Some Memories of Daddy - Jack London

Usually, after reaching the city, Daddy would take us to a restaurant for lunch. But sometimes it was a Sea Food Palace. (There was no Fisherman's Wharf then), or sometimes an Italian or Chinese eating place. After lunch would often come several rides on different cable cars, followed by a long trolley ride to the Beach. Sometimes we would skip lunch downtown and go to the Cliff House way out by the ocean. Many times I would forget to eat so engrossed in watching the seals climb up on the Seal rocks or fight with other seals lying there and then flop back into the Pacific.

After lunch we would walk down the hill to the beach. There was a much bigger, more sophisticated playground there than the one at Idora Park. It was on the far side of the wide, many - rutted dirt road that separated it from the ocean and the sand. (Quite different from the multi - lane highway there today.) Daddy and I enjoyed all the concessions, including the famous "Shoot the Chutes." This was a very large, elaborate roller coaster which ended by "skipping across" a pool of water, much as a stone is "skipped" over water. Joan never joined us on this or many of the other things, but she did like the "Tunnel of Love."

As always when we were with Daddy, the days seemed much shorter than usual. Often, too, the fog came rolling in and it was cold. So we would leave reluctantly and ride the trolley back downtown. If we had missed the cable car rides earlier, we would take them then.

The beginning of the end of our day with Daddy came with the ferry and train ride back to Oakland. Then, all to soon, it was good bye to Daddy - till next time.

It was impossible to forget Daddy between his visits. There were always letters. Joan and I had been writing to him since we had learned to write. He asked us to. He wanted to keep in touch with us as best he could. The first letters were short and certainly not interesting, but we soon learned to write longer ones and to enjoy doing them. In the beginning, I often received one of my letters back again. (This very rarely happend to Joan.) In the letter there would be one or more words circled in blue pencil. In the accompaning letter Daddy would explain that either the word was misspelled or else was not one that clearly expressed what I had wanted to say. He would write: do not ask your mother how to spell the word. Look it up in the dictionary. Think about the word you want to use, then look it up in the dictionary to be sure it says just what you want it to. Rewrite the letter and send it back to me. And don't misspell that word again. There were quite a few of these blue-circle letters at first, but eventually I learned. It was a valuable lesson, even if I can't spell today and have to refer often to the dictionary.

Joan began high school, which meant going to Oakland, for we were living in Piedmont then. I, also, had to go to Oakland because the only school on Piedmont at that time, Havens School, did not go past the sixth grade. (Today there is a kindergarten, three elementary or grammar schools, junior high and a senior high there.)

Daddy said he would pay for our lunches and car fare-if we figured it out without any help. That would be easy I thought. Ten cents a day for car fare, twenty-five cents for lunch, thirty-five cents a day for every school day in the month. I very seldom came out correctly. Daddy, of course, would go over my figures and if it was too high he would send the check for the correct amount. If it was too low, he would send the check for the amount I had figured; and I would have twenty-cent lunches to make out. He never scolded or said I was wrong. I guess it was a good way to teach, though I'm not very good at "figures" today.

As I said, Daddy never scolded or nagged, he was never mean or nasty about our mistakes. He would call them to our attention, tell us how to correct them and let us learn by experience.

Twice a year there would come to the house a huge packing case addressed to Joan and me. It was not a surprise. We knew what was inside and could hardly wait for the top to be pried off so we could see the inside layer after layer of books, books, books. Daddy would send a list of books to the biggest book store in San Francisco and say to send the books to Joan and Bess London, 519 31st Street, Oakland. The clerk was also to send an equal number of books of his own choosing, suitable to our respective ages. (Daddy told us he always added a couple of years to our real ages because he didn't want us to read books that were too young.)

Such richness! Such reading! Although Joan and I frequently wished he had picked out all the books. Far too often those the clerk had chosen were what we called "childish". I still have and treasure most of those books. They never grow old. Some I reread more often than others such as Alice in Wonderland, Alice through the Looking Glass, Classic Myths and Legendary Heroes, Arabian and Anderson's Fair Tales, Stikeen, Dog of Flanders, Swiss Family Robinson, and, there are so many I simply can't name them all.

I don't recall that Daddy ever gave us advice-on reading or anything else. The most he would do would be to "suggest". He might say on one of his visits: "I wonder if you are not old enough now to read---" some book or other. In this way we were encouraged to change, to enlarge the scope of our reading habits from merely stories to history, biology, travel, and so on. Thus the whole world of books was made open to us, and we certainly took advantage of that gift. That is why today I read just about everything history, anthropology, fiction, science (if not too technical), music mystery and detective fiction, the Occult, ESP, science fiction, practically anything that is printed.

I'll never forget the lunches we had with Daddy at the Saddle Rock restaurant in Oakland. There were plenty of good restaurants here, but they were Family restaurants or French, Italian or Chinese. The Saddle Rock was unique; it was exclusive; it was the place to dine. Women were not admitted at lunch time, only at night and must be with an escort. Children were never allowed at any time. Nevertheless, my sister and I enjoyed many delightfull meals there with Daddy.

It was such fun to go there. We would look up and down the sidewalk., huddle under Daddy's coat and dart in the entrance. Once inside we were smuggled upstairs when there were private booths. Not even for Daddy would children be permitted in the main dining room. Anyhow, we preferred to be upstairs where we could look over the railing at the crowded tables below. Joan and I would watch the local VIP's as they ate, drank, smoked and talked. (I am afraid that it was a strictly "white collar" restaurant.) No matter how well known these men were. I always considered Daddy was the most important of them all. I still think so.

Seems to me I have told you mostly about the time we ate with Daddy, from popcorn to steaks. But these are a young girls memories, and we always had things to eat when with Daddy that were unheard of or not even allowed in our everyday life. Here I want to stress one thing very strongly. Never did Daddy visit us with the smell of liquor on his breath. Never did he order anything to drink except coffee when he was with us. Once, after his death, Daddy's friend George Sterling told us that Daddy had said to him, "I will never write a word that might embarass my daughters. Nor will I ever be with them with liquor on my breath." And he never did.

It was always wonderful and lots of fun to go places with Daddy. He seemed to enjoy wherever we went or whatever we did as much as Joan and I did. Unlike some adults, Daddy never "talked down" to us. He always was just the same age as we were, whether we were five or seven, or thirteen and fifteen. He was interested in everything we did. He asked endless questions about our school life and play life: did we like dancing shcool and Sunday school. No part of our day-to-day existence lacked interest for him. This I have since decided, was to get us used to talking, to learn how to express ourselves clearly and interestingly.

Looking back, I can catch glimpses of the days Joan and I spent with our father. I see lunches at the Saddle Rock, pink lemonade and popcorn at Idora Park, the seals fighting and barking at Seal Rocks, the sea gulls wheeling and uttering shrill cries as we threw bread to them, holding on to our hats with one hand and to Daddy with the other as a cable car swooped up and down the San Francisco hills.

Unfortunately there are only a few memories to recall, but I treasure every one."