The Yankee Tree

This morning has been a miracle. I talked with Drew Benton on the phone and she has a great interest in her Benton genealogy. Her late father did mention John Fremont as being one of his kindred. Christine’s youngest daughter wants to see posts on this blog that I have spent a thousand hours on, not to mention the lost blogs.

Earlier I looked up the name JANKE. It means ‘God is Gracious’ which is the meaning the name name JOHN. It also means ‘Little Jon’ and ‘Yankee’.

Alas, I am home amongst my kindred surnamed JON. Alas, I know it was Carl Janke who sent me on this quest, this Quest of Jon. It is Carl who bid me to restore the Family Tree where he and his wife was buried under – after he tore down his great dance pavilion that was built around it. Some folks hated his dream, and worked to close his German theme park. When they got Southern Pacific to stop running their trains, it was over. He tore everything down. I wondered what kind of tree it was. I considered the California Oak, but, the roof of the pavilion was conical shaped. Then, it hit me.

“My God. It was a giant redwood, even a Sequoia! This is why folks took the train twenty miles to Belmont. They came to sightsee, as well as have a grand picnic. Carl held Sunday School picnics in his cathedral”

I got on google and discovered this was a perfect place for redwoods because of the fog that would pour over the hills from the coast. Then, there is Redwood City a mile away. It was a lumber port. This is why Carl put his portable houses here. Was he trying to stop the felling of these trees by importing timber in the form of pre-fab homes made back East? Is this why William Ralston ‘The man who built San Francisco’ moved to Belmont, he living in one of Carl’s prefabs. Did Bill Ralston, the President of California Bank, exploit these redwoods?

No wonder they wanted to kill Janke’s dream, so they could get at God’s Wood, His Gift, that Carl-Jon shared with love and respect. He was the first Walt Dizney. Consider the Broderick and Stuttmeisters picnicking in the redwoods across the bay in Oakland.

The shameful history of the distruction of God’s Grove has been buried. There was a family fight over Carl’s legacy. Outsiders have claimed they are Carl’s kin because he waa rich and famous – and they might come into something worthwhile. But, Carl authored the Return of Don Juan, and is the Phantom of Grove, the Master of the Maze, who has risen from his grave. The day of the pretenders and pretending, is…….over!

My genealogical tale has come home to it roots. I bid my kindred to put away their differences, make amends with one another, and in spirit, gather under the Carl’s Family Tree.

Jon Presco

Copyright 2012

Janke

Origin: German
Other Spellings: Jahnke
Additional Information: Many people pronounce it with a “J” sound instead of “Y”, rhyming it with Yankee

[Probably from Dutch Janke, nickname of Jan, John.]

Word History: The origin of Yankee has been the subject of much debate, but the most likely source is the Dutch name Janke, meaning “little Jan” or “little John,” a nickname that dates back to the 1680s. Perhaps because it was used as the name of pirates, the name Yankee came to be used as a term of contempt. It was used this way in the 1750s by General James Wolfe, the British general who secured British domination of North America by defeating the French at Quebec. The name may have been applied to New Englanders as an extension of an original use referring to Dutch settlers living along the Hudson River. Whatever the reason, Yankee is first recorded in 1765 as a name for an inhabitant of New England. The first recorded use of the term by the British to refer to Americans in general appears in the 1780s, in a letter by Lord Horatio Nelson, no less. Around the same time it began to be abbreviated to Yank. During the American Revolution, American soldiers adopted this term of derision as a term of national pride. The derisive use nonetheless remained alive and even intensified in the South during the Civil War, when it referred not to all Americans but to those loyal to the Union. Now the term carries less emotionexcept of course for baseball fans.

https://rosamondpress.wordpress.com/2011/08/03/stuttmeister-tomb-in-colma/#

Here is the obituary of William in the San Francisco Call.
JANKE – in this city, Nov. 22, 1902 at his residence 320 Haight St. William August Janke, beloved husband of Cornelia L. Janke, and beloved father of Mrs. W.O. Stuttmeister and Carl and W.E. Janke, a native of Hamburg Germany aged 59 years. Internment, Laurel Hill
“According to Belmont Historical Society records, Dorothea and Carl August Janke sailed around Cape Horn from Hamburg, Germany, in 1848. After landing in San Francisco, they settled in Belmont in 1860″
I found Carl and Dorothea (also and Doretta) are buried at the Union Cemetary in Redwood City.
Carl_August_Janke
Names Listed on the Marker:
Janke, Carl August
Janke, Dorette Catherine
Janke, Mutter Heinrich
Inscription:
– From the 1937 headstone survey –
Carl August Janke, born in Dresden, Germany Oct. 1806, died Belmont, Calif. Sept. 2, 1881 
Dorette Catherine, wife of Carl August Janke, born in Hamburg, Germany, July 21, 1813, died in Belmont, California, Feb 16, 1877
Mutter Heinrich, mother of Dorette Catherine Janke, born in Island of Heligoland, Germany, 1781 died in Belmont, California 1876
NOTE: In 1937 the Daughters of the American Revolution recorded all the headstones.

1864-1910, page 133).
Records from Tombstones in Laurel Hill Cemetery, 1853-1927 – Janke
– Stuttmeister
Mina Maria Janke, daughter of William A, & Cornelia Janke, born
February 2, 1869, died March 1902.
William August Janke, native of Hamburg, Germany, born Dec. 25,
1642, died Nov. 22, 1902, son of Carl August & Dorette Catherine Janke. Frederick William R. Stuttmeister, native of Berlin, Germany, born
1812, died January 29, 1877.
Mrs. Matilda Stuttmeister, wife of Frederick W.R. Stuttmeister, born
1829, died March 17, 1875, native of New York.
Victor Rudolph Stuttmeister, son of Frederick W.R. & Matilda
Stuttmeister, born May 29, 1846, died Jan. 19, 1893, native of New
York.

Belmont park has history of sun, libations, mystery and disasters
October 22, 2001, 12:00 AM By Paul D. Buchanan Daily Journal Feature Writer
The most popular daytime excursion destination on the Peninsula during the late 19th century once occupied the area in Belmont now known as Twin Pines Park. The Belmont Picnic Grounds proved so popular, in fact, that scores of picnickers would travel regularly from San Jose and San Francisco for sun, fresh air and libations.
The size of the crowds and the fondness for libation, however, eventually led to the attraction’s demise.
According to Belmont Historical Society records, Dorothea and Carl August Janke sailed around Cape Horn from Hamburg, Germany, in 1848. After landing in San Francisco, they settled in Belmont in 1860. Industrious and entrepreneurial, Carl Janke purchased land in the vicinity of 6th and Ralston. Janke set out to create a site for leisure activities, modeled after the biergarten in his native Hamburg. His creation became Belmont Park.
Janke’s park offered all the necessary provisions for an outdoor holiday, which included a dance pavilion to accommodate 300 large glassless windows, a conical roof and a dance floor situated around a large spreading tree. The pavilion was also equipped with a bar, an ice cream parlor and a restaurant.
Outside the pavilion, the park provided a carousel for children, footpath bridges crossing the meandering of creeks, and a shooting gallery, with picnic benches and lathe houses situated about the shady grounds. Brass bands performing from bandstands could be heard all around the woodland.
In 1876, Janke opened Belmont Soda Works, located north of Ralston along Old County Road. Janke’s sons, Gus and Charlie, operated the soda works, which offered a variety of sarsaparillas. Within two years, the Soda Works produced more than 1,000 bottles a month — a large percentage of which would be sold at Belmont Park. Between the Soda Works and the several bars situated in and around the park, the liquid refreshment flowed abundantly.
Belmont Park became so popular that Southern Pacific Railroad began reserving exclusive trains for the sojourn to Belmont. Several local organizations and fraternities used the grounds for the celebrations, such as the Germania Rifles, the Apollo Verein, the Blue Bells, the Bunker Hill Association, the Ignatian Literary Society, the Hibernians and the Purple Violets. Races – foot, three-legged, and pony cart – as well as other amusements became commonplace at the gatherings.
The same year the Belmont Soda Works opened, the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (I.O.O.F.) hired 75 Southern Pacific railroad cars to transport 7,000 of its members from San Francisco to Belmont Park. There, 1,000 other members met them there, making the largest picnic ever held at Belmont Park.
With all the alcohol, dancing and overheated bodies gathered in a relatively small place, trouble seemed destined to follow.
In 1880, rival gangs started a small riot at Belmont Park, leaving one person dead and several injured. On another occasion, a young girl named Anne Mooney mysteriously disappeared. Authorities assumed she had been kidnaped, but a suspect was never identified. The fate of Anne Mooney remains a mystery.
By the turn of the century, the weekly treks to Belmont had become something of a nuisance. The drunken tussling would often begin at the on-board bars, continuing and intensifying by the time the passengers reached Belmont. The small communities through which the trains rumbled complained about the outsiders cavorting and otherwise disturbing their peaceful Peninsula neighborhoods. Southern Pacific, tired of the rowdies and the damage inflicted to the railroad cars, finally stopped operating the excursions in 1900.
In her book “Heritage of the Wooded Hills,” Ria Elena MacCrisken writes, “… if the railroad looked down its nose at the San Francisco picnickers, the little town of Belmont welcomed them with open arms. These early-day tourists brought lively times to Belmont and revenue to its stores…” Unfortunately for the Jankes , when the train stopped bringing carloads of revelers, much of Belmont Park’s clientele disappeared.
By 1910, the property had sold to George Center, the director of the Bank of California, who built a home on the property. Later Dr. Norbert Gottbrath opened a sanitarium called “Twin Pines,” which operated until March of 1972. The City of Belmont took over the property, dedicating Twin Pines Park in June of 1973.

“The same year the Belmont Soda Works opened, the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (I.O.O.F.) hired 75 Southern Pacific railroad cars to transport 7,000 of its members from San Francisco to Belmont Park. There, 1,000 other members met them there, making the largest picnic ever held at Belmont Park. With all the alcohol, dancing and overheated bodies gathered in a relatively small place, trouble seemed destined to follow. In 1880, rival gangs started a small riot at Belmont Park, leaving one person dead and several injured.”

“Delegates traveled free, thanks to the generosity of Templar Lodge No. 17, San Francisco: A Templar Lodge member, William Chapman Ralston (president of the California Bank) underwrote the $10,000 pledged by Templar Lodge. Subsequent to the 1869 session, California was host to Supreme Lodge sessions in 1888, 1904, 1915, 1949, 1960 and 1994. In 1871, Past Grand Master of California Odd Fellows, John F. Morse succeeded in establishing the Order in Germany and Switzerland. For the pleasure of members and their families, the Odd Fellows maintained several outdoor resort areas in California, including the Odd Fellows Beach and Park on the Russian River near Healdsburg, CA.
Odd Fellowship was established in California in 1849 with the formation of San Francisco Lodge No. 1 in San Francisco. Odd Fellowship spread throughout the state, particularly to the gold rush towns such as Marysville, Rough and Ready, Grass Valley, Whiskey Flat, Hangtown (a.k.a. Placerville), Comptonville, San Juan, Downieville, etc. The Grand Lodge of California was established in 1853, making it the first Grand Lodge of Odd Fellows established on the Pacific. By 1856, the jurisdiction of California consisted of sixty lodges with a membership of more than two thousand four hundred.
Early in the history of California, the two largest fraternal orders, the Odd Fellows and the Freemasons embarked on a unique cooperative project to benefit the State. The two fraternal orders created the first hospital in the new State of California in 1850 following the great flood of the winter of 1849-1850. It was called the Odd Fellows and Masons Hospital, and admitted and cared for any patient regardless of affiliation, making no distinction between members and non-members. All funds for operating the hospital were to be contributed only by the members of the two fraternal organizations.
In 1869, California hosted the Supreme Lodge session in San Francisco (opening September 20, 1869), an event memorable for two reasons: the Supreme Lodge officers became the first organized body to cross the continent to the Pacific by the newly completed transcontinental Rail Road; and the financial panic known as “Black Friday” occurred during the sessions. Delegates traveled free, thanks to the generosity of Templar Lodge No. 17, San Francisco: A Templar Lodge member, William Chapman Ralston (president of the California Bank) underwrote the $10,000 pledged by Templar Lodge. Subsequent to the 1869 session, California was host to Supreme Lodge sessions in 1888, 1904, 1915, 1949, 1960 and 1994. In 1871, Past Grand Master of California Odd Fellows, John F. Morse succeeded in establishing the Order in Germany and Switzerland. For the pleasure of members and their families, the Odd Fellows maintained several outdoor resort areas in California, including the Odd Fellows Beach and Park on the Russian River near Healdsburg, CA.
The principal tenants held dear by Odd Fellows are friendship, love, and truth (FLT). The principal Odd Fellows emblem is the three links, standing for the virtues of Friendship, Love, and Truth. The duties enjoined upon Odd Fellows are to visit the sick, relieve the distressed, bury the dead and educate the orphan.
The Odd Fellows ritual has gone through three major revisions. When the society was first introduced into the United States, its ritual was a simple catechism – the society met in taverns and its membership was often criticized for drinking in excess. One author speculated that the simple “Making” ceremony first employed may have derived from the “Ancient Order of Bucks,” an older English society. (Red Blood of Odd Fellowship, Curry, pp. 212-216.) Slightly more complex rituals were adopted during the 1820′s, including an early version of the White Degree, the Blue Degree and the Scarlet Degree, to which the Covenant and Remembrance Degrees were added in 1826. One IOOF member, Augustus Mathiot, applied for membership in a Masonic Lodge and was denied membership there because he belonged to that “Bacchanalian Club of Odd Fellows.” Mathiot thereafter successfully campaigned to have his brethren adopt middle class reforms, particularly temperance. (Saloon-keepers and Bartenders became ineligible for membership in the IOOF.) This shift led to a new emphasis on ritual and adoption of a new ritual in 1845. Two prominent members of the committee to rewrite the Odd Fellows ritual were Edwin Hubbell Chapin, Universalist Minister and John McCabe, who was ordained an Episcopalian Minister three years later. The ritual became a dramatic exploration of the ties between father and son in which the initiate dramatically gains the approval of the patriarchs and with it acquires manhood and acceptance into the masculine family of the Lodge.

Gabriele Pasquale Giuseppe Rossetti (28 February 1783, Vasto, Abruzzo – 24 April 1854) was an Italian poet and scholar who emigrated to England.
Born in Vasto in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, the original family of his ancestors was Della Guardia. Since many members of the Della Guardia family had red hair, they were given the nickname Rossetti approximately four generations before Gabriele’s birth.[1] Rossetti’s support for Italian revolutionary nationalism forced him into political exile in 1821.

“Let us go to Cremorne,” he proposed. “There are illuminations, trees, crowds and music – an excellent place in which to have a serious conversation.
    Cremorne, I must tell you, is a pleasure resort with a lake and beautiful gardens, and is immensely popular. This establishment is situated exactly opposite its rival, Vauxhall, on the other side of the river. The company there is very mixed: students and shop girls, soldiers and civilians, dissipated young bloods, paterfamilias with their better halves, schoolboys and children’s nurses; Cremorne welcomes them all. It is not an edifying place, but, as I have said before, Londoners leave their prudery at home.
    Cremorne, like Vauxhall and other such places, offers a variety of attractions. One moves on methodically from the one to the other at the sound of a large bell which a man rings as he leads the way, the crowd trotting along behind him. We trotted with the herd and Lionel continued to evade me.
    “Let us listen to the music,” he suggested. As soon as the quavering melody had dissolved: “Quick, to the theatre, or we won’t get a seat!” he cried. And we had to gallop after the bell-man, be jostled by the crowd, and sit though a farce acted by pierrots, harlequins, policemen, and field-marshals. There were waterfalls, snow-capped mountains and polar bears in white cotton trousers. The actors oozed sentiment, the actresses danced, the chorus bellowed. As a conclusion the devil appeared in pink tights with gilded horns – he went through various transformations and ended up as an attorney. It was all an incomprehensible jumble. As we left the theatre I perseveringly attempted to engage Lionel’s attention, but the cursed bell-ringer drowned my voice and we were carried along by the human stream. We found ourselves in a large room, the centre of which had been roped off. In this enclosure was a small man, alert and thin, rolling niggerish black eyes and waving a pair of hairy hands, each one clasping a small wooden hammer. In front of this repulsive creature was a table covered with bricks of varying sizes placed on a wire frame. The hubbub ceased suddenly  and we were given a real Anglo-Saxon treat. The man hit a brick with one of the hammers and it gave out the sound that you expect from a breaking tile. After this prelude, his little hammers seemed to go mad, flying from brick to brick with incredible rapidity, and from a certain rhythm in his movements one realised that he meant to convey a musical impression. One must really be born and bred in the British Isles to listen patiently to such harmonious strains! A few moments later the bricks were discarded for wooden cylinders and the arid melody began afresh, still drier but more complicated. This concerto of demented nuts dancing in a bag roused the wildest enthusiasm from the audience. Liszt would have had a poor reception had he been billed to play after this prince of British melody.
    “Now,” said Lionel. “Let us have some ginger-beer.”
    In a Chinese bandstand an orchestra struck up a schottische. A minute later the carefully levelled open space was filled with couples and the surrounding tables with onlookers. We took our seats and the waiter uncorked a couple of oval-shaped bottles and poured us out a frothy sparkling liquid which might have been lemonade had it not tasted of pepper and pimentos. This fashionable refreshment sets the roof of your mouth on fire, and while I still gasped for breath, Lionel seized the hand of a young person of doubtful morality and flung himself into a Bacchanalian rendering of the polka. People dance here with their hips and their shoulders, seeming to have little control over their legs. They have no ear for time. Frivolous young things improvise all sorts of indecorous antics. This, however, does not seem in any way to interfere with the staid enjoyment of the numerous middle-aged couples who placidly saunter around, occasionally colliding with one or another of the boisterous merry-makers. Nobody here takes the slightest notice of his neighbour’s doings.
    A final clanging of the bell sent us scurrying off to see the fireworks. As the last rocket vanished, the clock struck twelve; midnight – the hour of crimes and confidences.
Francis Wey, A Frenchman Sees the English in the Fifties, 1935

I’ve been asked to speak on the subject of Cremorne Pleasure Gardens at the Museum of London next week – the background setting to my fourth book The Last Pleasure Garden (pub. 2006). Part of the revamped Victorian section of the museum (opening in May) will feature a recreation of a pleasure garden – hence the renewed interest.

    Pleasure gardens were – for the most part – built on the borders of London in the 17th/18th century (Marylebone and Islington were popular areas) to provide a range of outdoor amusements. The astonishingly long-lived Vauxhall Gardens (1661-1859) is the most famous – but it had a rival in Cremorne Gardens (1836-77) across the river in Chelsea.
     Cremorne had something of a split personality. By day, it was a respectable park / theme-park, with fun-fair shows and amusements (American-style bowling alleys, a maze, a fortune-telling ‘hermit’ … I’ll spare you the full list). By night, however, it was (so moralists claimed) a notorious den of vice. A typical Cremorne bill of fare can be seen on the right of this blog. If you would like to know more, then come to my talk, where we will discuss, in passing, the Beckwith Frogs; the Italian Salamander; De Groot, the Flying Man (& his terrible demise) and the unfortunate end of Cremorne itself.

Coast redwoods occupy a narrow strip of land approximately 750 km (470 mi) in length and 8–75 km (5–47 mi) in width along the Pacific coast of North America; the most southerly grove is in Monterey County, California, and the most northerly groves are in extreme southwestern Oregon. The elevation range is mostly from 30–750 metres (98–2,460 ft) above sea level, occasionally down to 0 and up to 920 m (about 3,000 feet).[6] They usually grow in the mountains where precipitation from the incoming moisture off the ocean is greater. The tallest and oldest trees are found in deep valleys and gullies, where year-round streams can flow, and fog drip is regular. The trees above the fog layer, above about 700 metres (2,300 ft), are shorter and smaller due to the drier, windier, and colder conditions. In addition, tanoak, pine and Douglas-fir often crowd out redwoods at these elevations. Few redwoods grow close to the ocean, due to intense salt spray, sand and wind. Condensation from coastal fog accounts for a considerable part of the trees’ water needs.[7]

Dante’s Inferno: The Private Life of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Poet and Painter (1967) is a feature-length 35mm film directed by Ken Russell and first screened on the BBC on 22 December 1967. It quickly became a staple in cinemas in retrospectives of Russell’s work. It tells of the relationship between the 19th-century artist and poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his model, Elizabeth Siddal.

Contents
 [hide] 
1 Plot
2 Cast
3 Inception
4 Reception
5 Notes
[edit] Plot
The exhumation of Lizzie Siddal’s desiccated body is seen, followed by a shot of Rossetti dancing among the flames of a bonfire of paintings by Reynolds and Gainsborough. A voice-over informs us that Rossetti is a founder of a revolutionary group of artists called the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. The figure of the young Lizzie dressed as Joan of Arc appears above the flames.
Lizzie is seen modelling for Millais’ Ophelia and for a painting of Joan by Rossetti. The voice-over states that she eats little and often throws it up. She and Rossetti spend several years together while he paints and draws her, but she spurns his sexual advances, even slashing him with a needle when he presses himself on her. Rossetti turns to the more accommodating Fanny Cornforth.
Lizzie is introduced to laudanum by Emma Brown to alleviate her stomach pain. She is advised by Christina Rossetti that Dante Gabriel needs a patron. Christina’s voice-over speaks her poem In an Artist’s Studio, about Lizzie. She tells Lizzie she looks ill. Rossetti and Christina visit William Holman Hunt, who is painting The Light of the World. Hunt asks Rossetti to look after his girlfriend Annie Miller while he is away in the Holy Land painting The Scapegoat, but Rossetti has an affair with her and Hunt spurns her on his return. John Ruskin visits Rossetti’s studio and shows an interest in Lizzie’s art.
Rossetti meets Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris in Oxford and encounters the beautiful Jane Burden. They paint the Oxford Union murals. Jane marries Morris and Rossetti marries Lizzie. Lizzie becomes increasingly hysterical due to her laudanum use and Rossetti’s philandering. She dies from an overdose. Rossetti buries his unpublished poems with her.
Some years later, Charles Augustus Howell persuades him to dig the poems up, but Rossetti is haunted by the image of the dead Lizzie and becomes addicted to chloral. Fanny Cornforth rescues him from a suicide attempt, but Rossetti is now increasingly obsessed with Morris’ wife Jane. He sleeps with her when Morris is away in Iceland, but she remains distant. Isolated, with only the loyal Fanny to care for him, Rossetti sinks further into addiction.

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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