Flag Day....June 14, 2024....Jack and Bob Hansen Parade the Red White and Blue

   Jack and Robley (Bob) Hansen 

Photograph from Vere Hansen's Album

Taken around the summer of 1910 in Grass Valley, California. 

    It is Flag Day today!  On this day 246 years ago Congress created our national flag by commemorating Betsy Ross' creation of the Star Spangled Banner.  It is just too windy at my house to fly my Stars and Stripes this afternoon so I will instead share this little photograph from a page in my great grandmother's photo album.  My great uncles Jack and Bob were out in the yard that day proudly parading the Red White and Blue when either John or Vere Hansen took their pictures. It may have been taken on July 4th.  I can imagine Vere lovingly gluing the picture in with the others as she created this page in her album.  

 Jack and Bob at various ages.  Uncle Bob's baby pictures are in the middle.  There is an unknown little friend or cousin with Uncle Jack in the pictures on the top and bottom right hand of the page.  

     How do you celebrate Flag Day? 

Relationship Reference:  Me->Margaret Hansen Boothby->Harold Hansen (older brothers Jack and Bob)->John and Vere Burrows Hansen

    

A Love Story and Two Stories About a Very Bad Monkey (Hansen)

Clara Vere Burrows Grass Valley High School Graduation 1900

John Hartwig Hansen taken in Norway  as a young man

    John Hartwig Hansen and Clara Vere Burrows were married in Grass Valley, California the third day of July, 1904.  Clara was 22 years old, and John was 39 (the certificate of marriage states he was 37).  It was said to be a love match.  

   There was a 17 year difference in age.  John's occupation was listed as "laundry".  He was an adventurous man who liked sailing and seeing the world.  But somehow, Clara and John met, fell in love, convinced Clara's family that this marriage would  work out, and married the day before the Fourth of July.  John Hartwig was ready to settle down for the time being.   They had four children between 1905 and 1910.  Their first born daughter Hulda died at only thirteen days of age from pneumonia. Her death was still talked about by my grandfather Harold Hansen, so her memory had been kept alive by her parents well after she had died. Jack was born  October 6 of 1906, Robley (Bob) was born January 23 of 1909 and Harold was born October 11 of 1910.  

 

 

    But, John H. was not yet ready to stay in one place.  He was working as a miner in Grass Valley in 1910.  An opportunity came up to take a job as a manager at a mine in El Salvador.  I'm sure that sounded like a new adventure to him, because on June 25, 1910 he boarded a steamship bound from San Francisco for the Central American port of La Union in the Republic of Salvador.  He had accepted a position with the Pullinger and Butters Co. which operated mines in Central America.  He left his wife and  two small boys in Oakland with her mother  Elizabeth Jane Hurd Burrows.  Clara was pregnant with my grandfather, and he was born in Oakland while John was in Central America.  John wanted him to be named Salvador, but thankfully he was already given the name Harald (Harold) Lloyd Hansen.  

     Clara decided to join her husband and bring their oldest son Jack with her.  They arrived in early July of 1912.  John wrote a memoir of his time working at the mines which Gay Hansen Sandberg typed up many years ago; another unique family treasure to take us into the past.   In it he tells of his many adventures from almost drowning in a raging river during a rain storm to being given death threats by the natives.  When you read his stories you get the feel of his ability as a story teller.  He writes with  lots of description, emotion and a subtle sense of humor.  You can almost hear him chuckling in the background. Today I will share two related stories.  One is the incident that my Great Grandfather John had with the monkey that lived in the mango tree, and  the other is the story of my Great Grandmother Clara and the monkey that lived in the mango tree. It was the same monkey.  What a bad monkey!

                                             Chapter 9 "The Devil Pays Me a Visit" 

 " Here is another incident which happened during the electrical storm, a little incident I likewise shall not forget.

    With the darkness of the night, as if riding on an invisible steed, an electrical storm unleashed all of its fury.  The darkened heavens opened and poured down torrential streams of water which rushed down every incline. 

Lightening drew its fiery hieroglyphics on the black sky and the very earth trembled and shuddered under the impacts of electric bolts.

  Through this deluge I hastily ran into my cabin.  And I ran!  Just as I reached the porch of my cabin, I had a fleeting impression of seeing something swing around the corner of the porch.  However, I was in too great a hurry to reach the dry shelter to stop and investigate closer. 

  In a flash I opened the door of my cabin and hastily closed it behind me. I shook the water from my clothes and seated myself in a pleasant anticipation of enjoyment.  I had just received a letter from my  wife in the United States.   But I didn't even open the letter.  A brilliant green flash of lightning illuminated the scene about me.  Simultaneously  with this, one of the shutters began to shake violently, in jerky movements.  Through the sounds of a howling storm I thought I heard a strange inhuman cry.  I leaped to my feet.  I could feel the hair on the back of my neck rising--the chill ran down my spine.  I reached for my gun and leaped onto the porch.  Peering into the stormy elements as hard as I could, I wasn't able to see anything. 

  I returned to the cabin with the conclusion that a violent gust of wind had forced the branches of the mango tree to swish its limbs against the shutter of my cabin.  I seated myself once more and opened the letter.  I hadn't read more than a few lines when the door at the other side of the cabin shook as if under the impact of violent blows.  It shook and creaked in such a way that I concluded somebody must have been holding it by the door handle. 

  Quickly I turned off the lights in the cabin and grabbing my gun, I rushed outside once more.  There was nothing--nothing but lightning and thunder and torrents of rain. I read my letter, lit myself a cigar, enjoying its fragrant aroma.  I watched the blue smoke from my cigar moving in lazy spirals, and rising toward the ceiling, thinking of the comfort of my place, thinking of....

  A loud crash from the direction of the front porch brought me to my feet in a flash.  Upon examining the porch I found empty dishes scattered all about.  I was getting fed up with these mysterious noises and happenings which I couldn't explain.  But I was going to explain them.  I made up my mind right then. I switched off the lights in my cabin once more and poised myself on the porch.  Gun in hand, I waited in anticipation of whatever was to come.  For a minute or so I even thought that my imagination was playing tricks on my senses.  But that thought was corrected almost immediately.  The shutter in the window, the nearest one to the porch, shook under the impact of some object.  It rattled and shook repeatedly.  

  

  "What the devil...".  This time really mad and furious, I took the gun and heedless of any danger I leaped outside.  No sooner had I reached the porch when something struck me on the back of my head and took hold of my shoulders.  The hairy arms encircled my throat.  I could feel the stringy hair against my cheek.  The jerk almost knocked me off the porch.  I reached back and got hold of the devilish creature or whatever it happened to be.  An inhuman cry rang through the night and mixed with the rumble of thunder.  With a mighty heave I jerked the creature over my head and flung it on the floor of the porch.  Then lightening flashed brilliantly and illuminated the night.  Well blow me...it was a monkey.  I grabbed it and heaved it towards the Mango tree.  I was glad that it was a monkey after all.  For a minute or so I thought that I was going insane or that some devils were in pursuit of me.  Or maybe both. 

  At lunch the next day I related my previous night's experience to the foreman.  He roared with laughter, while listening.  After I had finished telling him the story, he said, 'Didn't you know that was Mr. Gartwaite's pet monkey? Since he died there had been no one to feed him.  He is always roaming around at night.  He sleeps most of the day'. 

  About a week ago, I was late coming home. So the cook took my dinner down to the cabin, but since I had eaten my dinner down at the Plaza, I left it untouched and went to sleep.  I was awakened by the sudden crash of a dish and I turned on the light just in time to see the monkey making his getaway through the open window."   

                                                                 *************************************************************************************************

 

  Clara and Jack arrived right before the 4th of July in 1912, stayed for Halloween and Christmas and then left with John in March of 1913.  John writes of passing the time with parties, dances, receptions and moonlight rides through the jungles. Clara grew a flower garden from seeds  and John gave her the title of "Central American Botanist".   She  took daily mule back rides with Mr. and Mrs. Perry and Mrs. Valesca who were staying at the hacienda annex with the Hansens.  It was during an afternoon gathering of the ladies from the Plaza that another incident with the monkey took place.....

   "When the ladies from the Plaza came up to spend the afternoon with my wife, Mrs. Perry would be sure to be down in a few minutes.  The rest of  the ladies used to say, 'She just came and butted in, thinking she was missing something.'  It was at one of these gatherings that our well-known monkey decided to take the place of Mrs. Perry and butt into the party in her place.  And did he butt in plenty. 

   While riding up from the mine, I always rode underneath the mango trees. There, never failing, the monkey would greet me by his chatter. This time, however, there was only an empty chain and strap, but no monkey.  I dismounted and with a slap on the mule's hind quarters, I sent him off to the barn.  Carefully I looked around.  But there was no monkey anywhere to be seen.  Then my wife espied me from the porch.   With her hands she beckoned to me to hasten to the house. 

  'What's the matter, Clara?' I asked, puzzled by all this.  Instead of giving me any answer, she just opened the door to the dining room. The room through which a hurricane must have passed, raging in all its fury.  There were blood stains, monkey hair, as I rightly judged, mixed up with mustard, catsup and sugar.  Sprinkled all over this were broken pieces of glassware and dished, strewn about in wild profussion.  There were pieces of battered cake and other food on the floor, on the wall, and some of that mess was even clinging to the ceiling.  I stood amazed at this complete picture of destruction, visualizing in my mind just what preceded before this room was thrown into such a terrific state of utter disorder.  And as the scene cleared before my eyes, I couldn't help but laugh.  Then my wife told me just what had happened. 

  'We had just sat down for our afternoon tea,' she began, 'and Balcazar, the cook, came in with a nice layer cake.  It was at this moment that a hairy arm of the monkey managed to open the screen door from the top and then that horrid monkey swung himself right on the lower end of the table, where were the bottles of catsup, mustard and different sauces.  He picked them up and hurled them on the glazed floor with such a force that they broke and the pieces of glass flew over the room.  You can be sure that by this time all of us were out of danger, hiding behind the paneled glass door.  Balcazar was the first one to slam that door behind himself.  You can see from this what a commotion there was going on around. ' 

  As my wife paused in her story to catch her breath, I cast my eyes over the haphazard, scattered and overturned chairs.  'There must have been some rush to get out of here', I commented.

  'Well, when we got behind the door', my wife continued, 'Mrs. Minton and I looked through the glass door and watched that monkey.  He picked up the teacups and saucers and smashed them against the walls and ceiling.  He tried to take a drink of tea, but evidently burnt his tongue while doing so.  Infuriated by the pain, he hurled about everything within his reach.    Then the monkey spotted the layer cake.  We couldn't help but laugh when he began to eat it, piece by piece. It must have tasted good to him, because he kept constantly glancing about the room, as if afraid somebody would come in and take the cake away from him.  At this time, Entimo appeared with a lariat in his hand.  He walked up to the monkey, but that beast wasn't about to be captured without a struggle.  The monkey knew that Entimo was afraid of him because he had had several encounters with him before.  It took him nearly half and hour before he managed to subdue the monkey and securely tie him with the rope.  However, before he admitted the defeat, the old monkey bit Entimo several times on the leg.'

  I inquired about the ladies who were present when the battle of dishes began.  'Oh, they haven't gotten over the shock, yet,' explained my wife.  'They returned to their rooms and are lying down.  There were four of them:  Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Forbes, Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Minton.'  Glancing about the room once more, taking in that picture of complete destruction, I couldn't help but feel sympathy for those good ladies.  

  'By the way, where is the monkey now?' I asked my wife.  'He is in the barn in a big box.  Entimo told me that you will have to get him out,' she replied.  'So he is in the brig, eh?  I'll go and get him out of there.'

  I walked over to the barn where I found Entimo, dressing the wounds on his leg and his hands.  As he saw me come in, he paused and said, 'Maestro, he is a bad monkey.'   

.....I wondered many times how that monkey got loose from his chain.  Probably somebody who wanted to play a joke on the women, freed him.  But just how it happened, remains an unsolved mystery." 

**************************************************************************************************

Clara Vere Hansen 1911 before joining John in El Salvador. 

  

  

Jack, Robley and Harold Hansen 1915 two years after Jack's adventure with his parents in El Salvador. 

    John Hartwig Hansen would go on to continue his work as a mine superintendent  in Nicaragua and Guatemala in 1921. I'm not sure how long he stayed, but he must have earned a nice paycheck as he invested in several different mine adventures as well as the Gilmore Airship Company in Grass Valley.   He and Clara raised their boys on the ranch by the Idaho-Maryland mine.  All three boys served in WWII, following the footsteps of their patriotic father.  John passed away April 10, 1945 at the age of 80.  After his death, Clara would heat a pillow every night before she went to bed, and put it up against her back so she could go to sleep, because he was not there anymore to keep her warm at night.  

The Life Story of Harold Hansen (continued) (Hansen)

Vere Hansen with sons Jack (l), Bob (r) and Harold (top) about 1911

  I am continuing the story of my grandfather, Harold Hansen, compiled from his own writings and audio cassettes that he recorded in 1991.  This was transcribed and typed out  by my Auntie Claire.  Several posts earlier, I shared the part of his story which described the trip to Norway he took as a young man. This part starts at the beginning....

                                                     My Life's Story--by Harold Lloyd Hansen
  "The Beginning---for a preface to my story, let me say that as the years have rolled on, I am convinced that the Lord deemed that I was to be a special person with a special job to do, and He has been watching that I do it, and as my story unfolds you will understand my reasoning and that He has guided me through thick and thin, and has brought me safely so far, and will be with me until the end.  So much for the preface, now let the accounting of my life begin.

  On 11 October 1910 at 4:00 AM, I was ushered in upon this planet.  My mother, Clara Vere Burrows Hansen, was staying with her mother Elizabeth Burrows, in a house owned by a Mrs. Lloyd on East 28th St., Oakland, CA.  My father, John H. Hansen, was in San Salvador with a group of miners, hoping to find gold.  A cable-gram came from Dad advising that I be named Salvadore in respect for that country.  Fortunately for me the cable came to late, as I had already been named Harold Lloyd Hansen, which had duly been recorded.  The Harold was a mispelled old Norwegian name (Harald). 

  I was the third son born to my parents.  My brothers were Jack Klemments and Robley Evans Hansen.  I was somewhat frail and susceptible to bronchial troubles.  So, the doctor advised my mother to take me to a warmer climate.  So, she took my brothers and I back to Grass Valley when I was about 18 months old to a house at 418 W. Main Street. 

  Our house was near the top of Main Street Hill on the north side.  That was the focal point to my early boyhood, until four and a half years old.  That was where I had an established trail that led where food and fancy dictated--a second breakfast across the street, a hot dog at the butcher shop, a cookie at the bakery, then back up the hill to visit neighbors before returning home for lunch.  After lunch, I usually associated with hillside young folks. 

  One evening, I was seized with a excruciating pain in my stomach that made me lie on the couch screaming and crying with pain.  A young doctor, who had been next door on a maternity case, heard my cries.  He hopped over the fence, took a look at me and bundled me off to the Jones Memorial Hospital.  He operated to remove my appendix, which was inflamed and infected.  Thank the Lord that I was spared then.  When I was recuperating from the operation I visited other patients and cheered them with singing "It's a Long Way to Tipperary".  I received $3.29 in tips which Mother had me deposit in an account at Nevada County Bank. 

This is a postcard of the Jones Memorial Hospital in 1910.  The hospital opened in 1907 and closed in 1968.  It is located at 328 S. Church Street, Grass Valley, Ca and is now the Swan Levine House Bed and Breakfast. 

    At the beginning of 1916, my father acquired a 5 acre ranch near the Idaho-Maryland mine, near the Nevada County Narrow Gauge Railway tracks.  In March that year, he moved our family from Main St. amidst a blinding snowstorm.  Our possessions were loaded into a couple of freight wagons, and the family members climbed aboard an express wagon with side blinds drawn to escape the blizzard conditions.  The draft horses had a hard time making their way out E. Main St. to the Idaho-Maryland Rd. 

  Our 5 acre spread surrounded by wire fence was home for 20 years.  The large house had a well, woodshed, utility shop, and a cemented cellar.  There was a screened back porch that was used to land the produce from our self-sufficient acreage.  Out in front a walk way led from the front porch to the gate that opened to the road.  The road led to the mine in one direction, and in the other it almost divided the ranch until it took the hillside and disappeared toward the county road.  

  The house was shaded with a combination of locust and walnut trees.  Roses climbed trellises against the sides and flowers adorned the garden.  Green grass covered the level areas that accompanied the house and adjoining dwellings.  Border gardens on the eastern and western sides featured mostly roses; the old fashioned varieties. 

  In an easterly direction, there was a chicken coop, fenced tightly from skunks and other chicken loving wild animals that came down from the backwoods during the night.  Next to that was the cow barn, with its adjoining hayloft and barnyard.  We kept 2 milking cows, a heifer, and a calf stall.  These cows gave us fresh milk, cream, butter and supplied extra milk for our dairy route.  Us boys delivered to customers on the way to school and picked up bottles on the way home.  Sometimes we delivered eggs, produce and cut flowers, too.  Besides the dairy, our family had several fruit trees, berries and vegetables.  Hay and oats for the cows grew as ground cover under our orchard. There was the remains of a bottling works where we found remains of clay bottles.

  The house had a spacious front porch with a place for sleeping cots, where I usually stayed with the dog, a border collie that helped round up the cows at milking time.  The front door opened to a long hallway.  On one side was my parents front bedroom, on the other the front parlor.  Behind these were the other bedrooms and dining room off the kitchen. 

  After we moved to the ranch, I started school.  I went to Washington School for 1st and 2nd grades.  Then I went to Lincoln School for 4th grade and came back to Washington.  There I had a teacher Miss Alice Dillinger.  Once I was playing ball with the other boys when the ball went through the window.  She had us all stay after school and asked who was responsible.  I admitted to the deed.  Another time a boy called me "Heine".   That made me mad and I beat him up.  That got me in real trouble with Miss Dillinger.  Also, the nickname stuck with me all my life.  But, I always hated it. 

  

  After I finished grammar school, I attended Grass Valley High School.  I played on the school ball teams, especially football, basketball, baseball.  I had a knee injury that spoiled my ambition to go to Annapolis.  that made me so depressed that I barely graduated in 1928 (18 years). I couldn't get into Berkeley either."  

Harold Hansen's Graduation picture 1928 Grass Valley High School

  I love Grandpa's description of his life on the ranch.  I like to think he got his love of gardening, keeping a beautiful yard, and working hard at whatever you put your mind to from his parents and from growing up in such a unique and special place.  

Harold Hansen with the Sacramento City College Glee Club 1929.  Harold is third from the left in the front row. 

   A few posts ago I shared my Grandfather's story of his trip to Norway in 1930.  Before he went he attended  Sacramento City College for a short time, thinking he wanted to be a forester. His extracurricular singing activities soon effected his studies (or was it spending time with Louise?), and he eventually decided to take some time to travel.  

Harold Hansen with John Hartwig Hansen on board a ship before his trip to Norway.

  

    Music would always be a part of Harold Hansen's life in many ways.  It was intertwined with his faith, his church, and his community.  It would eventually lead him to an encounter on Mill Street one day with Emma Van Duzer.   And Emma Van Duzer had a daughter who had a sweet soprano voice in the choir at the Methodist Church...... (to be continued).