Volume 90, Number 1 - California Historical Society
Volume 90, Number 1 - California Historical Society
Volume 90, Number 1 - California Historical Society
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48<br />
intoning, “The collection will now be taken.”<br />
He then welcomed the entrepreneurial Hubbard,<br />
declaring, “Ben said you were coming, but<br />
preachers are such damn liars.” 21<br />
Given the centrality of religion to the social and<br />
literary life of early Alameda County, it is apt<br />
that Miller’s first documented social outing was<br />
sponsored by Charles and Lucia Woodbury in<br />
the summer of 1887. The Woodburys invited the<br />
poet, the Irishes, and the Wendtes to meet the<br />
simpatico Reverend John K. McLean and his wife<br />
of the Congregational Church. 22 Charles’s ties<br />
with the Unitarian sect came naturally. Born in<br />
Massachusetts, but raised partially in Michigan,<br />
he returned to his native state to attend Williams<br />
College, where he became a disciple of the eminent<br />
thinker and onetime Unitarian minister,<br />
Ralph Waldo Emerson. Their acquaintance lasted<br />
on and off for five years. At the time of his Oakland<br />
entertainment, Woodbury, head of a growing<br />
family and president of a varnish company, was<br />
writing a book about his life-changing relationship<br />
with Emerson twenty years earlier. For the<br />
remainder of his life, besides playing the violin<br />
and penning the occasional religious poem and<br />
book review, this devout Unitarian gave lectures<br />
on the Concord philosopher and his circle. 23<br />
It was to this learned patriarch’s warm and welcoming<br />
household that Miller repaired—“wet,<br />
dripping, draggled, muddy hands and face, torn<br />
clothes, and worn-out body and mind from my<br />
long walk and contact with wire fences”—en<br />
route to speak at the First Presbyterian Church.<br />
Along with his fire and “sundry cups of hot tea,”<br />
Miller, in kind with the audiences who gathered<br />
for his friend’s talks, would have valued Woodbury’s<br />
New England associations. During one<br />
of his several trips to Boston, he wrote Abbie<br />
and their daughter, Juanita, that he had visited<br />
Longfellow’s grave and was going to the “classic<br />
ground” of Concord and Lexington. 24<br />
<strong>California</strong> History • volume <strong>90</strong> number 1 2012<br />
The three compatriots—Woodbury, Irish, and<br />
Miller—arrived in <strong>California</strong> about the same<br />
time. Although all were individuals of some<br />
significance, Woodbury was, for the most part,<br />
a private figure. Miller, a prolific writer with a<br />
national reputation to maintain, required a degree<br />
of isolation to do his work. In contrast, Irish, the<br />
poet’s most intimate ally, was 95 percent in the<br />
public eye. Now forgotten but at the time judged<br />
one of <strong>California</strong>’s “most picturesque public<br />
figures,” he deserves separate treatment. 25<br />
literary liaiSonS<br />
Keeping very quiet, for understandable reasons,<br />
about her religious preferences (she was the<br />
daughter of the younger brother of Joseph Smith,<br />
the founder of Mormonism 26 ), Ina Coolbrith was<br />
judged by Harr Wagner as Miller’s closest literary<br />
friend. Without a doubt, she was his longestrunning<br />
female friend. This much-esteemed<br />
figure in the <strong>California</strong> pantheon of writers was<br />
a beautiful young woman of twenty-nine when<br />
the Indiana-born poet first met her in 1870 during<br />
the second of his early visits to San Francisco.<br />
Miller had come to her attention the previous<br />
year with the receipt at the Overland Monthly<br />
offices of the slim book of verse Joaquin, et al.<br />
A divorcée and transplant from Los Angeles,<br />
Coolbrith, herself a contributor to the journal,<br />
urged editor Bret Harte to review the curious<br />
submission from the backwoods Oregon judge.<br />
When, following the review’s appearance, Miller<br />
himself arrived at the journal’s offices, Coolbrith<br />
kindly took charge of the newcomer. Almost<br />
twenty years later, still single and guardian to her<br />
orphaned niece and nephew, she lived in a modest<br />
house on Webster Street, not far from her<br />
job as Oakland’s—and the state’s—first public<br />
librarian.<br />
Miller owed this attractive colleague more than<br />
one debt. He was en route to greater arenas of<br />
glory when he spent a day with Coolbrith gathering<br />
olive branches in Marin County to make a