland, as well.

According to my Uncle George Hansen, Eileen’s husband, my great grandfather came into some agricultural property about thirty miles northeast of Oakland located about twelve miles south of the little town of Dixon and east of the Solano County seat of Fairfield.

My mother always referred to her childhood home as a “sheep ranch.” Apparently, my great grandfather either gave or sold the property to his only child, my grandfather after his marriage in or around 1903. My sense is that my grandfather, newly married at around age twenty, needed to establish himself, so my great grandfather set him up in the farming business.

I wonder what my grandfather and grandmother must have thought. They, most likely, were both city people. Was the idea of farming and ranching something they looked forward to, or was it a frightening and daunting challenge?

I do know that my mother loved her childhood home. From a very early age she told me stories about growing up on the “ranch,” and attending a little rural, one-room schoolhouse. I could also tell that she loved and admired her father very much. She told me about how he was one of the very first farmers in the area to plant and grow rice, and how he collaborated in work with the Agriculture School at U.C. Davis. He also raised sheep. My mother would tell me about how he would go out and rescue the abandoned lambs, and bring them home to warm in the kitchen oven. The ranch property was located next to one of the many sloughs that drained into the Sacramento River before it emptied into the San Pablo Bay portion of San Francisco Bay. It was a low wetland that routinely flooded during the rainy season. The house that my mother and her family lived in was originally a “hotel.” The family lived on the second floor, as the ground floor was gone from earlier flooding.

She also described how sailing schooners would travel up the sloughs to take on grain and other products which were then transported down to seagoing vessels in San Francisco. The picture, below, shows one of these boats.

A typical schooner in the slough. These boats transported grain and other goods from the adjoining farms and ranches down the river and on to San Francisco to be off-loaded onto seagoing ships.

My mother’s description of living in a former hotel always posed a mystery to me as a child and young adult. How could this be? Why would there have been a hotel in this very remote place?

She also shared with me how she and my father tried to locate the ranch after they were married. She said that she had been told that the Solano County Courthouse had burned down, and that the property records were destroyed. Consequently, she and my father were never able to find the property when they looked for it in the 1930’s.

By good fortune, I was able to solve the mystery in the 1990’s. On the off chance that my mother was wrong, I paid a visit to the Dixon library. They had a “local history” corner with a small collection of books and records.

My mother had said that the ranch was located twelve miles south of Dixon in an area called Maine Prairie, named after the slough by the same name. A look on the map indicates that the ranch was about the same distance east of the town of Fairfield, a large city now.

I found a book that described the local history of this area around the turn of the nineteenth century. There were a number of sloughs in the area, tributaries ebbing and flowing into the Sacramento River. There were docks located at the heads of several of these sloughs. Farmers would bring their crops, especially grains, down to the docks for loading on shallow draft schooners. In turn the boats would sail down to San Francisco Bay and offload their cargos onto ocean going ships for export.

There were several “hotels” located at these landing sites, probably to accommodate the farmer and their hands, possibly the schooner crews, as well. At long last, I had an explanation as to why my mother and her family lived in a former hotel.

Armed with this information, I next paid a visit to the Solano County Hall of Records in Fairfield. Low and behold, the property records had not been destroyed. I was able to locate a deed of sale dated in 1920 when my grandfather sold the ranch to a Henry Peters of Solano County. The deed also provided a meets and bounds description of the property’s location. I was then able to obtain a map from the County Public Works Department that enabled me to actually locate the property on the ground.

What a find! I drove out to the end of a road that most likely was the entrance to my grandfather’s ranch. There was a duck hunting clubhouse located there, now. Nothing else, except tall grass and a glimpse of a slough located on the south side of the property.

Nevertheless, here I was. I had made the connection between the stories that my mother had lovingly shared with me as a small boy and the actual site that she and my father had never been able to find. My mother was gone now for a few years, but I hoped in my heart that she was sharing this moment with me.

My mother told me that my grandfather was the (or one of the) original rice farmers in the area, and that he participated in an agricultural research project with U.C. Davis. The following photo shows what appears to be a steam engine pump in the process of transferring water from one irrigation ditch to another. Could this possibly be part of the rice farming operation?

This is what appears to be a steam engine pumping water into an irrigation ditch. If you look carefully, you can see Uncle Marden and my mother to the left of the ditch. This is the earliest picture that I have of my mother. She appears to be about three, and Marden is about two.

The next photo shows a house on stilts during a time of flooding. Skiffs and rowboats must have been commonplace. This was not a hospitable place. The area is part of the upper Delta where flatlands drain into sloughs that meander into saltwater wetlands, a good home for birds, but it must have been hard on people. When you look from the location of my grandfather’s ranch, you can look west to the far off Coast Range. Most of the vistas are of flat grasslands, however. There must have been wind much of the year with cold tule fog in the winter and heat in the summer. While this might have been an agricultural Disneyland for kids, I have often wondered how farm life wore on my grandparents. I can’t help but believe that this was a lonely place, especially for my grandmother. This leads me into sharing what may have been the pivotal and tragic lifetime event for my mother---abandonment by her mother, my grandmother.

A building on stilts surviving the annual Spring floods. I think this was the one room school house where my Eileen, my mother, and Marden went to school.

Using horse (or mule) power for cultivation. Could the house in the back be the “hotel” where my mother lived?

My mother and Uncle Marden. They appear to be about eight and seven, respectively. The two women behind them are not identified. The one in white is possibly Aunt Eileen. I wonder if the woman on the right is, Bonnie, my grandfather’s second wife.

This picture was taken in the Muir Woods, north of San Francisco. My mother was eleven and my Uncle Marden was ten. It’s the picture that I’m most fond of.

My mother told me at an early age that her mother had divorced her father, and had left to marry my grandfather’s hired hand, a man named Lee Howe. My grandmother was pregnant with Mr. Howe’s child, Robert.

This occurred when my mother was twelve. In sharing this story, she never elaborated on why my grandmother was leaving her family, nor did she castigate her mother. It was just something that happened.

Even as a youngster I was aware of how traumatic this must have been for her. What feeling must have gone through her mind and heart? What did she and Marden share with each other as abandoned siblings? What did their father tell them, and how did he react?

I’m convinced of one thing. This event marked her forever, and lowered her self-esteem self-worth.

My mother never mentioned my Aunt Eileen concerning any of this. It was as Eileen wasn’t around. At age sixteen, Eileen and my mother were not close; not as she was with the brother.

This was about all I knew concerning the disintegration of my mother’s family until the 1990’s when my Uncle (by marriage), George Hansen provided a further explanation. According to George, my grandfather offered to claim the forthcoming child as his own, and to keep the family together. If my grandmother choose to leave, he swore that he would do everything in his power to keep Eileen, my mother, and Marden.

Apparently, the marriage was beyond repair, and my grandmother choose to leave, and to abandon her first three children. Needless to say, the subject of divorce and the respective rights of the parties was much different in the early twentieth century than from now.

I can’t imagine what the feelings must have been among these family members. How was the break-up viewed by friends and the rest of the family? How did my mother feel about her own security, worth, and future?

There must have been scandal. My mother’s cousin, Irene, wrote me a letter in 1994 when she was nearing her 99th birthday. She referred to Bob Howe, my mother’s half-brother, saying, “I have not seen him [Bob Howe] since your Grandmother Lola’s funeral about thirty years ago, but we correspond as he was blameless.”

Who was to blame? Was it my grandmother and her lover, Lee? After the divorce, they married and remained so until Lee’s death. My grandfather also remarried, apparently very shortly after the divorce, as well. The deed of sale of the ranch on May 18th, 1920, shows “Lillian Grace Miller, his wife” as a co-owner of the property. Lillian was known as “Bonnie,” and was my mother’s step-mother. My mother mentioned her in passing in these stories about her teenage years, but never made any judgmental comments about her. I assume that they coexisted, but that there wasn’t much of a bond between them.

Did my grandfather know her prior to the divorce? Did Bonnie play a role in the breakup? Perhaps we’ll never know.

As an aside, it’s interesting to note how many multiple marriages occurred on both sides of my family. Many were due to wives dieing in childbirth, and sickness, as well as divorce. The composite family is apparently nothing new.

My grandfather, Bonnie, and the children move back to Oakland. My mother and Marden attend Oakland High School. Again, nothing is mentioned about Eileen. My grandfather takes a job on the Key System, an electric streetcar system as a conductor.

Life must have been barely above the subsistence level for the family. My mother mentioned how embarrassed she was at school because she had holes in her socks. She and Marden were close, and relied each other for support. They must have lived in or near downtown Oakland because Marden enjoyed long distance running, and would run around the perimeter of Lake Merritt each morning.

This is a press photo of my mother (far left) taken in April, 1926 when she was 16 as part of a Shriners’ event at the East Bay Opera Company in Oakland.

Eileen married someone at an early age. I don’t know if she had even graduated from high school. Not unexpectedly, the marriage didn’t last. Her husband was abusive. Again, no details on Eileen. I regret that I didn’t take the opportunity to talk with her more about the family when she was alive.

Eileen never mentioned this first marriage in all of the years that I knew her. My mother said that she just wanted to put this painful mistake out of her mind.

My mother was also sketchy on her high school years. She did fondly recall here “theatrical” period where she performed in a song and dance troop at an Oakland theater (see above) around the time she was graduating from high school. One of our family’s jokes was her story about trying to locate the theater with my father after they were married. Apparently, they found it, bought tickets, and went inside for the show. Much to their chagrin and shock, it had turned into a strip joint!

My mother’s nursing school “class of 1927” at Merritt Hospital in Oakland. She is 21 and second from the right. (As far as I know, she graduated in 1929 after a two year course.)

My mother graduated in 1929. As fate would have it, the woman who owned and operated the Highland Hospital was looking for a full-time registered nurse to supervise the nursing operations of the hospital. I don’t know how my mother came to be selected, but she came to Auburn and started her nursing career at the hospital at the tender age of twenty-one.

It’s easy for me to see her doing this. She was always a “take charge” person who always preferred to give directions rather than to take them.

Cousin Irene described to me how my mother organized a tea party shortly after she and the family moved to Oakland from the ranch. Irene said that my mother was the perfect hostess, even though she was only twelve at the time. Yes, this was my mother controlling the environment around her, even though she typically had self-doubt about her abilities.

* * * *

 

In a small town like Auburn, a newcomer would be noticed. Someone is alleged to have said, “You better get up there to the hospital, Don. There’s a cute, young nurse up there.” That’s how my mother and father told the story, anyway.

I never learned any more details, other than the story about my father keeping his homemade beer in the attic of my mother’s apartment adjoining the hospital. This was still during Prohibition, and according to the story, the pressure in the bottles would occasionally blow the caps off with a loud pop creating a wet place in the ceiling. I always wondered whether he kept the beer there as an excuse to be around my mother.

My parents were married in September, 1932 during the heart of the Depression. As far as I know, the marriage ceremony wasn’t attended by any members of the family. It was a brief and simple affair in Reno, Nevada, attended by my mother’s former roommate from nursing school and a best man who I don’t recall. In any event, it was a brief affair, and I expect that they both had to be back at work in Auburn on Monday.

They took up residence in a duplex across the street from the high school on Agard Street, and lived there until they built the home in Los Altos Heights (shown, earlier). Again, I have little to share about their lives during their early years of marriage.

I do know that, as a young married couple, they had a group of friends. It was during this time that the Sans Souci Club was started. I believe it was a good time for them. What with the Depression going on, they were very lucky to have steady, full-time jobs; perhaps a prototype of the working couple of today.

My mother and father also frequently had Sunday dinner in Nevada City with my paternal grandmother. Uncle Jack and my father had been the principal financial supporters of my grandmother ever since she and my grandfather were divorced. (More on this later.) My mother never complained about this arrangement, although I’m sure that it was a burden on her.

My happy parents in their “salad days,” probably before I was around. It’s likely that this is Carmel.

Much later on, my Aunt Emma also told me about how she and Uncle Jack also shared in the Sunday dinners. She was more forthcoming about how she used to dread the weekly trip. I gathered from both Emma and my mother that my grandmother viewed her daughter-in-laws as both emotional and economic threats to her sons loyalties to their mother.

I don’t know exactly when my mother quit working. She did tell me that married women, generally, weren’t supposed to work. If women did work, that meant that their husbands couldn’t properly take care of their families. Generally speaking, most of my mother’s friends were housewives. Emma was an exception. I often wondered if, being a college graduate and a teacher, she had a different view of a woman’s role in the family. Even so, Emma confined most of her work to substitute teaching. For example, she was my kindergarten teacher for most of my first school year.

My mother also told me that she had a hard time getting pregnant. I don’t know what the state of medicine was in the 1930’s, but she apparently made quite an effort to have a child.

My memory is a little fuzzy, but I believe she told me that she had a miscarriage before having me. This was quite a shock. I didn’t realize that I had been preceded by a potential sibling. When I came along, I was born six weeks prematurely. I guess what with my mother’s pregnancy problems, she and my father decided not to have more children. I often wondered if limited income played a role, as well.

As mentioned earlier, my parents moved into their first home that they owned in 1937. Los Altos Heights was a subdivision of lots circling a hill on what was then the edge of town. The land had been subdivided by the local Placer County superior court judge, Judge Landis. Some of the lots had been developed on the western side of the hill. Our home was by itself on the northern quadrant of the hill. It fell away from the street into the woods that surrounded the house.

The Judge provided mortgage financing to some, if not all, of the families in Los Altos Heights. I remember going a number of times with my father on a Saturday morning to visit the Judge and to bring him the monthly mortgage check.

My mother always kept her nurse’s registration up to data even though she wasn’t working. I remember that she was a Red Cross volunteer during World War II and helped with “well baby clinics” put on at school. (Earlier, I mentioned her plane spotting duties.)

One of her abiding traits throughout her life was what I would call the role of a “shepherdess.” She always was gently encouraging friends and family members to come together. Neither side of my family was particularly close.

In my mother’s case her brother, Mardin, was away in the War, and then moved to Mississippi. Eileen and George were in Missouri during the War, and then moved back to the San Francisco Bay area. My grandmother, of course, was estranged from her first three children.

I don’t think my mother corresponded with my grandmother very often, but nevertheless, she did remain in contact. It was if she cast out fishing lines to people who were too far removed to be seen or visited with. The same went for my Uncle Mardin. He came to visit once during the War, and then at least once later in the late 1940’s after he remarried.

Mardin was impulsive and not too stable in terms of holding a job. His mercurial temper clashed with Eileen’s, so most of the time they weren’t speaking to each other. Again, my mother was always in the background mediating familial disputes, and keeping in contact with all parties through occasional letters. This gift of keeping people together caused me to love and admire her for it.

I confess that, in spite of my deep love and admiration for my mother, I always felt in competition with her over my own destiny. I felt that we were always in a competition of wills.

I understood, even growing up, that much of this tension was the normal process of just growing up and becoming independent. Still, I always felt that she lacked confidence in my ability to be successful.

For example, she once told me that she had tried to sneak a peak at my first grade IQ score at a parent-teacher conference. She had to glance at the score while the paper was upside down, so she couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing. She said that the score appeared to be 98! On the other hand, maybe she got it wrong. Maybe she was seeing 86!

I took solace in the fact that I was always placed in the first of the three groups of students throughout elementary school; even though it was near the bottom of the group. Maybe I was actually brighter than the run of the mill kid. Maybe I got placed in the first group because my mother was a friend of most of my teachers.

I also kept in mind that most of my mother’s family members had let her down, starting with her abandonment by her own mother. That helped me keep things in perspective, even though it was painful to think what one’s own mother had doubts about my potential.

That said, my parents always were supportive of me. They paid my room and board at "Auntie" Doris’s in Auburn so that I could finish high school there after we moved to Grass Valley. They also paid for my college expenses so that I could go to a school far from home.

I will always be grateful for their love and support. Hopefully, I exceeded their expectations which I don’t think were too high.

* * * *

 

My Aunt Eileen became ill and died of multiple myeloma, a blood/bone cancer, in 1979. Shortly after she died, my mother was diagnosed with the same disease. She new the disease was terminal, and that she had about two years to live.

I must say that she used her time wisely. She was a wonderful example of how to approach the end of you life by being very candid about her condition, and choosing her priorities wisely.

She at last convinced my father that it was time to sell the house in Grass Valley so that they could move back to Auburn. My parents hadn’t moved to Grass Valley by choice, but they had integrated themselves into the community and made the best of the situation during their 25 years there.

They moved into a doublewide mobile home in a park in Rock Creek, an area situated about ten miles north of Auburn off the Grass Valley Highway. It was a wonderful place with a small clubhouse, and friendly neighbors.

My mother was energized by the move, and she had a rich and rewarding time being closer to her San Souci friends, and being “home” in Auburn. She was mobile and active for about 18 months. Then, her disease started slowing her down with more pain, and less mobility.

It’s interesting to find how unexpected things happen, especially in times of trial. My mother hired Irene Arnold to come in and help clean house when my mother was no longer able. I had gone to school with Ray Arnold, Irene’s oldest son, but our families didn’t know each other. Irene was the saint of all goodhearted women. She would not only come and clean but also bring some cheer to my mother’s day.

My mother and my Aunt Emma had always been friends, but they were separated by distance, and only occasionally saw each other at San Souci events. When my mother became ill, Emma was the one who took the lead in helping and supporting my mother. My mother had a deep gratitude for Emma’s help during these trying times. My mother died at home, as she intended. Being a nurse, she always said that she didn’t want to die an a hospital. I was able to be with her during her last three days, although she lapsed into unconsciousness on the second day of my visit.

It was just before dawn in February, 1981 that my mother left us. I was able to say a prayer over her, and had the realization that my mother and I had been together like this when I was born, and we were now together when she experienced the transition from this life to the next.

Her funeral was on a cold, wet, monochromic, wintry day. As our long time Episcopal rector, Francis O’Reilly, said the prayers at her graveside, his robes billowed in the wind. He reminded me of Moses parting the waters to save his people. It was a moving and appropriate setting for her departure.