San Sebastian
I don’t think Rosemary wanted chilcdren. She did want to get her husband, Victor William Presco – in the movies! Thanks to me – Rosemaries Drem may come true. Coming out of the Westwood theatre, they were mistaken for Jimmy Stewart and Susan Hayward. Through Rosemary, Vic is related to Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, the Getty Family, and, Ian Fleming. My father – will make a great James Bond in my James Bond series!
Victor kept it a secret who his Belmont ancestors were, He did not trust Rosemary, who he accused turned his children against him. He died not knowing about the Stuttmeister-Janke crypt. I posted pictures of it, and they were taken down. I trust you will not find an images of it? Did this HAINTED tomb make it in to the phony Belmont Time Capsul?
One more day……till Halloween!
Happy Carl Janke Days!
John Presco
President: Royal Rosamond Press
5/4/2023
The California Dream Barrel
Meg Whitman and I have three things in common:
- We own the California Barrel Company
- We loathe and fear Donald Trump
- We loathe and fear Ron DeSantis
Meg Whitman was the head of Disney and made this company money, like she did when she was the head of Ebay – and Hewitt Packard. However, he QIBI company – was a huge flop. I tried to warn her it would not work, but, could not contact her personally.
On August 31, 2011, I copyrighted the name California Barrel Co. because the day before I received a genealogy from a cousin that covered the Brodericks and Stuttmeister. I have to guess as to how a company associated with Whitnan, took California Barrel Co. LLC as a name. Planners must have looked at the history of companies in Dogpatch – and assumed no one wanted this name?
In the last two days I have come up with a plan on how to win The Widget Wars that are now a part of the Culture Wars. I am seeking partners and a promoter. How about a attorney. I will be composing a proposal for my new company.
John Presco
President; California Barrel Co.- Belmont Soda Works – Royal Rosamond Press
Meg Whitman, Calling Donald Trump a ‘Demagogue,’ Will Support Hillary Clinton for President
- Aug. 2, 2016
Meg Whitman, a Hewlett Packard executive and Republican fund-raiser, said Tuesday that she would support Hillary Clinton for president and give a “substantial” contribution to her campaign in order to stop Donald J. Trump, whom she berated as a threat to American democracy.
“I will vote for Hillary, I will talk to my Republican friends about helping her, and I will donate to her campaign and try to raise money for her,” Ms. Whitman said in a telephone interview.
Capturing Beauty
by
John Presco
Copyright 2021
With the discovery Jack London lived and worked in Belmont, I have grounded my life’s work, and the creative direction of several generations of my family. who were Belmont Pioneers. And San Francisco Pioneers who helped found Fruit Vale that became a part of Oakland.
Jack London helped found the City of Carmel with the help of George Serling who was a founder of the Bohemian Club. My sister Rosamond had two galleries in Carmel. I bring my grandfather genetic DNA to Belmont where I found this day ‘The Belmont Bohemians’. I bring Ludwig Wittgenstein to Belmont. Like London and Martin, he was a philosopher. Edgar Albee said you got to fight for your bench. I own Belmont in a Literary Way.
John Presco
President: Royal Rosamond Press
Rosamond Crippled In Car Wreck | Rosamond Press
Martin Eden Comes Home
Posted on December 31, 2019 by Royal Rosamond Press
The Second Coming of Martin Eden
by
John Presco
Copyright 2019
The child plays
The toy boat sails across the pond
The work now has just begun
Oh child
Look what you have done.
I could not believe Rosemary had given me her father’s ship lanterns that once hung in the cabin of his sail boat. It was the last tour we would take together of the secret treasures that lie at the bottom of her cedar chest. My mother let me thumb through several issues of Out West magazine while telling me her father was a writer and a poet, but, she never let me read the work of a man I never met, never saw face to face. When my best friend, Bill Arnold, told me Rosemary had shown him the evidence Royal Rosamond was a writer, I was puzzled, and jealous. What gives?
Rosemary had read my amazing poems written when I was twelve and thirteen. It was like I was channeling her father, my grandfather, I desperate for an identity, any identity other then the one her husband had given Mark and I when he woke us up at four in the morning to go work in his produce market in Jack London Square – while it was still dark! I was eight, and my brother, nine. We were on Vic-time. The dreams of our peers were set to the clock at school. There, real children were allowed to dream about becoming an airline pilot, an astronaut, even the President of the United States. In our house, come summer time, the hands of the clock were stolen, along with our childhood, replaced by the whims of a tyrant.
“There’s no free lunch in my family. You boys are going to help support your family. You’re going to work.”
These lanterns were beautiful, made of solid brass, and no sooner did I own them, then I lost them, because I was a homeless vagabond, not caring where my next meal would come from, or, if I had a place to rest my head. Perhaps Rosemary gave me Royal’s lanterns as a peace offering, she feeling guilty for driving me from my home when I was seventeen, I ending up in New York working the graveyard shift at Yale Trucking, and living in the West Village. The stevedores called me the California Kid, and were amazed at what a hard worker I was, how strong I was for being so skinny. I had real endurance. I walked to work through Hell’s Kitchen where I bought my first beer in a bar. I was not a man. I did not have to register for the draft, as yet.
“There’s no free lunch in my country. You boys are going to have to fight and kill for your freedom.”
When I told my father I lived aboard a small boat docked in the Oakland estuary, he had to come see it, for I had stepped on his secret dream, even intercepted it, because Vic was inspired by Jack London. What fatherless young man growing up in Oakland did not entertain the idea they could go down to the waters edge and become a Pirate, make a living stealing other people’s oysters?
Captain Victim stole other people’s houses for a living, along with his best friend, Ernie Quinonis. Vic would brag how her would get drunk with Ernies’s brothers, especially Art, who was the head of the Mexican Mafia, and was in and out of San Quinten. Art made Vic an honary member of his family, and he and Ernie started to go to Puerto Varte to purchase Time Shares. I wondered if they were laundering money, because it was in Puerto Varte that Vic met Consuela his wife to be, that he smuggled over the border in a marijuana shipment.
When Dee-Dee knocked Captain Victime’s eye out with a four pound ashtray, he wore a black patch over one eye. Everyone pointed out how much he looked like the pirate on the Oakland Raider’s helmets. I have titled my father, Darth Vader. But when I saw this name on a letter sent to him by one of Vic’s loyal Bill Collector’s, the fog I was marooned in most of my life, began to lift.
“BILL LARSEN”
When I drank with my father, who was in the Merchant Marines. he would tell me about his tough as nails Captain, who was a Communist. He had shown Vic the ropes, and made a man out of him. He taught my father how to box, and he would win his matches on the deck o his ship as he sailed the Elusians. Vic told me he was made an honorary member of a Eskimo tribe when he gave the chief a knife.
As we stood on the dock looking down on my sailboat, Vic said something vicious and demeaning to Ernie, and I saw Wolf Larsen, with one hand on his hip, and the other holding his pecker as he took another piss on my dream. My boat was not big enough, he hard pressed to believe I was happy living in such cramped quarters. I told him I was very happy, because I lived in a secret boatyard hidden in the Southern Pacific rail yard, and when I felt cramped I would walk to the end of the old wooden pier where one could see the city of San Francisco floating on the horizon. At night, it was an island of gems, whose sparkling lights were temporarily blocked out by a freighter making its way up the estuary, from a foreign land. I had the best view in the whole bay area, and falling asleep, my boat was gently rocked in the wake.
Studying the photos of the interior of my boat, I notice there is a typewriter and a drawing pad. I own the tools to forge my own dream, the compass to chart my own course. There is a image of Jesus, and an antique tea cup I purchased at Goodwill to replicate the fine antiques we grew up with, thanks to the Stuttmiesters. I was a devotee of Meher Baba, and his photo would have been there in place of Jesus, if I had found one. No one knew I was here. I should have never brought my father here, for this inspired him to own two boats, two classic Chris Crafts that he docked in Martinez, that I was not welcome to board, because I had not proven my loyalty to him, not like his namesake, my younger sister Vicki whom he gave keys to, keys to his kingdom, the Kingdom of the Sea.
Above is the cover of Out West magazine, of August 191. That is a drawing of Californian seaweed, called Plocamium Coccineum. It would amuse me to author poems under this alias so I would be even more anonymous, and insignificant, if only to please my father – beyond the grave.
“Just call me Sea………………..Sea Weed!”
Inside we find a poem by R.R.R. in the Index.
The fisherman’s Home
The twilight sad, the sea – a certain waste;
The mainsail taut, to part the jib inclines:
Faster then the breeze our hearts make haste
With fishes from the trolling lines.
Ahead the boat the gloomy island looms
In direful silence, and-to-me-
In vagueness as of aged tombs,
In awesome outline giant mystery.
Behold! Within the lea a light’s bright flash;
Then hidden in the swells-below, above:
The real, infinite and mysteries crash:
Behold a domicile of love
In searching for another dream, other then the dark ship my father would have me stow my gentle heart within, I came to to plumb the phantom heart of a poet I never met. And after three seers told me I had died carrying much guilt that did not belong to me, I recall, the poem I wrote, the first in two years. I had a vision of my father in a row boat, he a young man setting out to sea in search of his dream; and for a little while we were one, and the same.
The Dark Horse is in the ocean
grey-silver manes around the sun
The horn of the eye plays chords out to sea
which sets adrift my father’s boat
of wood and colored scales
to catch the blue fish of the mind.
The setting sun
like a golden ring
He place upon one hand.
And bring home his days catch
Crystal colors upon the sand.
My father never met his father-in-law, who was banished from his home, never his four beautiful daughters – to see. Victor told me he made a loan for Jack London’s daughter, who offered him one of her father’s first edition books – there on a shelf.
“Which book did you chose?” asked I.
“Martin Eden.” was my father’s reply, who chose to believe I never loved him, til the day he die!
Jack London published in Out West, and the Overland Monthly. Royal was a failed writer. Mary Magdalene Rosamond, told him not to come when he was in New York trying to get a book deal with Roy Croy. His close friend, Otto Rayburn, was trying to get Rosy’s L.A. writers to contribute their poems to the Arcadian Magazine. Rosy talked about founding a trout fishing camp for poets and writers. This is before Hemmingway.
When my little sister, Vicki, and her friend, Pip Burns, came to visit me at the Sunshine boat dock at the end of Adeline street, they got cat calls from the crew of the freighter you can just see the prow of. They headed up the gangplank.
“No!” I said and my sister heard my warning, and came back on the dock.
“That’s a foreign ship. If you got raped, there was nothing the law could do without going through a lot of red tape. Why bother with two hippie chicks? All they got to do is go out to sea, and they are free and clear!”
After my fall on the rocks at McClure’s Beach while high on LSD, I would walk down 13th. Street late at night to an empty field next to the Last Chance Saloon. I sat looking at an old dock that burned down. I never found the courage of jump in the Oakland Estuary. I didn’t know who I was anymore.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2011
Overland Monthly
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopediaJump to: navigation, search
Overland Monthly cover, January 1919Overland Monthly was a monthly magazine based in California, United States, and published in the 19th and 20th century.
The magazine’s first issue was in July 1868, and continued until the late 1875. The original publishers, in 1880, started The Californian, which became The Californian and Overland Monthly in October 1882. In January 1883, the effort reverted to The Overland Monthly (starting again with Volume I, number 1). In 1923 the magazine merged with Out West to become Overland Monthly and the Out West magazine, and ended publication in July 1935.
Famous writers, editors, and artists included:
Ambrose Bierce
Alice Cary
Willa Cather
Bret Harte
Ina Coolbrith
Edgar Fawcett
Henry George
John Brayshaw Kaye
Clarence King
Jack London
Josephine Clifford McCracken
Joaquin Miller
John Muir
Hugo Wilhelm Arthur Nahl
Stephen Powers – on California Native Americans.
William Saroyan
Clark Ashton Smith
Charles Warren Stoddard
Mark Twain
Joseph Pomeroy Widney – contributed 8 articles.
The California Barrel Company – Lives!
Posted on February 15, 2019 by Royal Rosamond Press
0674, 5/17/05, 2:30 PM, 8C, 6784×4902 (423+3151), 100%, humbolt, 1/80 s, R49.7, G29.0, B61.2
I just found this in the parallel business world. William Broderick, the husband of Alice Stuttmeister, was the Vice President (a Director) of the California Barrel Company that was located in the Dogpatch, south of San Francisco, and Arcate in Humbolt County where the photograph of Melba and her grandfather is taken. The photo says it is her father, but, it is her grandfather, William Oltman Stuttmeister. I know this because according the Daryl Bulkley, William was very tall, and William Broderick, was short. That is how I remember him.
The President of Cal-Barrel, was Frederick Jacob Koster, who was a member of the Bohemian Club, as was Joaquin Miller, and George Stirling, seen in a traditional tent at the Grove Gathering. When Rosemary would show us the family photos, she would say this about our kin gathered in the redwoods of the Oakland Hills.
“Those are you Bohunk kin.”
Why Rosemary would say this, knowing the Prescos came from Bohemia in 1882, is puzzling. Was she once told they were Bohemian Bohos?
My father and I own the same facial features Will Stuttmeister does, who has a long face.
Jon Presco
http://www.foundsf.org/index.php?title=The_Story_of_Dogpatch
Plans Revealed for Enormous Waterfront Development in Potrero
- by Carlos Olin Montalvo on Sep 25, 2017
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Credit: Bob Ecker
Cleanup is currently underway at the industrial area surrounding the old Potrero Power Plant site and adjacent shoreline. Draft plans were recently created and unveiled for a 29-acre Central Waterfront site at 1201 Illinois Street (bounded by Illinois, the Bay, 22nd and 23rd Streets). This area is being prepared for over 5 million square feet of development rising up to 300 feet in height.
The project is currently funded and led by California Barrel Company, with support from Associate Capital and Meg Whitman, the CEO of HP Enterprise. The overall development would introduce up to 2,700 new housing units, 220 hotel rooms, 600,000 square feet of office space and more than 100,000 square feet of retail (including a new grocery store).
To ensure capacity for these new businesses, new parking will be added for nearly 2,600 cars and 1,700 bikes. There are also plans to add a dedicated bike land down 23rd Street. Interestingly, the plans call to keep the power plant’s old smokestack and its nearby Power Block structure intact.
Credit: SocketSite
The proposed plan also calls for adding six acres of open space and parks. This includes a central Power Station Park, a waterfront park, and promenade connected to San Francisco’s Blue Greenway. Lastly, the project team is debating the construction of a new dock that could provide water access for recreational, commercial, and municipal watercrafts.
Except for one 30-story building on the western side of the site, which is roughly the same height as the existing boiler stack along the bay, the other 18 proposed buildings range from 65 to 180 feet in height. Current zoning for this area limit buildings to 65 feet in high, so expect some amendments at some point.
The Potrero development site is near many other very large mixed-use projects such as the 28-acre Pier 70, 14-acre India Basin, the proposed Golden State Warriors arena, and the Hunters Point Shipyard and Candlestick Point.
The original power plant was previously owned by PG&E and stopped operating in 2011. It was considered one of the dirtiest energy producers in the state of California and its predecessors operated on the site going all the way back to the 1870s.
The ultimate hope is that the power plant property will become an extension of Pier 70, where a dozen historic industrial buildings will be preserved. We’ll keep you posted as we find out more.
http://www.socketsite.com/archives/tag/california-barrel-company
Looking back at Arcata’s barrel company
By THE TIMES-STANDARD |
February 20, 2020 at 2:51 a.m.
The Historical Sites Society of Arcata’s annual lunch will be March 14 at 11:30 a.m. at the Baywood Country Club, 3600 Buttermilk Lane in Arcata. The cost for lunch is $25. RSVP by calling 707-822-4722.
The program will be “The California Barrel Company: Arcata’s Biggest Business.” For decades, the California Barrel Company was the biggest employer in Arcata, according to a Historical Sites Society press release.
Early on, it made barrels for the Spreckles Sugar Company, later expanding to supply containers to China and to provide wire-bound crates for produce and machinery in the United States. The company cut spruce and other trees in several parts of Humboldt County, including Fickle Hill and a portion of what later became Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.
Much of its mill, just northwest of Samoa Boulevard and L Street in Arcata, still stands, recalling the days when it provided the paychecks for 1,142 workers.
There will also be an account of the Koster Mansion, the San Francisco residence of John Koster, CABCO’s founder.
California Barrel Company & Bohemian Grove
Posted on August 31, 2011 by Royal Rosamond Press
William Broderick, the husband of Alice Stuttmeister, was the Vice President of the California Barrel Company that was located in the Dogpatch, south of San Francisco, and Arcate in Humbolt County where the photograph of Melba and her grandfather is taken. The photo says it is her father, but, it is her grandfather, William Oltman Stuttmeister. I know this because according the Daryl Bulkley, William was very tall, and William Broderick, was short. That is how I remember him.
The President of Cal-Barrel, was Frederick Jacob Koster, who was a member of the Bohemian Club, as was Joaquin Miller, and George Stirling, seen in a traditional tent at the Grove Gathering. When Rosemary would show us the family photos, she would say this about our kin gathered in the redwoods of the Oakland Hills.
“Those are you Bohunk kin.”
Why Rosemary would say this, knowing the Prescos came from Bohemia in 1882, is puzzling. Was she once told they were Bohemian Bohos?
My father and I own the same facial features Will Stuttmeister does, who has a long face.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2011
xx
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