FoundSF

Historical Essay

by Stephanie T. Hoppe

Stephanie T. Hoppe is a former staff counsel to the California Coastal Commission and a great-great-granddaughter of Peter Seculovich.

Part 1: “Fiend of Islais Creek”

Reporting on a meeting of the Street Committee of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors in August 1882, the San Francisco Examiner identified a member of the public protesting against obstructions in Islais Creek as the “fiend” of the creek. The following day, the newspaper corrected itself: “Peter Seculovich, alluded to as the fiend of Islais Creek in yesterday’s Examiner was a typographical error, as it should have read the friend of Islais Creek” (Examiner, 8/26 and 27/1882). Quite a few public officials in San Francisco and Sacramento—and quite possibly Seculovich himself—might have thought the first characterization more accurate.

Peter Seculovich’s origins, as for most San Franciscans at the time, lay far from Islais Creek. He began in what is now the independent nation of Montenegro but was then part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, where he was born in May 1827 and christened Pietro Teodoro. His Russian-born father was perhaps a sea captain and mostly absent, his mother belonged to a local land-owning family. Given their Slavic surname and Orthodox Christianity, he likely spoke Serbian as his first language, but was educated in Italian, the language of commerce and culture in the region after centuries of Venetian hegemony.

In 1851, aged 24, he obtained a harbor and coastal pilot’s license from the Austro-Hungarian authorities in Trieste, but departed soon after for the United States. He later reported arriving in San Francisco in 1853, but the earliest documentation of his presence in the city is the 1859 city directory. In 1860, in San Francisco, he was naturalized as a US citizen, his name Americanized to Peter. He worked as a paper hanger and then as bookkeeper for a retail fruit business owned by a fellow Slav. His association with Islais Creek began in 1861, when for $50 he acquired 5 building lots, 25 feet wide but varying in depth, in Bernal Rancho.

The 4,000-acre Rancho Rincon de las Salinas y Potrero Viejo—"Salt Marshes and Old Pasture”—came into the possession of a Mexican army officer, Jose Cornelio Bernal, in a grant from the Mexican government as it secularized the missions. By the 1850s, some of the rancho, including, pertinently for Seculovich, Islais Creek and its surrounding marsh as well as the heights rising above the creek to the west, passed into American hands. The origins of four “gift maps” that divided around 400 acres of present-day Bernal Heights and Islais marshlands into several thousand building lots remain surprisingly mysterious.

Some sources, without documentation, credit the French financier François Louis Alfred Pioche, who in the early 1850s with various partners acquired numerous tracts around the outskirts of the city. Pioche developed, or at least subdivided, Hayes Valley and the Western Addition. By 1856, with the gold rush abating, land values plummeted, and the more distant Bernal Rancho was perhaps lost in the shuffle. If Pioche ever owned it, by 1861 it was owned by two lawyers who had been active in the widespread litigation over rancho titles, Harvey S. Brown and John F. Cobb. Brown, a Forty-Niner, also served as district attorney in several California counties, including San Francisco. Evidencing the scale of their enterprise, Seculovich’s deed, which survives in family papers, is preprinted with the grantors’ names and a general description of Bernal Rancho, leaving space for the details of individual lots and grantees.

1861 Seculovich deed to Bernal Rancho properties.

To visit his new holdings, some three miles south from his downtown dwelling, Seculovich could ride the horsecars on the Mission Plank Road, which, at considerable cost and difficulty cut directly across the marshes to replace the earlier roundabout route over and around hills and canyons. “These were called swamps” a contemporary noted, but were often “subterranean lakes, from forty to eighty feet deep, covered by crust of peat eight or ten feet thick.”

When streets were first made the weight of the sand pressed the peat down, so that the water stood where the surface was dry before. Sometimes the sand broke through, carrying down the peat under it, leaving nothing but water or thin mud near the surface. More than once a contractor had put on enough sand to raise the street to the official grade, and gave notice to the city engineer to inspect the work, but in the lapse of a day between the notice and inspection, the sand had sunk down six or eight feet; and, when at last a permanent bottom had been reached, the heavy sand had crowded under the light peat at the sides of the street and lifted it up eight or ten feet above its original level, in muddy ridges full of hideous cracks. Not only was the peat crowded up by the sand in this way, but it was also pushed sidewise, so that houses and fences built upon it were carried away from their original position and tilted up at singular angles by the upheaval. (Hittell, pp. 432-4)

The builders of the plank road planned a bridge on pilings across 100 yards of open water at what is now Seventh Street,

but that plan had to be abandoned, because to the astonishment and dismay of the contractor, the first pile, forty feet long, at the first blow of the pile-driver sank out of sight; indicating that there was no bottom within forty feet to support a bridge. One pile having disappeared, the contractor hoisted another immediately over the first, and in two blows drove the second one down beyond the reach of the hammer. It was supposed that the second pile had driven the first one under it, and if so, there was no foundation within eighty feet. The project of piling was abandoned, and cribs of logs were laid upon the turf so as to get a wider basis than that offered by piles. The bridge thus made always shook when crossed by heavy teams, and gradually settled till it was in the middle about five feet below the original level. (Hittell, pp. 152-3)

Alternatively, Seculovich could have traveled by water, sailing south along the shore of San Francisco Bay and up Islais Creek on one of the ubiquitous scow-schooners that were the workhorses of transport around the Bay. Typically 40 to 50 feet in length but varying in size and details according to the builder’s habits and buyer’s needs, they carried 50-60 tons of cargo on deck for easy loading and unloading. Their shallow draft gave them access to the countless sloughs and creeks that laced the marshes that ringed the Bay where roads were poor or absent. Often called hay scows, they did deliver the enormous amounts of hay that fed the thousands of horses that powered San Francisco’s economy, but the name derived more from the comic appearance of that volume of hay piled on the deck.

The name “Islais” came from a Native American word for a kind of cherry and evoked the rich environment of plants, animals, fish and shellfish in the interconnected waters, marshes and uplands of San Francisco Bay that supported the original population of Native people. Few of these people remained on the ground by the 1860s, but Islais Creek ran much as it always had, fed by springs in the spine of hills between the Bay and the ocean, curving around the south edge of Bernal Heights, dropping to sea level and running north along the eastern flank of the heights. Near the present-day interchange of Cesar Chavez Street and Interstate 280, at the base of the heights where the creek ran close to the San Bruno road, perched a scattering of noxious industries such as tanneries as well as the city “pesthouse,” built in Gold Rush days to quarantine travelers arriving with smallpox or other diseases thought to be contagious. Here the creek spread some 70 or 80 feet wide and 8 to 10 feet deep, at least at high tide, widening to 200 or 300 feet as it looped another two miles across the marsh to its outlet in San Francisco Bay. Four of Seculovich’s lots (2524, 2525, 2540 and 2541 in Gift Map 4) lay in the marsh at the south end of Franconia Landing. Maps of Bernal Rancho from the period show orderly rows of lots bordering named streets and parks, but no roads or other infrastructure were actually in place, and he would have been hard put to locate his property precisely. Depending on the stage of the tide and time of year, it would have been salt marsh or mudflat or even open water.

1883 Bernal Rancho Seculovich properties.

A scramble up the steep eastern slope of Bernal Heights would take Seculovich to the fifth lot (1598 in Gift Map 3) 400 feet above the marsh. This triangular parcel where present-day Rutledge and Franconia streets meet was indistinguishable from several thousand acres of open pasture punctuated by a few homesteads. Perhaps, seaman that he was, Seculovich envisioned a residence on the heights overlooking maritime enterprises on the creek below. In fact, Lot 1598 was one of the last on Bernal Heights to be developed, with no house built on it until 1973.

Although the Bernal Rancho properties were pivotal to his later life, Seculovich’s interests ranged more widely. In 1863, from another Slavic immigrant in the fruit business, Marco Gusina, he purchased property at 1235 Mission Street, a parcel 32 by 160 feet probably between Eighth and Ninth Streets—street numbers were changed after the 1906 earthquake and fire—where he went to live. Photographs of the area a few years earlier show the Mission Plank Road running up and down over hilly ground past widely spaced homes and farm buildings. Neither Eighth nor Ninth street was yet in existence. A hill at the location of Ninth Street sloped eastward toward Mission Bay and the “lake” the plank road crossed with such difficulty at Seventh Street. Seculovich’s new home, on the bay side of Mission Street, would have been nearby, on solid ground according to contemporary survey maps, but perhaps susceptible to flooding.

Gusina and Seculovich jointly purchased four additional marsh parcels in Bernal Rancho Gift Map 4 (867, 868, 1935, 1936) as well as a larger block, 85 by 150 feet, farther upstream near the bridge where the San Bruno road crossed Islais Creek. In 1869, Seculovich transferred his ownership in these lots to Gusina for $1. Gusina himself came to a sad end:

A Sclavonian named Marco Gusina, who kept a fruit store on Folsom street, near Fifth, was found dead in his store yesterday morning, with a fearful wound in the head and a six-shooting rifle lying alongside him on the floor. Deceased was a resident of this city since the early days of 1850, and had acquired at one time considerable property. He went to Italy about eight years ago, was married there, and returned to San Francisco soon after. Since then he has suffered business reverses and family griefs which partially unsettled his mind. His wife died about a year ago, leaving two children, the eldest of whom soon followed her to the grave. Of the circumstances of Gusina’s death little is known beyond what has been already stated. On Wednesday evening his nephew, John Vuscovich, called at the store and found him considerably intoxicated. He spoke in a rambling way to the young man, telling him, “You had better look out for me.” Vuscovich did not attach much importance to his uncle’s talk, as he had frequently spoken in the same vein lately. Yesterday morning he called again and found the store doors locked—a very unusual circumstance. Some of the neighbors told Vuscovich that they had heard the report of a gun or pistol during the night. The door was then broken open and Gusina was found dead, as stated. He was on the floor, in a sitting position, and leaning back against the wall. An inquest was held last evening by the Coroner, but no new facts were elicited. Dr. Pawlicki, who had been attending physician to Gusina, testified that at times his actions betokened insanity, The verdict of the jury with in accordance with the facts, as stated above. Deceased was aged about fifty years. Notwithstanding his pecuniary losses, he was, at the time of his death, in tolerably good circumstances, being the owner of seventeen lots on Bernal Heights and having some money on deposit in one of the banks. (Chronicle, 2/9/1872)

Seculovich served as executor of Gusina’s estate and ended up owning the properties he had transferred to Gusina in 1869. Other lots he later reported owning in Bernal Rancho that we have no record of his acquiring might also have come from this source.

Seculovich also invested in at least two homestead associations, of which more than 100 were headquartered in San Francisco. They were generally of “great benefit to their founders and original shareholders,” a contemporary noted, “no examples of decided failure having yet occurred among those undertaken in San Francisco” (Langley City Directory, 1870). Bernal Rancho may have been an early precursor of these entities, which enabled the division of the large tracts of land remaining from Spanish and Mexican land grants into more marketable parcels after the state legislature stepped in to regularize their incorporation. Organizers drew up maps dividing hundreds or thousands of acres into residential lots, which they then marketed to artisans and workers. A share purchased for $200 to $300, payable at $10 per month, entitled the buyer to a specific lot. Expenses for the organizers were minimal, limited in most cases to incorporation, mapping and advertising, as the streets, parks and other amenities portrayed on paper—and emphasized by salesmen—were never actually built. Nor was there provision for water, sewer or other infrastructure. After a few years, the directors wrapped up the association and unsold lots reverted to the original landowner, who often ended up with a tidy sum as well as much of his original landholdings. But some lots were built upon, and some people of modest means attained homeownership.

In 1869, Seculovich bought at least one share in the Castle Tract homestead association in San Mateo County near an existing station on the San Jose railroad that already supported a few businesses, which improved the prospects for actual development. A total of 105 lots measuring 100 by 100 feet were offered at $250 each, payable at $10 per month free of interest. Within three months Seculovich became a trustee. In summer 1871, distribution of assets was advertised and the association wound up that fall. Whether he was merely a token smallholder or a serious participant with a possibility of acquiring significant wealth, the experience seems to have whetted his appetite for real estate.

He next purchased a share in the Sacramento Farm Homestead Association, an enterprise that had already earned caustic mention in the San Francisco Chronicle: “The homestead business is being slightly overdone and is rapidly bending toward something in the nature of humbug—or even worse.” The officers of this association included prominent and wealthy men such as Leland Stanford, former governor of California and president of the Central Pacific Railroad, and the mayor of Sacramento. With “such great men” as officers,

there can, of course, be no humbug or swindle about the affair, although we have been informed that one portion of said farm is a long way under water half the year, and another considerable portion bears a striking resemblance to the most picturesque portions of the desert of Sahara. (Sacramento Bee, quoted in San Francisco Chronicle, 4/24/1869)

Featuring large agricultural parcels, the Sacramento Farm Homestead Association covered thousands of acres in the Central Valley south of Sacramento. Seculovich seems to have decided it was, after all, not a promising prospect for him. He ceased paying his monthly $10 installments and forfeited his share.

Later in the 1860s, Seculovich bought or built a house on a 60-by-200-foot parcel at 3241 Mission Street where Twenty-Ninth and Valencia streets intersect, just south of Fair Avenue, then a distinctly rural area, but somewhat more developed than Bernal Heights due to horsecar service on Mission Street. Perhaps influenced by his time in the fruit business, he filled his yard with fruit trees and roses.

In 1869, he reported his occupation as real estate, but it is difficult to assess the extent of his business. A handful of tattered deeds among surviving family papers evidence some of his transactions. Others appear in newspaper reports of conveyances, but we know these are not the full number of parcels he bought or sold as sales are reported of properties we have no record of his acquiring. Only rarely did the newspaper report of a conveyance include the price paid. By this time, he owned at least 30 building lots in Bernal Rancho, 10 in different parts of the marsh adjacent to Islais Creek, the rest scattered about Bernal Heights individually or in small blocks. None of them was built on or producing income, but he may have earned commissions on sales for other persons that do not show up in records available to us. Whatever his income from real estate, he seems to have decided it was not enough, as beginning in 1871, he worked as a saw filer, saw repairer and locksmith, initially as employee but later as proprietor of Munson’s Saw Shop at 912 Market Street, moving to 5 Powell Street in 1874, then in 1877 to 504 Stevenson. An account book surviving from 1873-74 reports a dozen or so transactions per day totaling $3 to $6, six days a week. For most of the transactions, a customer name is listed, with the notation “HS” or, more rarely, “WS”—perhaps referring to different categories of saws—in either case 25 cents or multiples of 25 cents. Other transactions included keys for 10 to 40 cents each; “handle put in,” 25 cents; “grinding,” 25 cents; “2 trunk locks & keys,” $1 and “drilling a bolt hole,” 25 cents. At this time, a skilled tradesman might earn $3 to $4 a day, working 10-hour days, six days a week.

In the mid-to-late 1860s, then in his 40s. Seculovich married a woman less than half his age. We know only her first name, Marietta; her age, 20 in 1869; and her birthplace, Austria, which is to say, the Austrian empire, which at the time included most of the Balkans. We do not know when or how she came to the United States. Young as she was, it seems unlikely she would have made the journey alone. From 1864 to 1868, Seculovich is missing from the city directories, and it is not impossible that in those years, like Gusina, he traveled to his original homeland in search of a wife. On June 2, 1870, a daughter was born to the couple, whom they named Mary Ellen Eugenie—sometimes spelled Eugenia—and generally called Jennie. Despite this presumably welcome occasion, both the marriage and Marietta’s health soon deteriorated. In 1874, Seculovich divorced her on grounds of adultery, and later that year, after bearing a child Seculovich claimed was not his, Marietta died of what was reported as consumption, probably tuberculosis (Chronicle, 9/17/1974; Morning Call, 12/20/1874).

Jennie was four years old when her mother died, and like many “half-orphans” at the time, she was at least temporarily cared for in an orphanage. Her own daughter years later spoke of Jennie having gone to “live with the nuns,” which would have been the Catholic Mount St. Joseph Orphan Asylum on Silver Terrace in Bayview, not far from the family’s Mission Street residence. The institution included “a farm of over fifty acres, where a school has been established and a branch institution for very young children, called St. Joseph's Infant Asylum. These Asylums are in charge of the Sisters of Charity, who are performing a noble service in the life-work they have chosen” (Lloyd, p. 435). Starting from several existing cottages, the sisters added several imposing two- and three-story brick buildings that eventually housed hundreds of children. Rebuilt after a fire in 1910, the institution endured until the 1970s, when it was replaced with housing.

Seculovich maintained close ties with Jennie, and at least by 1880, when she was 10 years old, she was living with her father and attending one of the 15 public grammar schools in the city, the Bush Street Cosmopolitan School, located on Bush Street near the corner of Stockton Street in a three-story wooden building containing 12 spacious class rooms. This downtown location was farther from Jennie’s home than several other schools, but perhaps convenient to Seculovich’s locksmith business. We can picture the two together on the three-mile streetcar journey from their home. Initially they rode in horse-drawn cars, These were replaced in 1883 with cable cars. A car barn with housing for the cable equipment stood across Mission Street from their home. At home, Jennie and her father likely spoke a combination of Italian and English with perhaps some Serbian, which might have been her mother’s favored language. The nuns at the orphanage would have required Jennie to speak regulation English. The Cosmopolitan School offered instruction in French and German. Seculovich himself spoke and wrote idiomatic English by this time, although all his life retained a noticeable accent.

All sources for this 10-part article appear at end of Part 10.

Continue reading Part 2