GRANDFATHER LOST: THE STORY OF HOMER EON FLINT, by Vella Munn

Obsession

Trying to explain why I embarked on this journey to find a man who died long before I was born isn’t easy. It would be too simple to say I became obsessed—that doesn’t go deep enough or get to the core of what I feel for my grandfather.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

Grandpa, I can’t remember the first time I heard about you. Until her death when I was fourteen, Nana (your wife) was part of my everyday life. My sister and I lived with her for a year, and weekends and summers were spent at her little house in Nevada City, the heart of northern California’s gold country.

My memories are rooted in that home with its wood floors, huge old piano, unheated bedrooms, and single bed in the living room where Nana slept. I have a vivid image of standing in the kitchen on a sunny day, the air suddenly silent and heavy following some childish question I’d asked about your death. As one, Nana and my mother stared at me, their eyes warning me not to go there. Later my mother gently cautioned me never to bring up the subject in Nana’s presence, because even after all those years the memory of you was too painful for her.

But you weren’t forgotten. A box filled with your published and unpublished fiction rested in a bedroom closet. I’d take out one pulp magazine at a time, carefully open it, and read your stories. The paper was disintegrating, leaving fine particles in the air. Much of what you’d written was beyond my comprehension, but on an instinctive level I realized this was part of my legacy and thus precious. I loved the adventure-filled covers on those old publications. You’d typed some of your stories on half sheets of now-yellowed paper. Held together with fragile string or rusted paper clips, the manuscripts resonated because they’d been created with your hands. They became part of both of us.

In my mind’s eyes, I see you hunched over an old manual typewriter (I wonder what became of it), your brain going places you couldn’t always control. Mine does the same, which is sometimes exciting and sometimes unsettling. Your real world was a practical one bordered by wife and children, bills and responsibilities, and a day job spent repairing shoes. But your imagination occasionally took you from earth and transported you to the stars. Other times the need to write horror, humor, or mystery took over. How did that happen? What locks inside your brain were released during that process?

That’s what I’ll never know. But Grandpa, thank you for the letters you wrote to your wife and precious son and two daughters near the end of your 36 years of life, when economic hardship took them from your side. Thank you for your stories of imagination and intellect.

You also left me with the mystery of your death, and the questions of what more you might have written if you’d lived. Would you and I have talked about the creativity that begins in our souls and comes out through our fingers? I’ll never uncover everything about you, but at least I have pieces.

What are my earliest memories of your place in my heart? I don’t know! I’d like to believe they’re the product of the few photographs my mother held onto for years before passing them onto me, the box filled with your writings, the revealing and personal letters…but perhaps they’re not.

I believed as a child that you had been a bank robber. When I was seven, my mother took a teaching job in Washington, California, at the same small, isolated logging camp eighteen miles from Nevada City where Nana was teaching when you died. People who’d lived there in 1924 were still there. My classmates were the children of Nana’s students. Undoubtedly, my fellow students had been told how their teacher’s father had met his end—whatever versions came down through the years. My mind’s ear hears a classmate passing along the tantalizing and erroneous gossip.

I was an adult when my mother and I went to the library in Nevada City and sorted through old newspapers. We found a handful of articles about your violent death and the police investigation. My sister and I later uncovered more in the Sacramento historical library. The first story, as I recall, really set the stage for sensationalism. Written a couple of months after your death, it was titled: “The Mystery Enveloping the Death of Homer Flint, Fiction Writer” and began, “What killed Homer Eon Flint? And what relation did his end have to the daring, highly imaginative stories of visits to Mercury, Venus and other planets which he wrote for the magazines? Why was there a peaceful smile on his face in death?… Did he kill himself as a result of an overwhelming desire to visit the mystery world that lies beyond the pale? His works have been saturated with the occult.… A letter written to a friend seems to make more reasonable the conclusion that he deliberately killed himself in the most spectacular fashion by driving off the embankment.”

I see the article for the lurid nonsense it is, but that doesn’t stop the hurt. My mother, who still mourns you, was only five when she lost you. Of course she loved her “Papa.” She and her brother (my Uncle Max) and sister (my Aunt Vella) would never believe you had a dark side. Several years ago I contacted a nephew who was then a detective in San Jose, California, where you died. I’d hoped he could locate the original records about the police investigation, but everything before 1950 had been destroyed. I sent him the newspaper articles and asked him to read and comment. He called several weeks later to address certain points in the investigation. When I said that the reporting might not have been thorough or accurate, he agreed that was a possibility.

He also said, “All humans are capable of good and evil. Given the right circumstances, people will do anything.”

Maybe that’s what this biography is about, Grandpa. I want to share everything I’ve uncovered about you, and let others draw their own conclusions.

The Beginning

My grandfather, Homer Eon Flindt, was the youngest of four children born to Henry Flindt, a shoemaker, on September 9, 1888, in Albany, Oregon. My great-grandfather had been born in Freeport, Illinois, but his own parents emigrated from Wittenberg, Germany, having come to America and crossed the plains by ox team in 1850. According to the biographical sketch of Grandpa in The History of Santa Clara County, California (1922), his stout constitution came from the Germanic side of the family as did his “abiding practicality, and a sound sense of moral values.”

Grandpa’s mother, Emily Burkhart, was born to pioneer settlers who’d come over the Oregon Trail in 1851. His maternal grandparents, the Tickells, were from Cornwall, England, and were separated for a time when his grandfather came to America to find work.

My understanding is that Grandpa and his father were extremely close, united by their curiosity and intellect. Nana remembered technical, scientific, and philosophical conversations between her husband and father-in-law. Here’s an excerpt from a letter Grandpa wrote to his “Pa” on March 28, 1915, shortly after the birth of his oldest son, Max. Grandpa was 26 at the time.

Facts regarding Immortality. There are none. There is plenty of assumption, plenty of semi-scientific data from the Spiritualists, and still more speculation via deduction from the facts of earthly life. But we have no absolute facts whatever. A fact is a statement of truth. To be convinced of a truth is a mental process which becomes emotional only when Desire enters into the case. Sometimes conviction follows upon a desire to believe; and just as often it occurs as a result of Defiance—refusal to believe; the opposite of desire. In either case conviction occurs from being sentimentally forced to conclude that the person Desires to believe the Fact.

My mother, Grandpa’s middle child and the only one still living, remembers sitting on her father’s lap while he had a very technical talk with his father. Uncle Max told me much the same thing—specifically that father and son would choose up sides, pro and con, and discuss scientific matters.

As the oldest child, Uncle Max’s memories of Grandpa were the strongest. He recalled Grandpa’s older brother, Charlie, telling him that Grandpa could go to the opera, then come home and play the music on the piano from one end to the other.

In a three-page biography of his father, Uncle Max wrote: “All boys get into trouble, especially if they are extremely active (and I was), and, in keeping with this, one time I helped steal some pigeons from the loft of the church across the street from where we lived in Santa Clara. I was discovered trying to hide the pigeons, and my mother wanted Daddy to give me a good whipping. However, my father, feeling that I could understand logic, lectured me gently, but firmly, on the pros and cons of doing something illegal. Then, in our basement, he used his belt to hit a post repeatedly, which made a quite satisfactory sound upstairs, and instructed me to cry, which I did.”

According to Uncle Max, the last time he was alone with his father, they went out shooting together in Washington with a .22 caliber rifle. Max thought his father a crack shot, because he’d brought down a digger pine cone by severing the stem. Max tried to duplicate his father’s success, but was unsuccessful. Grandpa finished the job in two or three well-placed shots.

Grandpa attended kindergarten in San Jose, followed by a few months in the local primary school. The family moved to Porterville for four years, then returned to San Jose. He received a secondary grade education but didn’t graduate high school. His first job was as a delivery boy for a dry goods store. Following that he became an office boy for an insurance agent and took a correspondence course in architecture which led to a draftsman’s stool at an architectural firm.

In an interview that appeared in the San Francisco Bulletin on October 20, 1921, Grandpa said, “Had I a practical partner to attend to measurements and details I might become an architect, because I am always able to conceive what I believe are wonderful and beautiful designs.”

The great earthquake and fire of 1906, and the need for reconstruction there, drew him to San Francisco. He commuted daily from San Jose. There’s no record of how he did the commuting, but according to Uncle Max, he taught himself how to drive.

In his spare time, Grandpa read H. G. Wells, Jules Verne, Conan Doyle, and Rider Haggard, all known for their romantic fiction. His interest in the written word grew, and he wrote for the now defunct San Jose Morning Times while taking classes at the local high school. However, he was fired from the Times and began shoemaking in the San Jose shop owned by his brother, Charles. He wrote a monthly column for a shoemakers’ magazine.

I have two photographs showing Charles and Grandpa in the long, narrow, crowded shoe shop. From what I can tell, the only window is a high, narrow one over the back door. A sign above shelves filled with shoes reads, “We Live on Old Shoes.” Both men are wearing suits and ties.

When not cobbling, Grandpa’s mind often went to inventions. One file in my possession includes a sketch of the breech end of a revolver cylinder. (Firearms fascinated Grandpa. He even bought one for Nana when she was in Washington, though, with her defective hand, I don’t know how she could fire it). According to the accompanying text, the purpose of his invention was to increase the total number of shots from six to ten. Another sketch shows how the firing mechanism could be altered. He’d hoped to submit his invention to the Patent Office, but the anticipated cost of around $1000 to put the revolver into production held him back.

A few days later he put together his plan to combine an aeroplane with a balloon lift. As he stated in a proposal, “this differs radically from the designs at present in vogue. The conventional aeroplane is intended to secure high speed and extreme maneuverability, particularly as a military craft. My proposed design has for its chief purpose, perfect stability, so that no special ability would be required to operate it.” Like the revolver, nothing came of that concept.

He also came up with a noiseless typewriter and an automobile that “is not a cycle-car. It is not a motorcycle. It is a handsome, full-sized two-passenger vehicle which meets every demand of practical driving and riding, while it satisfies every requirement of sound engineering and manufacturing economy.” He sent his automobile concept to Henry Ford.

In 1907, he met, wooed, and won Mabel E. Williams. A year older than Grandpa, Nana had already taught in rural Truckee, California (near Lake Tahoe), for three years. According to my mother, Nana told her children she’d had three suitors, but that “Daddy was her choice because he talked so well.”

At a time when formal education for girls was given little consideration, my great-grandparents decided their daughter needed a marketable skill because of her physical defects. Scarlet fever as a child resulted in hearing loss—65% in one ear, 80% in the other. I remember the outside-the-ear aids connected by a metal band that went over the top of her head, the three-pound battery pack fastened to her bra, the way she held her old-fashioned telephone to the pack instead of her ear. That was in her later years. Before that I’m certain she was on her own in a mostly silent world. In a couple of letters before 1924, she mentioned the need to have her ears looked at but hadn’t because there wasn’t the money.

Despite her handicaps, her speech was fine and she could read lips. She always said Grandpa’s quick mind won her over, but looking at pictures of him, I suspect the glint in his eyes factored in. Apparently Grandpa had money problems when they met and was in debt. In exchange for Nana breaking up with the other man, Grandpa vowed to incur no more bills—something he didn’t, or couldn’t, live up to.

They were engaged about six months after they met, but didn’t marry until four years later—he was 23, she 24—on July 30, 1911. The wedding was at 5 a.m. in the family home in Nevada City so they could catch the Narrow Gage train to Colfax, and from there go on to San Jose. Why the long engagement? I’m sure part of it had to do with the distance between his place in San Jose and hers in Truckee, but it’s also possible her father’s health put everything else on hold.

Four months before the marriage, Nana’s father died of silicosis, then called miner’s consumption. He’d been a miner much of his life, and in 1900 bought the Nevada City property that anchored the family for a hundred years (I was brought to that property following my birth). My mother told my sister and me that Nana’s brother Charlie walked to the doctor’s clinic in Nevada City to get the drug—perhaps cyanide—which their father used to end his misery.

Their wedding pictures show a handsome young man and a beautiful, smiling woman wearing a black glove on her right hand. Pictures taken after Uncle Max’s birth show Nana thinner and missing several teeth. Grandpa, too, had dental problems. After suffering with a bad tooth for several weeks early in their separation, he had it removed. Less than a year before his death, Grandpa wrote that he had a total of ten teeth.

Good nutrition took effort in the isolated town where Nana taught. Several of Grandpa’s letters told of his efforts to get fresh produce sent by stage to his family. There were no medical or dental facilities in Washington.

Max, their first child, was born on March 5, 1915. My mother, Bonnie, arrived on November 23, 1918, followed by my aunt Vella, for whom I was named, on May 22, 1921.

Not long after their marriage (they were living on North 13th Street in San Jose, where Grandpa was known as the Shoe Doctor), Nana noticed a newspaper item stating there was a demand for movie scenarios for the burgeoning film industry. She persuaded Grandpa to buy a set of instructions about writing for the movies.

An explanation here. My grandfather began writing not long after World War I when anti-German sentiment still ran high. Concerned his Germanic last name might work against him, he was published as Flint.

As Grandpa revealed later, “Never, as a child, had I the slightest ambition to write or to become an author. My wife is to blame for all that, and she is who helps me, and reads over and humanizes the stuff I write and shows me how to cut off the rough edges of it.” (The San Francisco Bulletin, Oct. 20, 1921)

He wrote and sold eight one-reeler movie scenarios in rapid succession. The first, called The Joke That Spread, sold to Vitagraph Company in October, 1912, for a whopping $10. He sold another five scenarios in 1913, with titles like When Chemistry Counted and The Cipher Telegrams. Others, sold later, were called The Footprint Clue, Whit the Crooks’ Trick, The Tension of Love (released April 4, 1914, as Fast Freight 3205), A Six Shot Hero (which became And The Villain Still Pursued Her), and To Save the Road.

To my great disappointment, I don’t have these manuscripts. I do, however, have several of the receipts and breezy acceptance letters, which are quite a contrast to today’s legality-loaded contracts.

Grandpa’s comments on the movie scenarios shows he was far from in awe of them. “Some of those things I got off my chest were hummers—awful thrillers, you know the sort I mean, ladies leaping off the smokestacks of express locomotives and all the other natural little things that ladies and gentlemen do, or did, in the movies” (The San Francisco Bulletin, Oct. 20, 1921).

The demand dried up, necessitating a reliance on shoe cobbling to support his family. Besides, as Grandpa told the San Francisco Bulletin reporter, “A man does best the things that he likes to do. That is why I only write when I feel inclined. Sometimes I will write for hours at a time. Once I wrote for a whole day. Sometimes I will skip whole days without touching the typewriter, and at best I rarely work for more than two hours at a spell. Someday, when I think I have the right technique, I’ll try to write a real novel about everyday people in an everyday world such as people in a real world ought to be. But just at present I don’t think I have got that technique, so I just write those romances of fancy that only require a little imagination and invention, and sell because they have action and the alluring elements of fantastic romance.”

In an Oakland Tribune article titled, “The Mystery Enveloping the Death of Homer Flint, Fiction Writer,” the reporter quotes an unattributed letter allegedly written by Grandpa, in which he says, “I am more and more convinced that a man should follow fiction as an avocation rather than a vocation. It isn’t in human nature to do your best at something which you’ve got to do. The world’s finest work has always been done by someone who was simply riding a hobby.”

Not long before my mother’s birth, appendicitis and emergency surgery put Grandpa in the hospital for two weeks. While convalescing, he turned to writing short fiction in earnest—probably to pay for the medical expenses. His first two stories sold within days of each other. The Coupling went to Overland Monthly on October 23, 1917, and The Danger Doctor to the Frank A. Munsey Company on October 25 (The Danger Doctor became The Planeteer, his first “scientific romance”).

Historian Mike Ashley wrote a comprehensive article about Grandpa for Fantasy Commentator in 1996. Of The Planeteer, he said:

It is a remarkable story, especially for a first fiction sale outside of movie scenarios, and shows the depths of Flint’s unbridled imagination. The story is set in the year 2361, or 410 of the New Era, following the establishment of a world socialist state in 1952. The Earth is suffering from famine as a result of overpopulation and a loss of key food production sources. Two scientists set out to solve the problem, both vying for the love of the same girl. One, John Babcock is the inventor of a spaceship. He believes the savior of mankind will be found in space. He first travels to Mars where he finds the Martians cruel and hostile. Leaving in haste he ventures to Jupiter. An errant asteroid has entered the solar system and collided with Saturn turning it into a small sun which brings a more favorable climate to Jupiter which despite its gravity and atmosphere is habitable. Another errant space body has shifted Jupiter’s orbit which will now bring it closer to Earth. Babcock returns to Earth with his plan to shift Earth out of its orbit and closer to Jupiter, allowing mankind to colonise that world.

At the time Grandpa wrote The Planeteer, Bob Davis, arguably the single most influential editor in the developing field of “scientific romance,” was at the helm of All-Story. He and others encouraged Grandpa to write a sequel to The Planeteer. Originally titled When the Earth Froze, the sequel became The King of Conserve Island. Grandpa didn’t limit himself to scientific romances for the Munsey magazines, but also wrote humorous pieces and straightforward short stories.

For many years, my uncle had in his possession a piece of paper dated May 3, 1914, in which Grandpa listed over fifty enigmatic ideas. Included among them is: “Burning Money to make hero trouble,” “In the Sinner’s Shoes,” “Brace of Pistols,” “The Price of Air,” “Irrigation ditch makes quarrel,” “Bicycle Conspiracy,” and “Modern Cannibals.”

Despite the sales of The Planeteer and The King of Conserve Island and other stories, money remained tight, especially after Aunt Vella came along. My uncle and mother told me that Nana’s decision to apply for a teaching job was because she wanted to return to the career she loved, and to ease Grandpa’s financial load so he could focus more on writing. I detected no resentment in Nana’s letters, but wonder if she’d realized she couldn’t depend on him to be the sole support.

The town of Washington, California, was a going concern then, thanks mostly to gold mining. Teaching in Washington would bring her closer to her widowed mother who lived in Nevada City, but she’d also have total responsibility for three young children, one of whom was still a toddler.

Nana knew no one in Washington and hadn’t seen the house where the little family would live. After teaching in Truckee and living in Nevada City, she was accustomed to hard winters, but Washington was in a canyon deep in the mountains. She had no car (she never learned to drive, her imperfect hand being a liability before the age of power steering), and was dependent on others to get out of the canyon. The daily stage brought mail and whatever supplies residents needed. People could also ride the stage to and from Nevada City.

Leaving her husband behind to close up their rental, Nana and her three children went to live with his sister. The string of letters between husband and wife begun that day open a window on the past, and shed light on the last few months of Grandpa’s life.

The Public Writer

Penny dreadfuls. Dime novels. The terms still resonate with many readers, and the magazines, particularly the colorful covers, have become collector items. Penny dreadfuls originated in 19th century England and were known for their lurid serial stories. In time, the term expanded to represent all cheap and sensational publications. Printed on inexpensive, untrimmed pulp paper, working class boys were the target audience.

The term “dime novel” referred to similar publications in early 20th-century America. These publications proved to be very popular, since a large segment of the population had recently become literate. Publishers were constantly competing with each other. Prices dropped as publishers fought for readership. The majority of dime novels actually cost five cents, and, at that price, the magazines became accessible to children.

Grandpa’s first magazine story The Coupling was accepted by The Overland Monthly on October 23, 1917 and published in May of 1918. Another magazine, All-Story Weekly, published at least six of Grandpa’s stories, including The Lord of Death and the Queen of Life, another “scientific romance.”

Once connected to Frank Munsey and his publishing empire, Grandpa was in rarified company. The editor of his second book, The King of Conserve Island, was none other than Bob Davis, legendary editor of Edgar Rice Burroughs and often credited with spearheading the Golden Age of pulp magazines. It was Davis who coined the word “pseudoscience.”

Davis left All-Story abruptly in 1920 to become a literary agent, but the relationship between him and Grandpa continued. A letter to Grandpa, dated April 29, 1921, concerns a book-length story called The Blind Spot, and says in part: “My dear Flint:—You’re on! Let’s see if we can’t plant the book rights to THE BLIND SPOT. I think in its present form, it is a little long. However, trim it down to about 80,000 words. It will read better and sell easier. Take your shears out and smooth it up… Sincerely, R. Davis.”

Grandpa apparently responded to Davis in an undated letter, referring to another story and saying:

Your heavy artillery of recent date having ceased to reverberate, I venture from my dugout long enough to hurl back a bomb, of the following dimensions:

“THE Nth MAN” was, as you said, altogether too much so. I always overdo the preaching, blast it. But I think that your remarks have switched me on to the right track.

I’ve changed the plot into a strictly personal one, taking out the economic and sociological factors, and substituting a villain whose damnableness needs no pointing up. The public will take him for granted.

Which is, I am just beginning to realize, the only way I should write such stuff. I must content myself with an occasional, mild, and purely incidental fling. In other words, I may expose the reader to the truth, but I mustn’t ram it down his helpless throat.

Enclosed with the script is an envelope containing all the material which seemed noxious. The page numbers will guide you to the matter which I have substituted for it. A slightly shorter story, but a lighter, smoother-running one.

As for THE BLIND SPOT, I am glad to report that Hall [his co-author] and I will soon clean it up. The second third is done, the rest under way. Will slip it along as soon as it satisfies us…

The Blind Spot was serialized in Argosy-All-Story-Weekly, and demonstrated Grandpa’s ability to write book-length work. He collaborated with Austin Hall a former rancher and journalist whose first story, Almost Immortal, was sold to All-Story Weekly in 1916. In an interview with science-fiction writer and editor Forrest Ackerman, Hall said he and Grandpa were close friends who often discussed their writing. One day, Hall held a finger before his face and asked if a story couldn’t be written about the blind spot in the eye. The possibility intrigued them both. Hall began the story; Grandpa wrote the chapters about the house of miracles, the living, death, the rousing of Aradna’s mind, and The Man from Space.

The Blind Spot is still immensely popular, and has been published, by my reckoning, at least seven times—including an unauthorized German version. When Mary Gnaedinger launched Famous Fantastic Mysteries magazine in 1939, she serialized The Blind Spot. Later, she reprinted it wholesale for the magazine’s companion, Fantastic Novels.

The original Argosy publication, which I’ve turned over to the University of Kansas, shows a profile of an ethereal and sensuous girl wearing crystalline earrings over her bare shoulders. In the background is a flaming yellow ball. Ackerman describes the cover, saying, “There was an ancient quay, and emerging from the ultramarine waters about it a silhouetted metropolis of spires, domes, and minarets.”

The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, edited by John Clute and Peter Nicholls, briefly summarizes Grandpa’s best known and frequently republished stories. The Planeteer, it says, “deals with sexual rivalry and personal ambition in a Bellamistic society.” Its sequel, The King of Converse Island, “describes the corruption and collapse of the socialist world under the propaganda attacks of a reactionary, capitalist society.” The four Dr. Kinney stories—The Lord of Death, The Queen of Life, The Emancipatrix, and The Devolutionist—are said to “examine the implications of various political ideas.”

The Dr. Kinney stories in particular have received a lot of attention over the years. The Lord of Death, the first in the series, is a survival-of-the-fittest tale set on Mercury; its sequel, The Queen of Life, is set on Venus and examines preservation of life for its own sake. The Devolutionist, according to Clute and Nicholls, “covers the ambivalences of an efficient, more or less benevolent dictatorship, and a bumblingly anarchistic or democratic underground.” The Emancipatrix “contrasts a hive world and primitive humans on a ring-shaped planet.”

Interestingly, the Encyclopedia states: “HEF’s writing style and pulp magazine habits did not always adequately express his deep interest in the emergence of behavioral and historical patterns from various political and social philosophies.”

The above-mentioned stories have received most of the attention, but they’re by no way Grandpa’s only published works. In addition to these, I have sixteen previously unpublished stories in genres ranging from humor to horror.

In the wake of the Dr, Kinney stories, Grandpa began a new series. The Man in the Moon, published by All-Story Weekly (Oct 4, 1919), chronicles the efforts of an inventor to keep the moon in check after its orbit changes and heads toward Earth. In the sequel, Out of the Moon, the inventor finds evidence of people living in cities beneath the moon’s surface, planning a massive solar flare in order to exact revenge on Earth’s population.

Not all of Grandpa’s stories involved other planets. The Greater Miracle (which Edward J. O’Brien listed among the best short stories of 1920 in his Boston Transcript column) explores life after death. The Nth Man, mentioned above, is about a scientist who uses an extract from the glands of a Galapagos sea-turtle to turn his son into a giant so he can exact vengeance on a dictator.

One reason The Nth Man came out when it did was because of the constant changes in the pulp magazine landscape. By the end of 1920, science fiction was no longer the hot genre. As Davis wrote Grandpa on September 6, 1921, “…it would tickle me to death to find that you had at last found a market for your singularly gifted pen. Of course, you must not forget that your stuff is unique and must find a nest for itself pseudo-scientific dope (sic), in spite of the fact that you write it with both hands better than the rest of them now grinding it out.”

Grandpa was well-aware of that changing landscape. I also suspect that, like most writers, his imagination and interests took him in ever-changing directions. He had a deft hand with comedy and mystery/detective stories, which were becoming popular when he died. The Money-Miler, the last sale he made, appeared in October 1924 in Flynn’s, a new weekly detective magazine.

Black Gold by M.E. Williams, a story about gold-claim jumping, was published in Argosy-All Story Weekly (March 25, 1922) (Williams was his wife’s maiden name). The Missing Mondays concerns a self-important man whose life falls apart. The Greater Miracle (All-Story, April 24, 1920) was touted as ‘a different story,’ and Comedy Cash (Short Stories, July 1920) is about what happens when a conscience comes too late.

All of these published stories show his wide-ranging talent. In my opinion, though, his unpublished manuscripts truly demonstrate his imagination and muse. They carry such titles as The Flying Bloodhound, The Planetary Pirate, The Stain on the Table (a humorous story about a couple’s attempt to repair a borrowed table), Buy A Liberty Bomb!, The Peacock Vest (an old criminal’s memories), and The Perfect Curiosity (one of his few forays into horror).

Everett Bleiler, in his book, Science Fiction: The Early Years, calls my grandfather “in many ways the outstanding writer of s-f in the Munsey pulp magazines, because, although his writing was at times variable, it was always exciting and teamed with ideas way ahead of their time.”

The Private Writer

On June 7, 1915, my grandfather wrote to one of his nephews:

By rights I ought to take advantage of the opportunity to hand you a lot of valuable advice. I ought to spoil some of the good old ‘duty to the school’ stuff, and tell you how much you owe to the people, and how grateful and earnest you should feel from now henceforth, amen, and so on.

But I’ll do nothing of the sort. I take it for granted that you’re going to play square with your education; if you proceed to use it in a selfish way, you’re a bum and you know it; so I won’t waste good paper on such dope.

What I do want to mention is that I, your uncle, am mighty proud and delighted that you’ve gotten so far along. Why, all you gotta do is to keep going—

You don’t need advice; all you want is a chance. Shucks; I wouldn’t give you advice even if you asked me; I’m no practical man. If you ever need advice, see your pa. He knows more about the practical affairs of life in ten minutes than I know all day. Your mother is another practical one; also your uncle Charlie; I’m not. The world would starve to death if it depended upon fellows like me.

No; that’s not my line. There’s only one thing I’m strong on—imagination. Imagination is where I live—

Other folks can put all over me about practical, everyday matters. I admit it; it’s true. But when it comes to matters of the Unknown, things that call for a logical, trained imagination—I’m there. It’s my specialty. Two and a half million readers of “The Planeteer” admit that.

Having my grandfather’s letters in my possession is like gold. As a writer, I’m particularly drawn to his observations about his passion. From them, I’ve concluded that certain elements of being a writer never change. I’m also struck by his practical approach to his craft. Granted, he very much wanted to support his family as a writer, but he understood the business. He wrote little about the sometimes painful reality of waiting to have a story accepted. Instead, his outward focus remained on the light bulbs that kept turning on in his brain.

For example, on August 31, 1923, he wrote Nana, “This morning I made a good start on the second chapter of the new yarn. Thinking it over today I see where I’ll have to make a small change or so in the first chapter, such as will simplify it and make the incident of a ‘just so’ affair; in fact, as the story is unfolded, it is going to have a more everyday flavor than anything else to date. Austin’s [Hall] big story, The People of the Comet, starts in the current issue of Weird Tales. Also, on the stands right now, a story in Popular and one in Blue Book! Some luck. He is bemoaning his luck, however, that he hasn’t got about fifteen or twenty under consideration right now. Anyway, it’s going to help him a lot. No word yet from Holt [a publisher]. Nor from anyone else, except a registry receipt card from McClure’s for Steal Me If You Can!”

Later he wrote, “I started to write yesterday on the new automobile story, then went to the telephone and talked to Austin for a while, told him the idea—and learned that he had read a novella using that idea some time ago in Ace-High. So I tore up that one page, sat down, and for two hours deliberately worked the old thinker. Result, something entirely new; at least, it sounds absolutely different from anything else. It isn’t likely that anyone else ever thought of this combination before. However, I’ll put that in the next letter because I want to rush this over to the mail box at the corner before eight, so that it will get up to Nevada City tomorrow night and on to you the next morning.”

The story behind The Money-Miler further demonstrates his approach to the craft. Some five months before his death, it was returned from McClure’s with the note: “If this were a novelette and all as good as the first five chapters, it would be a corker. The motive is very unusual, automobile thievery on a grand scale and a device for prevention of same. Squeezed up, only the gems left in.”

Grandpa wrote Nana that the McClure letter came on a Saturday and he spent all of the next day cutting the 65,000 word story down to 50,000. “I took out bodily one of the three unsuccessful attempts to steal Del’s car, and removed tier after tier of dead wood; usually only a couple of words here and a sentence there; rarely a whole paragraph. Left all the repartee intact, of course; in general, I tried to cull out everything that might ever have been written before by anyone else in any kind of a story. Result, the yarn reads like a whirlwind; it is full of meat and nothing else. If there were not such a predisposition in its favor at McClure’s I’d send it to the Post.” McClure’s didn’t buy the revised version, but Flynn’s did.

Publishers sometimes sent manuscripts under consideration to outside readers and then shared their reactions with the authors. Roland Holt, vice-president of Henry Holt and Company Publishers, wrote to Grandpa, “I’ve heard from the third reader [about something he refers to as “the 71 story”], who I’m sorry to say was not as much taken with it as the rest of us were; but even he found it a highly original story which held him very well, particularly towards the end…the telling of the story in the first person by the villain, sort of ‘sells’ the reader. If you should decide to rewrite it, we would be glad to consider it again.”

Holt then adds that he doesn’t “know whether I would be doing you a kind turn in putting you to the trouble of writing this story over.” Despite that, he says, “Your final scene was thrilling, and you have an unusual knack of story-telling, which makes me distinctly want to see further work from you. My recollection of the two earlier stories you sent us emboldens me to make the above suggestions. Your stuff is uncommonly interesting, Mr. Flint. I fear that the publisher who takes ON THE STROKE OF 71 will try to tie up your future product in the contract. If you can get him to take that book, however, without tying up the next one, I shall be very glad.”

Sadly, I don’t know what became of On the Stroke of 71.

Even though he never went further than high school academically, his intellect is on display in many of his letters to my grandmother. For example, in response to Nana’s request for his opinion of homeopathic remedies, he writes:

The Hahnemann system of medicine was originated a long time before the theory of toxins and antitoxins was promulgated, so it is remarkable how it fits into what we know today. The idea of those ‘specifics’ is based upon the assumption that, if one knows the chemicals that will bring upon a certain disease, he can cure the same disease with an extremely small dose of that same chemical combination. It is generally accepted today that one can prevent smallpox with an inoculation of the virus, in so small a quantity as to produce a mild case. The idea being, this mild attack of the disease results in the formation, within the system, of the antitoxins needed to fight the toxins. The Hahnemann scheme would seem to have the same basis in reason. Eventually the human system is so delicately organized that it is merely necessary to introduce a harmless quantity of the drug that would (in larger quantities) produce the disease, and the manufacture of antitoxins is started up at once. The only flaw in the proposition lies in the fact that no two people are alike, while it may be true in many cases that these specified chemicals will produce that disease, in other individuals these chemicals might have no effect, or might even bring on a different disease. In such instances of course the homeopathic remedy could not be expected to arouse the antitoxin process.

Rather than bemoaning his need to leave bustling San Jose and his network of writing friends, he writes in response to Nana’s description of Washington’s surroundings, “Say—I wish New York would come through quick. You make me long to get away from this ‘world of trains and noises.’ That’s it exactly—noise. I want to get out of it and get my nerves steady again. And the beauty of it—the thing to do is to appreciate it to the full, that scenery. Our confounded automobiles rush through it and don’t let us have any of it to keep.”

The Letters

A stack of letters sat on a closet shelf in Nana’s Nevada City house, wrapped in brown paper and held together with string. Only a handful of them were from Grandpa, and—though I thanked Mother when she first handed them to me after Nana’s death—I didn’t grasp their full meaning. Tucked in the stack were also two clippings from the Nevada City newspapers. The first, dated March 29, 1924, was titled, “Homer Flindt, Mystery Man, Known Here. Wife Was Mabel Williams, Who Is Now Teaching at Washington, Nevada County.” The article began by reporting that Nevada City friends were shocked to hear of Homer’s death.

The headline of the second article was, “Mystery of Homer Flindt’s Death Remains Unsolved; Bandit Theory Is Fading.”

Fast forward to 2000. Uncle Max and his wife, both collectors and in ill health, were living in Palo Alto, not far from where Grandpa had lived and died and was buried. Uncle Max’s daughter had gone there to help her parents plan for the future. In a shed on their land, she found gold: dozens of letters between our grandparents. Mother had often spoken of more correspondence than what was in Nana’s house.

My cousin took them to her aunt, my mother. Not long after, my sister Judee saw them. Mother placed the collection in two stacks, both wrapped in paper. One was labeled: “Daddy’s letters to Mother…Aug 31, 1923 to Dec 20.” The other stack contained Nana’s original letters to Grandpa from Oct 1, 1923 to March 1924.

My sister emailed me and said: “THE LETTERS are in my possession! I talked Mother into letting me copy them on my copier. So I made 4 copies of Homer’s letters: for you, me, Lisa [Judee’s daughter] and Robin [Aunt Vella’s oldest child]. Then I ran out of ink. So tomorrow we’re going to Auburn for more ink and to mail your letters to you. Then I’ll copy Nana’s letters and send them as soon as possible. I’ve been reading bits and pieces of letters as I copy them and they brought tears to my eyes many times. I scanned the last page of Homer’s last letter (written 3 days before he died) and attached it to this email. I hope you can read it. There is absolutely no doubt that his sole intention was to be with his family. Especially the part where he says, ‘I’ll tell the world that nothing is going to tempt me to spoil the prospects one little bit. You can count on me absolutely.’”

“So,” Judee continued, “I believe whatever happened to him was out of his control. God, what a loss! How I wish we could have known him. What a horrible time that must have been for Nana. No wonder she never re-married; the love of her life could never be replaced.”

A few days later I sat in a recliner in my office with the first package from my sister on my lap. (Because of the number of letters and need to make copies, she sent them in several separate packages). Taking out one letter at a time, I held it up to the light coming from the window behind me and started reading. I was immediately transported into the past. My grandparents’ activities became mine. I shared their days and emotions.

Grandpa, when I read what you’d written your wife, I lost myself in you. There you were! Alive again. That first letter written August 30, 1923 came from the heart of a man who’d just said good-bye to his wife and children and didn’t know when he’d see them again.

Dear, dear Dears Four, Well, I’ve missed you all a lot more than you might think. If I hadn’t bought something to read on the train, (after seeing them off) I’d have been pretty blue. But I was glad to know that you were all being well cared for, and that Mommie was getting a good rest. I suppose that by now you are within a few yards of the old home—Gee—wish I was there too. I wasn’t able to do anything about the packing today—too much work, including some left over from yesterday. I expect to put in all of tomorrow at it, and should finish. Sorry you won’t have the use of the pans and dishes until Monday, but it can’t be helped. Anyway, you may decide to stay over in Nevada City (where Nana’s mother lived); hence I am writing this in duplicate and sending a copy to both places. Scuse blunders—lots of work—big hurry. Will send important cases by parcels post tomorrow. A lot I’d like to say, but there’s no time. Hope everything went as it should, and that the trip wasn’t hard on anyone. My love to little grandma (his mother-in-law) and heaps and heaps to all of you, with hugs and kisses all around, big ones, including a rough-house for Max, a tickling for Bonnie, a neck-blowing for Baboo Fint, and a special-extra kiss for Mommie. Must go now. Bye-bye. Will write again soon. Hope I hear from you before very long. Lovingly, Daddy Fint. XXXXXXXX

The Separation Begins

On Thursday, August 30, 1923, Nana and her children left San Jose while Grandpa headed back toward their rental. That night, according to a postcard Nana sent her husband, was spent with relatives in El Cerrito. On Friday she wrote, “Dear Daddy, I’ll ask May to post this after she sees us off on the 8:27 so you’ll know we get on it O.K. The children slept fine last night. Max went to the movies with Clyde and sister. Feel like getting somewhere today—a few more miles than yesterday. Love from 4 of us.”

Grandpa’s typed letter of the same day and sent to both his mother-in-law’s house in Nevada City and Washington was longer.

Dear, dear Dears Four, Well, there isn’t much time—I’ve got to get back to the shop soon; but here goes to tell you what little has happened since you left. First of all I reached Oakland Pier just a minute or so before the train arrived from Santa Clara with Radna (their dog that was being shipped to Washington); I found her and petted her and let her lick my ear and gave her a drink—all of which she needed. Then I went across to San Francisco—reaching the depot just a little too late for the 6:15. But it was worth the delay, just to see the old dog.

I put in the time until the 7:25 left at our restaurant across the street—to the tune of roast beef. Got to 1135 (their rental) at nine, telephoned to Frankie (his sister), gave the key to the Bowen’s (the landlord) looked for mail—which there was none—and reached 606 Locust at 9:40 (his sister’s house where he’d live until his death). Had a bath (didn’t really need it, Oh, no) and a good sleep, due to being so tired.”

The rest of the letter details how he read on the train to keep from getting depressed, his packing progress, and his hope that he’d soon hear from his family.

Nana’s first true letter was written on Saturday from Nevada City. “Our Dearest Daddy: Fortified by two Skinner Seedlings (wood perhaps) & aided & abetted by a somewhat dull but well-meaning kerosene lamp, I’ll try to tell you of my various adventures after throwing you that goodbye kiss. Thank goodness, when writing to you, I can use all the big words I can lay my hands on. That relieves me ‘considerable’.

As each one of May’s family came home, he or she registered surprise, pleasure & joy which was highly complementary to us. The family sat down to a macaroni & tuna combination, creamed carrots, tea & tapioca pudding.

The highly elevating Floyd comedy at the Ferry building was not the last that Max was destined to see before hibernating, as he went along with Clyde & sister May & Ralph down to the school house to the P.L.A. show.

After I put Bonnie & Vella to bed, Al, May & I sat around & talked. A machine drew up in front & it was one of Al’s brother—Herbert & wife, Maud & fourteen year old boy, also Herbert by name.

This Renfree & I were schoolmates & I hadn’t seen him for years. They stayed about an hour & a half. We looked at old pictures & talked old times, of course.

In the night a flea & wife & family decided Bonnie’s & my feet had a better flavor than their usual fodder & they dug in hard. I know I turned on the light every hour of the night to quiet Vella or Bonnie or to scratch. I was awake before Alfred went at twenty to six. Max slept on a mattress on the floor & twice in the night I heard a swishing of legs on the floor & turned on the light to find him in the middle of the floor asleep lying on nothing & covered with the same material.

I hauled & yanked him back in. Despite my night shift I felt fine the next day—stimulated by excitement, I guess.

It sure was great not to have to bother about the baggage at Colfax—thanks to your sure methods.

Mama & Mrs. Lean were at the depot to meet us. The walk home in the heat was trying as baby (Vella) wilted & I had to carry her nearly all the way. We perspired mightly I can tell you. My only worry was that Vella had developed a slight temperature. I guess it was from the dust & dirt of moving in Santa Clara & the miscellaneous collections of food she had had since leaving home.

I put her down when we got here & she went to sleep. Then my big concern was for Radna—as I thought of her heavy coat & this unusual heat & of her extra long imprisonment. So Max & I went to town about 4:30. We got to the Am. Railway Express at about quarter to five but the door was locked & on inquiry we found that no one would be there until around 8 p.m. We could see Radna inside her crate, & I know she couldn’t stand up very well in it. While we were there she broke out of it & was loose in the office. So my concern grew. A little boy was hanging around there & I got good sensible answers to my questions. I got him to come along with Max & it worked wonders. He volunteered to go off & get the agent’s helper. So after waiting around there about an hour and a half, all told, we got her. That made it 6:15 so I could see that I’d have to stay in town today. But Mr. Moomey (who managed the stage into Washington) had to be warned that we weren’t going, so Max & I went down to the Union office & interviewed John with the ulterior purpose of using his phone.

All express service is slow up here—no one having to meet the 8:30 evening train it seems, so it was impossible to get the trunks down to the National this morning. I was dead tired & couldn’t think straight at 8 o’clock last night, or I know now I could have interviewed one express man & he maybe would have gotten them this morning—no, that’s wrong as the depot isn’t open before 7 a.m.—well, we all are to go up Monday morning & our belongings on Tuesday morning. We can sleep in our clothes with coats on, if necessary, for one night. It sounds a bad arrangement but these nights are warm.

The lady, Miss Virginia J, (hired to baby-sit and live with Nana and the children) was not at the Grass Valley (four miles from Nevada City) depot. John & Neill said he bet we’d see her today. Sure enough just as I was leaving around 10 a.m. to go & get some of my various errands done, here comes John & a lady in his Buick. She came down & stayed less than an hour & I went back to town with her. She took the 11 o’clock to the valley. She had received neither letter nor telegram! So decided to do just as she said she’d do—come to see me today. She isn’t much taken up with the idea of washing, but will do some & will pay out of the $30 to have more of it done. She’s very fair (reasonable, I mean) & I know we can work out the washing problem someway. I believe she would have paid out of the fare to Washington & seemed to be quite pleased when I offered to do that. She looks clean & talked at length but very grammatically. She is an old maid school teacher, but a stout one & that spells good-nature. I think I’ve found a prize & she seems equally smitten. She said she was going to go back to Grass Valley & tell the woman who showed her the ad what a good deed she had done. She has no suggestions of Swede about her, sort of scorns it & says to call her Miss Virginia as that would be easy for the children.

I phoned Mrs. Kramer (Washington resident) & she said she had been worried & was glad to know I was on hand—that the stage gets into Washington at 9:30—so you see the trip is not so long after all. The fare is $2.50 & half fare for Max—nothing for Bonnie & Vella but I suppose something for Radna.

When I asked Mr. Moomey if he could go to the depot to get the trunks & he said he could & I told him to add expressage to his usual rate, he said, “Oh that’s alright,” so he seems agreeable. Everyone up here calls me Mabel & asks me all my business & tells me all theirs. It sure is some homecoming. The difference between a small town & a big one is amazing.

They breathe & live & die with you—almost. It gives one a good feeling alright. Advice runs riot, but people are interested in a kind way.

Max has run around with me a lot today. He went in & fell asleep on the couch. All the rest of us were out on the porch. They are eating fine. Yesterday & today towards evening Vella has been hot to the touch, but after she’s asleep a little while she cools off.

Billy just brought ice cream, so we’ll ‘fall to’.

Your letter came—Florence brought it tonight. A boy down town whom I can’t remember very well said, “Do you want to take Mabel’s letter to her?” It was rescued out of the mail bag just in time I understand.

Well, all my business is tended & I can go to Washington in good shape Monday.

I saw Mrs. Austin (former Washington teacher) & she received me most heartily. Gave me a lot of helpful material & suggestions & said Bonnie is to be entered after November. I can see she’s easy to please & said to write her concerning any doubts or needs. She said every district is allowed $1400. So I guess the janitor gets $10 a month as wood & books must be bought with the rest.

Wasn’t it fine to be able to greet Radna. She’s surely frisking around up here & I know she’s enjoying the woodsy smells.

11 a.m. Sunday

Billy is going to town so I’ll send this with him. We all send you worlds of love & hope we hear from you soon again. We just have to! Millions of kisses from Max, Bonnie, Vella & Mama.”

Grandpa wrote his family the same day, saying in part:

This has been a big day. When I had a chance to think, I’ve been wondering whether you went on to Washington this morning or stayed over in Nevada City; hoping the latter because it would work out practically as well at the Washington end, and make things much easier. Well, I’ll know soon; got the postal that Auntie May mailed after you got on your train at Richmond, and know that everything started out right, anyhow. Hope you found Radna O.K. Tell me about everything especially how did you find little grandma.

Up at seven this morning, and at eight in Santa Clara. Packed up ten boxes—count them, ten—and carried them all in these two arms over to the post office. Got the last one there at one minute to six. So far as I know, they will reach you at the same time as this letter. If anything is broken, it won’t be because I didn’t pack it with all care.

Afterwards I went to Max’s barber and got a hair-cut, then went down town, bought two B.V.D. union suits on sale at the Red Front on Market Street for 69 cents a suit, another dollar shirt, three pair of heavy black socks at 20 cents that look as though they would last a while, and a pair of garters (remember how one of them deserted me Thursday? It had worked long enough on my legs) Then home, where I found everybody busily preparing for the trip tomorrow to Lodi to visit Eldrid’s. I turned down the invitation to go along; will finish at 1135 in the morning, take in the Liberty—“Hollywood”—and write all day Monday.

Everything is very pleasant here. The arrangement is to pay the same as Vernon (his sister’s adult son)—ten a week. Frankie wasn’t going to let me pay anything right away, but I made her take it. Looks awfully good to me: everything so nice. But then Frankie has only Billy to look after, no wonder she does her housework so speedily.

Gee, I can hardly wait until I get the first long letter and find out just how everything went with you. I am not worrying, though; I can’t help but think that everything will be made easy and pleasant for you. They need you, and if they have the least bit of sense they will appreciate you and show it. Be sure to tell me how you enjoyed the scenery, and whether you found the stage trip especially interesting or tiring, and what you thought of that long grade down into Washington. Worst part of it is, there will be no delivery or mail on Monday. I think I’ll go to the post office and ask for my mail at 157. Want to know, quick.

Well, old dears, the house certainly was a gloomy spot without you. Daddy had to keep busy, so as not to think about it. However, I won’t have to go back again after tomorrow, except to Bowen’s to send off the boxes when you ask for them.

Be sure to write soon. All of you, including Radna—tie a pen to her tail, and let her wag it over the paper.

I could sit here and talk half the night and not say what I want to say. I miss you a great deal, and am mighty glad it’s only six weeks before I see you. That isn’t very long—only forty-two days. I’m going to keep track of em—are you?

Write me as often as you can, my dears. I’m loving you all mighty hard, all the time.

Lots and lots of kisses and great big hugs. Good night. Daddy.

True to Grandpa’s wishes for information about their living situation, in her next letter to him, Nana described their Washington rental.

The house is a wonder, considering the distance from civilization—4 rooms, bathroom & enclosed porch or shed. The bathroom has a tub, a set bowl, & a toilet & hot & cold water. There is a large tank in the bathroom & it is connected to the kitchen range. The fire is lit three times a day, so there’s hot water practically all the time…The electricity is on about 6 p.m. There is an ironing board attached to the wall in the kitchen. The yard is very large & all enclosed. There is some waste of water all around—faucets dripping all around & nobody cares a tinker’s soddering iron. All the floors but the parlor have good, mild colored linoleum. The parlor has a good rug also a big wood heater & a soft, brown velvet couch. Max is asleep on that now, with the new rubber sheet standing guard. The little girls & I took the inferior bedroom—inferior as to furnishing but having a double bed & a couch & plenty of ventilation. Miss J. has the nicest room & bed, but if I were her age I’d like to have such a place. My turn will come some day…There is a phone in, but not in working order. It has to be considered later…The house rent is $12 and worth it…A tier of wood costs $3.50 & will need about 16 tiers for the winter. I have only 4 pupils in 4 grades—2nd, 3rd (Max) 5th & 6th—easy. I’ll say I feel sure of everything but the music. The school is very clean & attractive—oiled floor, flag & bell. I put the flag at half-mast every morning & take it down at 4 p.m. School keeps that late…people here have nice home vegetable gardens, but I’m afraid none to spare. Must send to Nevada City for veg & bread. Miss J. will make bread sometimes.

The ride to Washington—some experience—wish I could do it justice. The heavily laden stage crawled down foot paths in spots…Miss J is a prize, not nervous & excitable. Not an A1 cook exactly but economy itself. It sure is swell to come to meals & then walk off with the dishes staring at your triumphant back…Hope you are feeling comfortable at Frankie’s. I can hardly believe that this is you & me—apart. Bonnie cried tonight when I put you into her prayers. She’s missing you most of the three. I simply can’t mention you to her. Oh you six weeks.

A September 24th letter from Grandpa contained a paragraph I believe says a great deal about how he viewed the separation: “You bet it is wonderful that we can be apart all these days, and so far apart at that, without breaking down about it. But it just goes to show the power of intelligence and mutual confidence. A more elemental couple could never stand it.”

Life Apart

Grandpa wrote early in their separation, “Well dear heart, to answer your questions: I certainly do feel that this was a mighty wise move. Unnatural is no name for the situation of course, but it is bound to work out for the best. I too am glad there is a-plenty to occupy our minds, but the truth is that I passed through the worst part of this business before you left; such is the price of having a strong imagination. In other words, I was all worked up to it when the time came to say good-bye. So much for being philosophical. And as for being lonely, there is so much foolishness going on here, when I’m not at this typewriter, if I’m lonely it’s my own fault. Of course I miss you all the time. It’s just that I can see such immense advantages to the present arrangement, I’m willing to make myself think only of that side of it.”

My grandparents’ main means of communication was by letter. There were times when Nana’s workload and single-parent status resulted in scribbled notes written after her children were in bed. Grandpa frequently told her not to worry and to write when she had the energy and time.

“I’m sure mighty stuck up that you did feel like talking so lengthily to me. But get your sleep, even if the letters have to be farther apart or shorter…you’ve got your hands full…I’d sure like to see you add ten pounds this winter—it would be a sign that your nerves were getting over the three-kids strain, the dishcloth blues, and the three-meals-a-day scramble.”

The telephone in Nana’s rental didn’t work, but the one in the grocery store did. The owner offered to let Nana use it, and my grandparents tried to work out a time to talk. Initially they settled on Saturday because Nana didn’t teach that day and there were few customers in the shoe store for Grandpa to deal with. Nevertheless, he wrote in one letter, “I’ve just got up from the phone, after that final attempt to get the connection. I could just barely hear your voice and could recognize it, but could not get a word clearly. It was comforting, though, to have that much anyway. And we now know that, in any emergency, either of us could have a message relayed through the Nevada City operator.”

My grandfather shared a number of Nana’s letters with his brother and sister, but I suspect he believed his letters to her would remain private. Just the same, he couched some personal matters in vague language. For example:

“Well, you better look out. I’ve been thinking of you so much you’d be an awful fix if I could lay those grasping hands on you right now. I’ve been writing about (unreadable) lately and I’m very cave-mannish and generally dangerous, and you’d be a sorry woman if I had you in my power at this moment.”

At a later date, he writes: “You speak about expecting a certain lady on her regular rounds [they called Nana’s periods “Tessie”], and how the expectation has caused you to be sleepy in advance. The last time you mentioned this party was after my visit, and you said that, notwithstanding the inconvenience of having to entertain that caller, you were exceedingly thankful that she hadn’t failed to put in an appearance. Will say that, calamitous though such an alternative might have been, it would still be more of a calamity if Tessie were to fail to show up this month…I’ll be good now. Don’t curse me.”

Much later, he again tackled the subject of Tessie. “Now to answer a marvelous letter that was written at 5:45 in company with a singing tea-kettle and a certain scarlet woman. I don’t think we’ll let this person make any difference in the matter of the visit. Not that I’m growing callous and indifferent towards (hush; someone might hear); but I’d like to see as much of my family as possible, under the best circumstances, and that means taking advantage of the holiday. I’m free to admit that this statement was made without consulting Cutie. I’ll broach the matter to him sometime when he is in a reasonable humor and see what he says. Often he gazes longingly at the Overland and then stares suggestively into my eye; but I stare right back at him sternly, and he turns away, kind of ashamed. In a way, I hate to disappoint him because he served us very well indeed on three memorable occasions.”

Yes, he did like to tease. At the end of a letter in which he admitted to feeling ‘off’ and lacking in energy, he wrote: “But worst of all—Honest, I can hardly bear it to put this down, but down it must be put—worst of all, in speaking of Nevada City, you said ‘over to’ instead of ‘over at.’ I cannot find the letter in which the crime was committed, but perhaps it is just as well. Just think, if some enemy should get hold of that damning epistle! Another awful thought.”

Shortly before Christmas, he wrote: “Frankie was thinking of going to town today, but discovered afterwards that she would not need to; hence the corset, which she would have got, will be attended to by your humble though sassy servant tomorrow; you gave such explicit info, I’ll have no trouble getting what you want. And as for facing the saleswoman, why, that’s nothing for anyone so brave as me.”

My grandfather was bitten by the car bug. He made convincing arguments about the practicality of having one, particularly when he visited his family, but it was obvious he believed he had to sell his wife on the idea. The sales job began when he was planning his first trip to Washington.

“Have just figured out the total cost of the trip, if I go by stage all the way, allowing for having to have a room two nights, meals and all, and have also phoned and got an estimate from a garage man for a small machine, for four days. The machine could take me to Washington in one day, by starting at dawn (this, thanks to the pavement, of course, now between Auburn and Nevada City.) It would make a far better visit, something of a vacation for me, and permit bringing certain s’sprises more readily. And the total cost would be only five dollars more than the other way!”

Grandma didn’t argue against the purchase. She wanted cost particulars, then told her husband she trusted his judgment. As someone who never learned to drive, I’m guessing she felt out of her element. Grandpa continued his persuasion:

“Now, the more I look at it, the wiser it seems to consider buying some old machine. By paying as much down on it as I would have to spend for transportation and hotel expenses anyway, I can get something plenty good enough for the purchase, arrange to pay fifteen dollars a month on the balance; then, at Christmas time, and later on in the spring, not to mention summer, there’s the machine always at hand. Bear in mind that I know, now, what not to buy. What I want is something reliable that will give good service if treated carefully. I don’t care if it is hopelessly out of style, so long as it’s a well-made car. There’s lots of them to be had—dozens. Other people can pay big money for modern appearances, if they want to; all I’m interested in is a means of transportation.”

A few days later: “As I figure the distance, it comes to 224 miles, 204 of which is paved (all except for the steep road into Washington). By taking it very easy, resting several times en route, I can make all of this by daylight without speeding faster than 25 miles an hour. But in order to allow for having to fix tires, or anything else, I would plan to leave here quite early, probably at 4 a.m. As I know the roads so well hereabouts, I would drive in the assurance that you wouldn’t be worrying about me; whereas I would rather not get into Washington after dark. Should I be so much delayed in reaching Nevada City that I couldn’t finish the job by daylight, I’d stay over.”

Finally on October 11, he wrote: “The car I have bought is an Overland 1916, the best grade they were making that year—not the cheap little so-called ‘90’ model, but a finely made and somewhat larger one, known as the ‘85B’ model. You will see for yourself that we’ve got quality this time. It is only a four-cylinder, but each cylinder is cast separate; there are five main bearings in the crankshaft; and the rest of the car is on the same order… In fact when you sit inside this car, you could easily imagine you were seated within one of the very highest priced and best built cars of that year.”

A few days later, he added a note that reinforces how hard the separation was on him. “If I can get through to you satisfactorily this time, you and I will have the assurance that, no matter what the emergency—illness, accident, or what—you could count on me being there within a certain number of hours after you telephoned. You may not see this as the important thing that it appears to me. You have the children with you.”

I once asked my mother if she had any memories of her Aunt Frankie’s place in San Jose. She was pretty young the few times she went there. She wrote, “The style of houses all around there was much the same—a generous front porch, sometimes a wrap-around, a veranda as it was called, edged by a railing, topped by a generous board on which people could lay cups, plates, plants in pots, books, etc. It was so very community friendly. The railing was solid. Inside you entered a good-sized front room, divided from the dining area by railing up about the height of the one outside. One railing extended out from one wall and was matched by a like one on the other side. The kitchen was on past the dining area and I don’t remember the bedrooms or bath. I’m certain tho that there was only one bathroom. Houses seldom had more than one. A tub in the bathroom.”

Grandpa forwarded money to Nana and encouraged her to give him lists of what she needed. The first time he sent a $5 bill, he stewed over the safest way to get it to her. After considering a money order, he registered the envelope with the cash in it.

Even though Grandpa occasionally hocked items, including a watch that had been passed through Nana’s family, he never told her he didn’t have money for what she and the children needed.

A number of Grandpa’s letters detail dinners spent with relatives and friends. His sister was quite social, and his brother-in-law, Ed, was increasingly concerned with keeping his grocery store open. Shortly before Grandpa died, Ed speculated that his business wouldn’t last another year. Because the shoe store was also feeling the economic pinch, I suspect the two men often discussed their financial concerns.

Early in the separation, Grandpa wrote that they hadn’t had much business at the shoe store, so the brothers spent their time cleaning up and rearranging things “to make space for a little dressing-room or ‘retiring-room,’ as we have already nicknamed it. The stove is to be put out there, and we’ll have a nice comfortable place to change clothes or eat lunch there this winter.”

A few days later he wrote, “Not enough work at the shop to keep Gus: Chas. [his brother Charlie] let him off today until things pick up—next month according to the records.”

In December: “Business is rather quiet, owing to the lack of rain. There will not be enough to keep me busy all day tomorrow; I’ll go at eleven. Sam was sent away this a.m. We need rain very badly down here; as an indirect evidence, witness the advertisements in the papers. The stores are reducing prices, to stimulate trade! People hesitate to spend money when they’re dubious about crops.”

Near the end of January, in the middle of a letter about the arrival of much-needed rain, he wrote:

Everyone is hoping that it keeps up over Sunday; it would make all the difference in the world to the farmers. And we here in town are beginning to realize just how true it is that we all graft off the farmer. There was a little increase of work at the shop, but we can’t expect rush times until things are thoroughly soaked. The significant thing about the state of our business is that we have been mending almost no ranch shoes at all—have been mailing scarcely a pair a night, whereas usually there are two or three or more. People outside have simply been holding tight to what money they had, until they could see what was coming.

By mid-February, 1924, Grandpa had no choice but to share some news with his wife.

Business has taken a big slump again. It seems as though we simply do not get a really good-sized lot of work unless the streets are wet…Charlie took a little run in his machine this afternoon and called on several shoemakers, on the outskirts as well as in town, and found the same conditions everywhere…it’s only a matter of a couple of weeks or so before we’ll be up against price-cutting…This means a real adjustment for me. Charlie will simply have to cut expenses to the bone, if he is to stay in business…Well, if I don’t voluntarily suggest a cut in wages, he will have to. All of which makes me think that the sooner I can get away from here, the better. If my wages here were to be cut to thirty a week (which is probable) there would be no object in staying.

Visits

At the end of September, 1923, my grandparents were talking about when they’d see each other again. They targeted October 20 and contemplated whether Grandpa would have time to see his mother-in-law on the way. After looking at stage schedules, he determined that he’d reach Grass Valley (four miles from Nevada City) late at night. After spending the night there, he could take an electric car that left at 5:40 a.m. to Nevada City and have a half hour to visit his mother-in-law before the stage took off for Washington.

That initial plan was revised several times, and on that first trip he had a friend named Franklin for company. Franklin hoped to hunt around Washington, making it clear he wouldn’t stay with the Flindts so the family would have its needed privacy. Grandpa’s letter following the visit was full of information about the return trip and his positive reaction to where his wife and children were living.

He’d briefly stopped in Nevada City on the way back to see Nana’s mother. “She looked only a little thinner than when I saw her last, and certainly very good in the face,” he wrote. “She said she was feeling better all the time, was continuing the tonic, and meant to keep on taking it for awhile, planning to taper off gradually when she felt restored.” He finished by writing, “I am pretty tired and sleepy tonight, so will stop right here. No? Oh, all right, then, if you insist. Here’s a lot of kisses. *******************”

Nana wrote that, following Grandpa’s visit, Vella cried every time she heard her father’s name. To that Grandpa replied: “Poor little Vella. Never mind, Daddy will be back again before very long. Keeping busy makes it shorter. Maybe you think I haven’t missed you all. I’d hate to be without any other interests. If I didn’t have the writing, I’d go around as blue as blue all the time. Gee, I sure hope things go well, so that I can be with you all the time pretty soon.”

Soon, my grandparents were making plans for Grandpa to spend Christmas with his family. He promised his son he wouldn’t be so tired the next time, and that he would be able to stay longer. They had spent some time together on the last visit, out in the woods with a hatchet and prospecting. If there was too much snow on the ground, he said, they’d look for a bear or “at least some rabbits.”

On December 10 he wrote: “Two weeks from today, and we’ll be together, and it’ll be the night before Christmas. Maybe you think we aren’t looking forward to that with SOME enthusiasm, here. It’s a foregone conclusion that we’ll go, now. Ed will leave the store in charge of someone during his absence, if he still has the thing. If work continues so slack, it may be that I will have a part or all of that Saturday off; and instead of stopping overnight in Sacramento, we’ll run on to N.C., which will permit of a more leisurely attack on the mountain roads Sunday morning. In any event, we’ll phone as soon as we get there, of course.”

Once Grandpa returned to San Jose after Christmas, he wrote to his family at length about the journey home. Snow called for putting on chains, but the group had no trouble getting up the steep grade. He finished the lengthy letter by saying, “Well, I sure do miss you all tremendously. These visits are great, but the going away is mighty hard. I’m thinking that the next one will be the next to the last one. I see where I manage somehow or other to make the requisite killing, so that we won’t have to be apart any more after May.”

The next trip home was scheduled for the end of February, but Grandpa couldn’t wait that long. He took the stage from San Jose to Washington and surprised the family. His homesickness was such that, on the trip and around town, he scouted out employment closer to home, talking to the stage operator, the owner of a grocery store, and someone involved in mining.

Although his letters don’t include much information about his contacts with area writers beyond Austin Hall, he was a member of the local literary fraternity. Some of the members were pallbearers and stanch defenders of his reputation during the police investigation. The writers wrote an In Memoriam that reads:

When Death has stilled a beating heart,

What matter praise or blame?

When God has touched a soul with Peace,

Dane human words defame?

Nor have they power! For while eyes

Deep-drown in tars grow dim

They who have known his comradeship

Hold fast their faith in him.

Hold fast their faith that HE kept faith

Until the chapter’s end

And build to him this monument

That men have called him “Friend”

Sleep softly “Pal,” beneath tear-wet

Enshrouding violets,

And know love’s “Greater Miracle”

That not one friend forgets!

San Jose Writers Colony

A Wife’s Premonition

December 28, 1923.

Mabel Flindt woke before the winter’s sun had yet to show itself above the snow-capped mountains. She laced her high boots and stepped outside, indicating she wanted her son Max to accompany her. Saying nothing, she guided him down the street.

Flanked by the town’s handful of commercial and private buildings, she nodded to Mr. Crowley, who sometimes shared venison with her, and lonely Mrs. Bale, who loved gossip almost as much as apple pie. But she didn’t speak to either of them. Instead, she continued past the grocery store, two saloons, and the hotel, until they reached the stage road. A lumbering 1916 Overland had borne her husband away less than an hour ago before. Setting her shoulders, she began the hard climb up the grade.

Questions undoubtedly banked inside Max’s head, but her mood stilled him. Usually she exuded enthusiasm and an almost childlike optimism toward life. This morning seemed different.

She didn’t cry, and her progress now was as confident as it had been on flat ground—as strong as a four foot, nine inch woman could be. Max had grabbed his jacket before they’d taken off, and with his free hand fastened it tight around his neck. His mother shivered, causing him to look at her. She wore only a dress.

“They’re going to be all right,” she said as they reached the first turn in the long, steep climb out of the narrow canyon. The dirt road was the only way out of town.

Yes, they are, he wanted to say. Instead, the boy who lived to roam the land around the river at the bottom of the canyon waited. Looking down, he made out the tracks left by the Overland’s tires and imagined the sound made by rubber grinding over earth. Rain and snow—a lot of snow this year—often turned the road into mud. Deep wounds had been carved in it.

Restless, Max had to work at slowing his pace to match his mother’s. His hand, already as large as the one that held him, ached, but he didn’t tell her she was holding on too tight. She concentrated on her footing, yet he knew her thoughts were on the Overland’s passengers, particularly its driver. Seeking to claim some of her attention and put an end to her tension, he rubbed his thumb against hers. But although she returned the gesture, she didn’t look at him. She didn’t stop walking.

He held her left hand. From infancy, he’d been comforted and nurtured by that side of his mother. If asked, he wouldn’t have been able to say when he’d become aware of her right hand—what there was of it. Born without fingers, she gripped what she could between palm and thumb.

His mother was also more than half deaf, but Max gave that little thought. Like her deformed hand, limited hearing was part of their world.

“They left right early,” she said. Lifting her head, she scanned the tree-choked mountains. “They’ll be—home—tonight.”

“They’ll stop and see Grandma, won’t they?”

“Yes.” She sounded distracted.

“I want to see Grandma. She isn’t well is she? From what Aunt Frankie said, I know she isn’t. Mama, when are we going to Nevada City again?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe you and Bonnie will stay here when I take my teacher’s examination. I wish—there just wouldn’t be anything for you two to do while I’m in there.”

“What about Vella?”

“I don’t know,” she said after a short silence. They were still walking, but with less purpose now, almost as if talking sapped some of her energy. Either that or she knew that walking wouldn’t accomplish what she wanted. “Baby will cry if I leave without her, and Mama wants to see her. Maybe, if Mama feels well enough…”

Max filled in the rest. If his grandmother felt up to it, little Vella would stay with her while his mother took the periodic examination required of all teachers.

His mother’s continued silence and slow trek after the vehicle his father, aunt, uncle, and cousin had left in an hour ago stopped him from trying to answer that complex question. Instead, he kept pace until the ruts became so deep he wondered if his little sisters wouldn’t be able to climb out of them. Despite the promise of sunshine, no warmth reached them here. Even the coat his father had bought in San Jose and mailed to him last fall couldn’t protect him from winter’s hold on the Sierra Mountains.

“Mama?” he ventured. “We can’t follow them.”

“I know.”

He glanced over at her, wondering if she was crying—something she almost never did—but although he thought he detected moisture in her eyes, her chin didn’t tremble. With the memory of his father’s fierce, leave-taking hugs and countless kisses closing in around him, he felt overwhelmed. Most of all, he remembered how his parents had clung together and wondered what they’d said to each other.

“I want this separation to be over.” She spoke in a whisper, maybe unable to hear her words. “It isn’t right for a man to be apart from his children like this. For a husband and wife to have to write instead of being able to talk.”

Nana never spoke of what living far from her husband did to her; he didn’t know what to say, what to do.

“He’ll be back here in a couple of months,” he tried. “It won’t seem that long.”

“Eight weeks. Maybe,” Mama whispered.

Releasing Max’s hand, she dropped to her knees and placed her fingers in the marks carved by snow chains. He joined her, his fingers brushing against cold, sodden earth. Above and around them, the snow-blessed mountains waited. Thankfully it hadn’t snowed while his father, aunt, uncle, and little cousin had been here for Christmas celebrations, hugs, kisses, even an afternoon of father/son target practicing.

But now Papa and the others were gone. Papa would drive two hundred and five miles today before crawling into bed in San Jose, a place little Max barely remembered.

“I don’t want him to be living there,” he said. “I want him here with us.”

“I know; I know. It can’t be helped right now but soon—soon…”

Only, he never saw his father again. All he had left were his memories of that day, which he shared with me, his niece, one afternoon, many, many years later.

Decisions Made

Conditions at the shoe repair shop worsened, and on February 13, Grandpa wrote: “Let me tell you that this large wide person down in San Hose has been thinking hard about you folks the last few days. I’m beginning to think it won’t be long until we’re together again, or at least so close together that we can see each other often. Haven’t heard from Cole or Moomey yet [two Washington businessmen he’d approached earlier about employment], but something tells me the way is going to open up for us; if I have to take a can-opener and open it myself. I think I’d rather sell subscriptions to the Bulletin in Nevada County than stay here much longer; and you know my opinion of newspaper solicitors.”

He went on at length about the need to improve the road into Washington and the roads around Nevada City, so that part of the state could open up to visitors. “Mines, farms and everything else would be aroused…I sure do wish that I could have a hand in something like that, if it were only wielding a pick on the road gang. For fifteen years I’ve worked indoors and breathed ground-up leather and foot sweat. I’m overweight; my ankles are giving me warning every now and then; and the place for me is no longer here—it’s there.”

Nana immediately expressed her concern that Grandpa might do something impulsive, prompting him to write on February 16: “I see that you were badly worried by what I wrote regarding a change of residence. I wish I hadn’t worded it so positively. You may be very sure that I’d never pull out of here until I was positive that it would be a sure fire change for the better, for all concerned. No matter how I may wish to be with you all, I don’t propose to spoil everything just on account of my desires. I still owe nearly two hundred dollars; and while it can be paid off just as well at one place as another yet it would be foolish to let go of this job when work is so very scarce.”

In the meantime, Mr. Cole had written Grandpa on February 15: “I received your letter a few days ago and should have been more prompt. There is really not a thing that I could recommend to you at the present time but if there should be in the future I will be glad to inform you.”

Despite that disappointing note, Nana had a suggestion. Mr. Moomey, who operated the stage, was a government official. Part of his position involved postal service contracts. After discussing it with Nana, Grandpa wrote Mr. Moomey describing his experience with automobiles and asking about job possibilities.

Moomey’s February 21 response turned my grandparents’ lives around—or so they thought.

“Mr. H.E. Flindt, San Jose, California. Dear Sir and Friend: In reply to your letter of February 11, I wish to say that we can place you on the stage starting April 1 and continue up to part of June, then I can probably place you on light truck if we are both satisfied. It is the only thing I know of at present. If you care to take this up please let me know soon. Yours very truly E. J. Moomey.”

Grandpa’s next letter to Nana, along with a copy of Mr. Moomey’s note, left no doubt of his excitement: “By this time you’ve had a chance to think over Mr. Moomey’s letter, and I hope it strikes you as favorably as it does me. I’ve been dreaming rosy dreams all day today…If you reply favorably and I write an acceptance to Mr. Moomey, I will ask him whether my car could be used in stage service. (With a pair of low-gears in the rear axle, it would do fine in the hills.) Also, I will find out whether it would be all right for me to make the run on a different schedule; begin and finish the day’s work at Washington instead of N.C. That would not only suit us lots better, but it would give Washington much more convenient service. Do you think you could find room for me permanently in that house? Of course we would make it right with Miss J. [the live-in babysitter] out of my pay. Between our two pay checks we ought to make progress, with our living expenses lumped like that.”

As if that wasn’t enough good news for the little family, Grandpa also got a letter from Bob Davis. The editor wanted to buy The Money Miler and was offering to pay $400 for the story.

Grandpa: “If you haven’t already read the enclosed letter, go to it right away! How’s that for beautiful news? Incidentally, take note of the date on that letter. Did you ever see such a coincidence in your life? Our anniversary! Just think; at the very time that Mr. Moomey was writing his offer of that job, Mr. Davis was accepting the story. I call it more than providential; it’s an augury of a new order of things for us, that’s what it is. This means I can get away clean from San Jose, and then some. So far as I can see, it removes the only serious objection to taking up Mr. Moomey’s offer [clearing up his San Jose debts].”

Nana immediately replied:

Marvelous news!—with a big stack of papers waiting my official O.K. I herewith ditch them to reply to you. Coincidence is right! It is such good news I can hardly believe it. We have so long since been wrought up over story sales that it is a new sensation all over again. Isn’t Davis’ letter rich? He’s the same old joker, and clever, too. Won’t the Halls be delighted! Have you thought of the story material you can get, driving fares to and from Washington?… Although we can come clean away from San Jose I’d be very chary about spending any of the surplus, as we are apt to be close run this summer. [No teacher pay in the summer months. She earned $137 per month during the school year] If I were you I’d save every bit I could. If we don’t need it this summer it can be a nest egg around which we can put more & so get that much coveted home somewhere. Really we don’t need everything we are in the habit of buying, & luxuries injure rather than help one. I know that from the last 6 months experience. Now that things are coming our way, let’s curb ourselves just as though we had only enough to get along on…So if you ask me to what special use you can put a portion of that money I’d say into a savings account at the Nevada County Bank & fix it so that neither of us can take out without consulting the other. Can you make it $100 or more? I’d like to know how you dispense the rest of it. It will be great to pay the doctor in full, any you owe Charlie, and Austin & on the machine & your clothes. I hope there’s little else.

Grandpa got the point.

I am glad to have you express yourself so strongly about the situation. I thoroughly appreciate your position, and assure you that I am heartily in accord with your desire to avoid any entangling alliances. Pay as we go is right. Also, the simple and frugal life. If you only knew how sick and tired I am of all this nonsense down here. But when a person finds himself surrounded by the same old circumstances, the same old associates, day after day, it is hard to make any change in his habits. That is why I am anxious for as complete a change as possible. I want to get away from everything that tends towards those unnecessary expenditures you speak of. And as for running any bills, nary a bill do I run while I’m there.

He soon after addressed Nana’s comments about opening a savings account: “I like your suggestion about starting a savings account. Will forward you a hundred dollars as soon as Munsey [the publisher] comes through, and will ask you to open an account in your own name. I see no need of having it arranged as you offer: non-touchable without signatures of both. I have perfect confidence in your judgment and restraint. Besides, a time might come when in emergency you need it, and my signature would be hard to get.”

As for the $400 and what he did with it:

I paid the doctor today [March 4] and sent you the receipt, together with a cashier’s check to start the savings account with…I got eager for the money, Thursday, and wired my acceptance of Davis’ offer; check came by special delivery this noon. Right now, I don’t owe anybody, to the very best of my knowledge. It sure is a grand and glorious feeling. At the same time, I have developed a remarkable trait during the day: I’m positively miserly. I’ve got a substantial surplus, and I propose to hold on to it despite every inducement, with the sole exception of whatever you may suggest and O.K. I want to come up there flush, and stay that way. No more being broke, for mine. I’ve had all of that I need.

By March 6, Grandpa was getting nervous. He hadn’t heard from Mr. Moomey in response to his idea about changing the stage/mail schedule so he could live in Washington instead of Nevada City. He told Nana: “As I said before, I think he must be awaiting word from the postal authorities about a change in schedule. However, it has occurred to me that perhaps he will state some kind of requirements or other; maybe he’ll want me to put up a sum of money. If so, that will have to be considered all over again…I said that I’d be ‘on the job April 1, or rather, a couple of days beforehand.’ Then I mentioned the possible use of the Overland, and reversing the schedule; but I was careful to state, regarding both of those points, that the arrangements as they stood at present would be satisfactory enough. And I wound up with a request that he reply soon, so that I could wind up my affairs here.”

Ever-practical, Nana assumed that her husband would be stationed in Nevada City as drivers had been in the past. However, she spun a fantasy about what would take place every day when the stage arrived in Washington. “Won’t Vella be watching for the stage then! ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ she’ll shout to the green mountains. Maybe you can put her up on the seat & ride her around while doing your various errands, dropping her as you go out. Then maybe if you come up to the schoolhouse & knock on the door the teacher will come out & give you a kiss! Every day! Think of it. Of course I’ll have to let Max & Bonnie out a minute, too to be bear hugged.”

She ended with a P.S. “I’m afraid I have descended rather heavily on you the last week or so. Anyway, it is all out of my system. You certainly met it like a man and have come thru valiantly. I have learned things, too—how necessary a good father’s influence is in bringing up children. A family is unbalanced the way we are living up here.—Well, we’ll pull thru together, dear. Love from Mabel.”

In her March 10 letter she explained that she’d talked to Mr. Moomey, who’d apologized for not responding to Grandpa’s letter. Apparently his daughter did his typing and she’d been out of town. The schedule would have to remain as it was and there’d be no need for the Overland, but Mr. Moomey assured her that indeed the job was Grandpa’s. In 1924 it cost Washington residents $5 for a round-trip ride to Nevada City, so most times people phoned their needs to mail order houses. The stage delivered the purchases.

Mr. Moomey set Grandpa’s salary at $100 a month: “Doesn’t sound like much money,” Grandpa wrote. “On the other hand, I dare say that my living expenses in Nevada City will be at least $15 than here.”

My grandparents had discussed the possibility of him staying with his mother-in-law, but decided against it because of her health. Both were concerned about her weight loss and pain complaints. Nana had talked to her mother’s doctor, who’d attributed her condition to stress, although he did say that malignancies sometimes showed up in women her age.

Nana’s mother died four months after Grandpa.

A Precious Few

For those of us who carry Homer Eon Flindt’s genes, the last letters between husband and wife are especially precious. They had so many dreams then, such joy in knowing they’d soon be seeing each other every day. Topping off their reason for optimism was the money he’d just received for The Money Miler.

Nana began the month with a discussion of finances:

Dear Daddy, I’m leaving lots of work undone here, but expect to do it on Monday next. This is the end of a school month & I received notice from the bank that $137 is credited to me. Tonight I must go over my returned checks, go over my February outstanding bills and find the total. Then I intend to study some, bathe, pack a suitcase (for an upcoming education examination she had to take in Nevada City), etc. My register is made up for February and we have the grand average in attendance for this month: 6.5. The school could exist next year even without the Crowley children if the little Browning boy is here, as Edna Kramer goes to school next term, too. You know Mr. Crowley said if Mr. Cole is re-elected school trustee he would move his children away. It wouldn’t hurt the school a bit if he did, as the Cole two, our two, George and Freddie would make six pupils anyway. Maybe I’ll take Vella to Nevada City with me. The only difficulty about that is when I leave tomorrow afternoon to take the ex. she may feel deserted and cry a great deal while I am gone. I have a lot of things to tend to—my three bills to pay, bread, Penrose grocery, and meat. I want to look up a box of good apples, also some oranges, vegetables, toothbrush, and other small articles so I won’t be home until late tomorrow night. I don’t know what to do—she’ll be contented up here, but I’d like to show her off—she’s such a darling. While in Nevada City I may get two or three teeth tended to. Perhaps I’d better grab the opportunity. Well, good night, dear. Things look mighty bright, right now. We can keep them so. Lets! Love from 3 little rascals and one big one. Kisses to match.”

Grandpa, March 2:

I like your suggestion about starting a savings account…a time might come when in emergency you’d need it, and my signature would be hard to get in event of accident to me, but it isn’t impossible. By the way, the agent for the insurance company told me that my accident policy would not likely arrive for a couple of weeks; I mention this because I had understood that it would be only a few days and so told you. But what he meant by ‛a few days’, was that the company, although its home office is in Omaha, does all its adjusting in Oakland; so that if we should ever have a claim of any sort against it, we would receive the check on very short order. A letter from Max! I tell you, this old Dad was proud to have that. So carefully written, and the examples perfectly done. It was just like getting a letter from some grown-up. I was surprised as anything. I can see one thing, from his tendency to ‛write small’ he is due to be an unusually large person. It is an infallible indication, this early in life. (Max was over six feet and sturdy) Hugs and kisses until you all cry Enough.”

Grandpa, March 4:

Today was a curious combination of satisfactions and disappointments. To mention the latter first: There was no letter from Mr. Moomey, nor from you in Nevada City, although there was mention in the one you wrote Friday night at Washington to the effect that you’d write from N.C. In a way I was a little worried, not knowing for sure that you made the tip all right. But I suppose you didn’t get a chance to post what you wrote. As for Mr. Moomey, I’ll assume that the job is mine, and will tell Charlie tomorrow. Now for the satisfaction: First, your letter of Friday. It sure is fine, the way that $137 comes to you every month. It shows you’re doing what is best for you. You’ve got a right to be proud of such ability…hope you got the teeth fixed. Could you use some money? So Max is reading “Water Babies”. I’m glad, of course, that he reads so much. Nevertheless, I wonder if it’s really the best thing for his eyes at this stage of his development…you just bet our future is bright, and it’s going to remain that way…In spite of the rain yesterday, things were quiet this afternoon and I had the time off after 2:30 so proceeded on a regular debouch of bill-paying. I’ve got a substantial surplus, and I propose to hold on to it despite every inducement, with the sole exception of whatever you may suggest and O.K. I want to come up there flush, and stay that way. No more being broke for mine. I’ve had all of that I need… By the way, it’s just possible your bank hasn’t told you this: When you endorse that check, write across the top of the back “For deposit only” and of course your name underneath. In that way, should the check fall into any other hands, it can’t be cashed…with all deference to your judgment on this subject of Max’s welfare, I’m inclined to think that at his age he should have as much physical exercise as possible. It is very important that he go to bed every night physically tired. I don’t want him to develop any undesirable habit—you understand. I earnestly hope you can see your way clear to letting him go from school, instead of keeping you company… Arrange it to suit yourself, or not at all, if you think my criticism is no good. You’re doing so wonderfully well, there, with the children, I suppose it’s kind of nervy of me to suggest anything.

Nana, March 5:

Mama’s appearance certainly shocked me. Her upper eyelids look puffed and she has lost many pounds. She says it is her stomach and back. She has no appetite and is very tired most of the time. She has been to the doctor three times and says she is better than she was… I went to Dr. Sawyer Saturday afternoon to find out about it. He said it was a run-down condition, due to worry and strain. I told him to look her over well when next she comes… Mrs. Lean (neighbor) is fine and kind to her, and passes over good, wholesome things to eat. She’ll look out for her… Mr. Lean did what I thought—only he used cyanide. He took a cup away with him, and as he had worked in a mill, he knew the properties of that deadly stuff. Life was too hard for him. After seeing how bad Mama was, I decided not to have her keep Vella while I went to the examination, so I had little Gertrude Marion, a fifth grader, and living next to Mrs. Lean, come along with me. The ex. took just one hour to write… I gave Gertrude 25 cents and she got cones, candy & cookies, & when they weren’t eating they were rolling on the courthouse lawn… I tried to help Mama all I could while home, as I did the dishes most of the time, swept, & hemmed up a couple of dresses for her. This is my excuse for not writing… I didn’t ask him (Mr. Moomey) any questions about the business relationship between you & him. I thought it would be out of place for me to do that. However, he said you looked the picture of health & that up here, out of doors, would be fine for you… Mr. Moomey said Vella looks like you & that he is going to steal her… If you are to be in Nevada City & we up here, would you care to stay over with Mama? I didn’t say anything to her about it. I don’t know if she would be able to have you. I would do the washing, of course. If she could take you, would you want to be there with her?… That hundred dollar savings account looks grand to me. Speed the day that we begin to add to it… Four kinds of genuine love & kisses in assorted colors for your selection. Only twenty-seven days more! What are your plans—when do you come up? Good night, sweetheart daddy, from Mama Mabel.”

Grandpa, March 6:

I was sure glad to get your postal this afternoon. It told me that you made the trip all right and went through the examination without difficulty… Were Max and Bonnie good kids while you were away? They better be good, or Daddy will chew them up… Things certainly do look fine, don’t they? Well, you can rest assured that they’ll remain looking just as fine, for all o’ me. I’m not going to spoil things, believe me. There is too much at stake. So our boy is nine years old today… I hope he likes the fountain pen. He is getting to be such a writer, it ought to hit that w.k. spot… Which just about exhausts all the pay ore in sight in my mine of information. All I can do now is to get up and go to where you each happen to be, and hug you good, and kiss you better, and then say good-night.—Only 24 days!

Nana, March 6:

Two envelopes came from you yesterday—one full of a good letter—the other full of good deeds. I endorsed the check per your suggestion & it is now registered to go to the bank today. The doctor bill receipted surely looks good to me. You must have felt highly exhilarated after your Monday afternoon debauch. I guess there’s no better feeling in the world. It listens good to hear you say you are developing miserliness. Neither of us, by nature, can carry that to extreme, but we both can afford to mix up a generous quantity of it from now on with our other impulses. Apparently, with Mr. Moomey the thing is settled. I think the labor situation has been hard with him & a steady reliable man will come as a blessing… Max had some large birthday. Your pen hit the spot. He welcomed all excuses to write. It is a dandy for his purposes & its red head makes it doubly attractive… I didn’t get any teeth fixed-I was tired when I wasn’t active… The ride is tiring to one unused to it. But now with only regular work ahead and three months for cleaning up & sorting things in the library I think I ought to pick up a little in weight. Thanks for the offer of money. I have $23 left but I must send $10 to Frankie, $3 for Grandpa & about $3 to the Coles for eggs… Your suggestion concerning Max looks good to me. He has no bad habit that I know of & I watch him carefully, but I’ll see that he has more physical exercise. The mere fact of his being up here gives him more exercise than the same amount of action down there… I’ll see that he doesn’t read as much, but is more active… Goodbye dear—only two full weeks & one choppy one between me & thee. Love in reams.

Grandpa, March 7:

Before I forget them, I ought to clear up a couple of points. I’ve questioned the accident-insurance agent about driving a stage, and he informs me that stage-drivers and shoe-repairmen are given the same rating… There is no objection to a change of occupation so long as it is not a change to a more hazardous occupation… I hope your mother improves during the coming months, which ought to be much less trying at least until July—So you guessed right about Mr. Lean. And Vella was good girl, and didn’t interfere in any way with the trip. I guess we’ll keep her until next Christmas, anyway, if we don’t see some other little girl we like better… Yes, I think I’d drop into that work (stage driver) as easy as a tire drops into one of those ruts. As you say, I’m trained for detail. And there would be nothing whatever about the job to undermine my large deposits of good-humor. I am inclined to think that if Mr. Moomey likes me, it is largely because of the children and any resemblance he may fancy because he spoke of them two or three times… Don’t forget to let me know what all you’d like to have brought, because I don’t expect to see San Jose again for quite some time. If I stay in Nevada City, I imagine I’ll board with the Moomey’s. Don’t know, of course, until I hear from him… There is still too much to be found out, for me to say at present what my plans are. But I rather suppose you’ll see me about sundown three weeks from the day you ought to get this. Are you glad? I yam! I have been looking over your ‛four kinds of genuine love and kisses in assorted colors”, and I find it very hard to make a selection. You have arranged them so appealingly, I hate to break up the assortment. Will just take the entire lot as they stand, and ask you to put down my order for a duplicate assortment, as fast as your trained kissers and huggers and lovers can turn them out. Loving everybody a whole lot, you bet.

Nana, March 7. After fantasizing about how the children would react to seeing their father every day, she brought up their belief that the children had been healthier since leaving the city.

A year ago this time we were nursing them thru measles and the whooping cough had not yet come on the scene. And this year they’ve had not one off day since we’ve been here. Glorious country for children alright… Take care of that precious daddy of ours. He’s all ours in three weeks, remember. Bye bye dear—from four loving people.

Nana, March 8:

My family of four has descended upon me, so I can’t get quite as much done as I’d like. Max & Bonnie are out playing ball; Vella is molding some plasticine, and Miss J. is looking up some data on Alexander Hamilton in the encyclopedia. Tonight I am kind of dissatisfied with what I have accomplished. I wish I could have crowded more into the day. Next week I hope I can get lots of work out of them. I’m sorry I didn’t write you from Nevada City. Poor Mama looked so bad, I just couldn’t see her work much. I kept feeling that I must do things for her. You must know how bad she feels when I say that she hadn’t scrubbed that kitchen linoleum since it was put down. I most certainly hope it isn’t something terrible that is wrong with her… I better quit & wield the broom. The floor says so & anyway it will warm me up. This wind is chilling. I guess it’s blowing off the snow. Max made 89 in the Sp. Test today & he’s rejoicing. Goodnight, dearest of daddies. “Lesser & lesser”, grows the time. It will be queer not to be hearing from San Jose every day! How can you remedy that?”

Grandpa, March 9:

…It’ll be great to get in touch with all the animate and inanimate forms of nature, and get to know everything as intimately as I now know carburetors. Think of does with baby deer!… You’re sure welcome to any amount of dough, dear: I didn’t mean that I was getting to be so much of a tightwad, you mustn’t share my good luck! I thought of putting some bills into the letter with the cashier’s check, but didn’t know just how you’d take it; you’ve always asked without hesitation, the few times you wished it; so I think I’ll wait until you run up the help wanted signal. And don’t be bashful about; there’s plenty, for once… I’m making this change at the best time to get in on the wave of a boom.—I’ll be real careful with that daddy, and make him hold on tight to his “capital”, and bring him up to you in good shape for hugging and kissing.”

Nana, March 10:

Various things have been accomplished at home today—two baths, half a big washing & one lop-sided hair trim. Vella moves just as I was cutting around one ear & I took away more hair than I intended. Nearly all of one little ear shows & only half of the other. But, by the time you come, nature will have remedied my mistake… To me it is strange that shoe repairing & chauffeuring are considered equally hazardous by insurance companies. I’m glad of it, though-looks good for your new job. The children all could stand a pair of overalls—Max’s will cost $1.40, made out of the same brown material as your shop coats or coveralls. Size 12 or 14 years will be right for him. For Bonnie & Vella, brown pegtop Dutch Koveralls with red buttons or red piping, price $1.25 each & sizes 4 years & 7 years will be right, I think. If you could send them, I could make use of them before you come. Goodnight, dear—only 21 days more. The children are clamorous for your coming. So hurry.

Grandpa, March 11:

For the most part I am going to leave San Jose with few regrets-with a feeling that it is a change decidedly for the better, but I’m going to be sorry to say good-bye to Austin. It’s as Phil was saying, few men could collaborate on a novel as Austin and I did, and still remain friends. I rather think that the reason why we have remained friends, is that the story was bigger than either of us, and so has held us together. No news of any importance; no word from Mr. Moomey. I think I’ll wait a day or so longer and then write and ask him if there is anything he’d like to have me attend to before I leave here. I’m thinking of the Overland; it isn’t likely that he’ll want to make use of it, but if he should, I ought to be having the work done pretty soon… I’ll sure take pains to make that stage a comfortable place for women and children, in fact for everybody who rides in it. You have no idea how the business appeals to me. I can get up real enthusiasm about it; there is a sense of direct responsibility, the ability and the initiative to correct any faults instantly, that makes such work almost ideal. A fellow would have the satisfaction of getting all the credit for whatever results he obtained—a satisfaction that is denied in most work. I intend to make the stage-driver a mighty popular fellow.—in a way, I rather hope that Mr. Moomey will keep me on the stage rather than putting me on the truck; there probably be a little more money on the truck job, but I wouldn’t get so many stories… So you want to know, how am I going to make up for those four letters a week, that you won’t get after I’m there? Well, my dear, I’ve thought of that too; if I’m in Nevada City, I’ll call you up every day, just like I used to call up from the shop. Whether you like it or not. An’ I’ll bring big red apples an’ other gifts, to the teacher, so there. It occurs to me that the very loss of our postal business may threaten the continuance of the mail route. We’ll have to do something about that, for sure. Now, that’s absolutely all right about descending “rather heavily” upon me. It did me good. You bet we’re going to pull together, and show them all what a team we are. No more grand-stand playing for me. Loving you all as hard as I can, and a little bit more.

Nana, March 12:

Please hand the enclosed check to Frankie and tell her it is the first of three or four to pay back the loan of $30 that I had last summer. I meant to have written her along with it, but I just can’t make it this morning… I don’t need any money, & I’m sorry I worded my letter so ambiguously. Hang onto your dough—it’s a grand & glorious experience as you say. When you get here, we’ll talk over the summer clothes proposition. A few things all round are needed, but not a great deal in the aggregate. It is much easier to dress a family in summer than in winter & I hope I’ll be earning again, before winter clothes are needed… No word from the ex. yet, so I wrote Mrs. Austin this morning about another small matter & asked to know my mark… Sorry I must stop, but the children are raising a big noise in the bed, so I must get busy on them… Three children want you badly for rough housing & chewing, so hurry along. Lots of love & kisses from Her who is Mabel.

Grandpa, March 13:

Well, here’s two outstanding pieces of news. One is the enclosed letter from Mr. Moomey—which kindly return if you will. A hundred dollars a month doesn’t sound like much money. On the other hand, I dare say that my living expenses in Nevada City will be at least $15 less than here; while it is certain that I have not been putting in full time here of late, and equally certain that there is a cut in wages ahead if I stay, with no assurance of a full day’s work every day… I told Charlie this afternoon that I would be stage-driving on the first of April. He said frankly that he envied me; not so much the exact job itself, as the change to the out-of-doors. He said that if he could get away from the shop without having to let it go at a sacrifice, he would get on to a ranch too quick. I gave him all the details, and he agreed with me—that, considering the extra time I would have for writing, and the opportunity and inspiration for story material, it was a good move; the pay from the stage work being enough to make both ends meet for the family during the summer, and anything extra from the magazines being clear… The other main item is that I got another box of oranges for my dears, and they are to be sent up tomorrow… The reason why shoe-repairing is rated as so high a risk, is because of the lung trouble which comes from inhaling leather dust… I think now that I’ll put in all the time I can get here, so will not reach you until Saturday the 29th… I will write to Mr. Moomey and find out whether he meant for that $100 to be in addition to board, and if not, what he would charge for same. I’m sure looking forward to splashing through Washington Creek and seeing a kid or two come whopping down the road. And their dear mama standing by the gate with a few kisses all ready to plant in the fertile regions whence came my w.k. smiles.

Nana, March 13:

I’m beginning to know Austin’s typewriter, so beware. I kin tell—some detective I am. Yes, I’m sure you’ll miss him, & the letters will be frequent between you, I hope… I believe as you do that work on the stage would be preferable to trucking—it might not pay so much but it would give you more inspiration and time for writing. Is the Overland likely to last quite a while without that work being done on it—with ordinary use? I gather that the work need only be done if the machine is used for heavy loads. Vella put a real kiss right in this spot… Vella’s neck is as brown as a berry—the back of it—being exposed to the sun so many hours a day. She is certainly popular up here. People think she is simply “it.” Mrs. Browning came over to the school yesterday and walked home with me. Her husband comes down from the Eaglebird (mine) about once a week. Tonight he’ll walk down—the seven miles—after work and do the same stunt before work tomorrow morning… Bye bye—not much over two weeks til you are here. Bonnie likes the letter D best, she said at school yesterday, because it starts Daddy.—Kisses from all those healthy red mouths and hugs from those strong young arms.

Grandpa, March 14:

…I enjoy getting things for you. How about stockings? I’m with you 100% in this matter of restricting our purchases to real needs. There are several small articles, of no great cost, which I have thought of getting from time to time, including a couple of items for the car, but there is no actual necessity for any of them and I shall not spend a cent on them. It’s the only way to get ahead… One more matter in this connection, which I mention solely on account of the estimable lady who wields the fry-pan in your domain; Any errands which I may do for No. 3 Main Street, such as bringing purchases from N.C., must be entered on the account book along with anyone else’s package. Of course this doesn’t apply to anything which I may bring to you on Saturday afternoons in the Overland… Tell those three rascals that their daddy is keeping his teeth very sharp, so that he can chew nice, juicy bites of his children; and he is going to go to a circus, maybe, and play with a few great big grizzly bears—so that he can rough-house just awful.

Nana, March 14:

Two-Weeks Distant Daddy: The children are to make one more penny peep show for the last day of school. George has chosen India; Madeline, Spain; Max, Africa; Karl, China, & the second grade is to make an Indian scene. One other plan I have is for George & Karl each to make a map of California with a hoe out in a flat part of the yard, and by the side of it one of Nevada County. I want them ready for display on the last day of school & will allow them to pour water into their rivers on that day. I’ll give them ideas from time to time & they will evolve some themselves as to how to represent different sections & to provide contrast… Must stop & eat. All the children are dressed & ready for breakfast. Good bye dear boy. We wait the day that you ride in triumph into our fair city.

Grandpa, March 15:

There doesn’t seem to be any enormous amount of news to put down, now that things are so well settled for the near future… It’s as you say, the old car probably wouldn’t stand up well to continuous use over that road; even though I went to the expense of putting in lower gears… Perhaps we’ll do well to get rid of the Overland… I’m going to figure things out very carefully and see just exactly what it is costing me to run the Overland, per mile. I’ll allow for its value as it stands, of course. It is a heavy car; if it isn’t bringing in any income, as may have been the case, had not Mr. Moomey said No (to using it on the stage run) then it is an extravagance for people who want to save money. Will figure this out carefully, and meanwhile let me know your thoughts… Wish you’d have those children love you a lot and then turn right around and love them just as much, all for me, until I can get up there two weeks from today and give personal attention to this matter. Forty cubic yards of kisses and eleven kilometers of hugs from that affectionate Sweetheart Dad.

Nana, March 15:

I am ensconced in the kitchen so the light in the sitting room won’t waken the house. The kettle is boiling. Radna is lying by the fire-quite a privilege, but a married woman is in command temporarily instead of an unmarried ‛woman’. It makes a lot of difference in this give and take scheme of things. And motherhood makes for still more tolerance. It amuses me about Miss J. and the kitten. It sleeps on her bed! And before we had it she spoke so strongly about people who let cats sleep with them. She talks a lot about mothers giving in to children & letting them do all sort of things, & do you know she simply can’t break the cat of getting on the tables. So the war wages—children versus cats. It just shows that she is as malleable as anybody—she could have been more tolerant and tender if she were married & had given birth to a child. She is always telling about the cat’s cute ways, etc… I’ll have to hurry, but have lots of love on hand.

Nana, March 15:

Such a good letter yesterday, and things are settle at last! I thought probably you would get $75 and board at Moomey’s. Considering that your work is over around noon, usually, I think $100 is good. The hours are from 6:30 to 12:30 approximately. Whether some work is expected in the afternoon is more than I know. But think of the time for writing!… I hope you haven’t written asking if the $100 is in addition to board, because it can’t be so. I believe the Moomeys don’t want boarders in the hot weather probably. He would have mentioned board if that were included. Billy pays Mama $45, but he gets his washing done for that, too. Miners get more money than they used to, thank goodness. I don’t think you can get board for $25, but it will be for two months only—as we shall take a furnished house in Nevada City for three months (of summer), I expect.… Oh, I heard from Mrs. Austin—I passed the ex. with 12 credits to spare—87%… I haven’t said ½ I’d like to but I’d better stop. Love & kisses where they’ll do the most good. A cool March wind but three children out romping noisily—bare-headed.

Nana, March 17:

It’s just before cutting two heads—or hairs, rather—Max & Bonnie, and before giving all three a bath. They played in red dirt today, digging tunnels,—little ones, and they are surely a dirty brood—their hair even looking dusty… One thing—how about the income tax—does it affect us any for the past year—considering my earning and that $400? … I read in today’s paper that the Fischer place next to mama was searched & an elaborate still found. A truck was summoned to carry away all the evidence. Louis Fischer, a bachelor brother of Mr. Fischer, is under arrest & to be questioned. He is innocent, I happen to know, and the guilty parties have moved away. Some excitement for Mama, wasn’t it? Poor old Louis is only half there—I bet he was scared over the turn of affairs. I am wondering how the authorities got wise to the condition of things.

Grandpa, March 17:

I’m enclosing a letter that speaks for itself, and which probably indicates that the accident insurance is right now in force. Believe I already told you that there would be no such delay in event we had to enter a claim, because all adjusting and paying of Pacific Coast claims is done from the Oakland office. Did I tell you that the policy calls for $24 a week for total disability or confining illness, and that the weekly payments continue as long as the trouble lasts? No 52 weeks or 104 weeks, but for an indefinite period. If I should get laid up for life, I’d get paid the $24 until the end… I’m glad Max was struck with the promise of the dictionary. It will be a dandy, with leather cover and gold edges on the pages. I’m sorry, in view of what you wrote about asking Mr. Moomey whether the $100 would be in addition to board, because I did ask him. I put it this way: “Does the $100 include board? If not, what would you charge me for this.” Also said that I would prefer to be with him; and I asked him if there was anything that he would like for me to attend to here before coming… Good for you the way you went through that exam. I knew you’d have points to spare… When I wrote Mr. Moomey I made it clear that I fully intended to come, anyway. I said that he could expect to see me on deck, or rather, that I’d report to him, on the 31st, unless he wished me sooner… As you say, $100 is good pay for the work, since it leaves so much time for writing and doesn’t involve handling money to any extent; and as for boarding myself until you come down and we get a house, that’ll be for only a short time… I’m having no difficulty whatever in continuing to love all four of you, and anticipate no difficulty in future, so please don’t pay any attention to any other daddy-sweetheart until this one is all worn out. Just now, he feels as though he is only started. Could hug and kiss right and left, front and behind, as fast as anyone would dare come near, for hours and hours and hours.

The Last Week

Nana, March 18:

We believe Radna is going to have puppies. She looks broader than ever & is quite hungry most of the time. She is only halfway along, too. Thank goodness you’ll be here. We shall have to drown the puppies I guess, but probably we can give away the males. The father is that ornery black stray dog, as their relations were on the 7th day of her heat spell. She did allow the Cole dog the same attention, after we thought she was all well—on the 11th or 12th day, so it’s hoping too much to think he is the father… This afternoon, I should have washed but Tessie unexpectedly surprised me, so I deserted. My legs ache a little, so I shall soon go to bed and have the alarm set for 4:30. I don’t mind the washing very much—it comes so clean & sweet-smelling, but I hope I can make different arrangements another year, as I need the time for other things… Well, I better go to bed—Miss J. & I have foolishly talked until it is quite late. Goodnight, dear. Take precious care of our best beloved daddy. Kisses from all de bunch.

Nana, March 19:

Saturday and Sunday are usually pretty hard, and on Monday night I felt tired, so didn’t write you. Only one more week that you don’t hear on Tuesday! Or is it Wednesday?… Sunday morning I trimmed Max’s hair and cut it all over, using a comb to hold it up for clipping. I surprised myself at the good job I made of it, so henceforth, especially if I have a clippers for neck work, we needn’t spend any money on haircuts for him. He’ll begin to object when he’s about 16, I guess. About selling the machine—now is the time we need one, but I wish we had a second-hand Ford touring instead. Not that I admire that make, but it’s cheaper to run and keep up, and stands rough wear. Do you think you could exchange it for a good second-hand Ford? … I imagine the Overland is very expensive to run… Do as you think best about it… Take good care of your dear self. We are loving you hard. Only eleven days more! Goodbye dearest, from the little brood.

Grandpa, March 20:

Hello my dears. Only ten days more, and I’ll be saying that with this smile-producer right into your ears. Think you can stand it?… Today I sent off a box of pippins. Got them at Barry’s for a dollar and a half. I think you’ll agree that they are remarkable fruit and worth the money; it’s getting late for apples, and a size smaller, at $1.25, was rather shrunken in appearance—apt to taste pithy. The dollar size was still less appetizing to look at. Hope you like them—and you’re perfectly welcome. About income tax: I didn’t think of that myself until Charlie mentioned it when he showed me a notation he had made on his return. He had put me down for less than two thousand dollars paid in wages, and had written in. “This employee has no other source of income. Wife and three children.” Such information is required from employers, you know. Well, in view of what he has already turned in, I guess we may as well let well enough alone; if we were to send in a return, it would conflict with his report and would cause them to bother him about it. We really ought to pay, and next year shall. If I wasn’t so profitable a patron of the post office, I’d be bothered more by my conscience than I am. Every time I send off a manuscript the government makes about fifty cents clear, as near as I can figure it. Post office could carry forty letters, to as many different addresses, for the price of one manuscript, and still break even… I wouldn’t mind an occasional afternoon’s work on the cars, at Moomey’s. Rather expect it. I intend to give him the very best sort of service for his money, and I consider a driver should care for the cars, as far as tools and ability will permit… So old Radna looks as though there was going to be results soon. Yes, it would be much better if the gentleman in the brown coat with the long tail should be the head of the family… I’m frightfully relieved to know that Tessie has come…you just better believe I’m going to take good care of this daddy person. Nothing is going to happen to keep us from being together soon and staying together from then on. It sure makes a difference to me, in peace of mind, to know that everything is going smoothly there and that nothing of any consequence is wanting.… Loving you mighty hard, and tremendously glad I’m to see you so soon. 22 kisses and 22 hugs from Daddy Homer.

Nana, March 20:

…My eyes are very tired so I’ll not write much tonight. The clippers & crackers came today. I’ll have to practice with the former. I tried it out on Max & got some results but not perfect work… Will you excuse me now—I’m pretty tired, but loving you hard. Nine days more to wait to see our dear daddy! Good night or good morning—I’ll write again today. XXX XXX XXX XXX and love from the four of us.

Grandpa, March 21:

The fewer the days until I come, the fewer the things I seem to find to talk about. It will sure seem queer, not to be writing. I’ll feel as though I had forgotten something, every two or three nights, and be wondering what it can be. Got your letter of Tuesday today, also the enclosed from Mr. Moomey. By the way—I heard Mr. Bice call him Dick but these letters are all signed E.J. Can you explain it? I’ll make no attempt to locate permanent room and board from this end but will leave all those arrangements until I get there. Stay at the hotel or else with your mother until things are framed up. Sure I’ll phone Grace. I notice you are very, very careful to specify phone. You don’t trust that designing woman with your frail husband, I see. I’ll tell her so. I think you’ve made a good suggestion about trading the Overland for a second-hand Ford. There is just one point to be considered: Fords are made with only two gears, where other cars have there; consequently the Ford’s low gear is made a sort of compromise between what would be low and intermediate gears in another car. It isn’t a good hill-climber, unless (which is the point) the car be equipped with a rear axle that is geared-down for hills. Well, Fords sold in mountain towns are always geared-down, whereas those sold around here, are geared up. You get the idea; San Jose is a poor place to get a second-hand Ford for mountain use. N.C. is the place to find one, or the Valley, or Auburn. On the other hand, the Overland would be hard to dispose of there. All right, since you’re willing to leave it to me, I’ll make the most economical decision I can. We ought to have something, as you say, to facilitate moving things down to N.C. later on. You have two disagreeable items to relate, in that Fred Browning matter, and having to take Bonnie out of school. I’m sorry on both accounts, of course. But the gypsy girl will have a visitor every morning, beginning week after next, to help make up for having to stay home from school. As for such affairs at the Browning matter, I intend to be very cautious about everything, on Mr. Moomey’s behalf. You note what he says about going East for a visit. Evidently he expects to feel free to leave things entirely in my hands. Gee, but I love you folks a lot. Wish I could grab you and hug you hard. Got a lot of kisses saved up. Lovingly Daddy Sweetheart.

Nana, March 22:

To Dear Daddy: I just asked Vella and Bonnie what I should tell you. Vella says, ‘Let me have a kiss, Daddy’. Bonnie says, ‘Kiss, love, kiss, love, kiss love—just like this XOXO XO XO. Now maybe they’ll let me write what I want to say to Daddy. It’s before breakfast & they are waiting around hungry-like, but I know they’re never really that—this three meals a day scheme doesn’t allow that… Mr. Moomey has been getting in about 9:20 every day and he flies out again before 10 o’clock. I am afraid our minute together must be very brief as that is a particularly busy time for me, getting everyone started for the day. However Bonnie & Vella you can see for a longer time. Maybe you’ll write me letters just the same and I will you, as there’ll be no time to discuss things during school days & on Saturday you will have to make the same schedule hold—last year young Luthgow used to be back here again sometimes with a truck and Mr. Bennetts told me she thinks Mr. Moomey expects quite a lot from his drivers—and I wouldn’t be surprised if you have to do afternoon work more often than not. When you consider how hard a miner works for a hundred dollars in this county, you know that one is expected to do a lot for that amount in other trades also. It will be better to come up expecting to work a great deal than to come expecting that work is over at noon time every day. People up here expect work to be over earlier in the day, however. They are early risers and four o’clock suppers are in order…About income tax—how much should we pay—do you know? I understand there are very sharp individuals managing that, and it’s hard to evade. Can you figure up what we should pay? I’d rather be fair about it. Let’s see what it is and then decide. There’s quite an extra amount as a fine, isn’t there. Selling the story when you did changes any statement you might make up to that time, anyway. Stage is in—no white top. I guess he went so fast he dodged the snow-flakes!… Kisses & hugs from your loving family. Paper ones until a week from today. Bye bye, dear.

Nana, March 24 & A.M Monday:

Dear Husbing: We have a white world this morning, and we had one yesterday, too. But the sun came out strongly in the afternoon and melted nearly all the four inches that fell Saturday night. About two inches have fallen already and it is keeping it up steadily. I may take lunch to school. How Mr. Moomey will get in today is a question, as he has no horses or wagon at this end to come to meet him. Maybe, for awhile, after you come up you’ll only come to the juncture with the stage… About your room and board, I was thinking that mama could room you, perhaps, and Mrs. Lean could board you. She is an excellent and clean cook. Maybe she is equal to it—I don’t know. I haven’t written mama about storing the boxes, but I will tonight. I have no idea how much the National (Hotel) charges. I’ll mention it to mama & ask her what she thinks. Mrs. Lean isn’t very well, but such an arrangement is often very good to make one think less of one’s troubles. I don’t know why Mr. Bice called Mr. Moomey ‘Dick’. No one here calls him anything but Mr. Moomey. By the way I heard that the Eaglebird (gold mine) is closed for a few days. Mr. Harris is no longer up there—there’s a queer secrecy about it all—whether Mr. Harris was fired, or quit, or rushed off on his own accord, I don’t know. This much I do know, and I’m not supposed to know it—Mr. Moomey attached the mine for that big freight bill. Mrs. Browning told me, but said not to tell. You may go see Grace and you know it, you rascal. I thought maybe you’d be too busy to do other than phone…There’s one thing I’d be cautious about up in this part of the world—and that is risqué jokes. I don’t know, of course, if the men up here talk that way or not. It doesn’t seem to go with snow & green mountains & sweet air. It seems to me to be a product of city life due to so much rotten vaudeville. So, I’d go slow about that. What do you think? We’ll talk more about it when you get here…Only two more letters to write you, I guess. You’ll be leaving there Fri, so you can come in on the stage here, Saturday, if you sell the machine.—Well, bye, bye, dear daddy.

Nana, separate letter—same day 8:45 P.M.:

Daddy Dear: The little girls are asleep, Max is getting his spelling, Miss J. is mending, the cat snoozing & I am writing to my beau. This has been a big day in many ways. It snowed off and all day, but the sun was on the job some too, so what snow came was changed to water almost immediately… But the stage did not get in today at all! There are twenty inches between here and Nevada City! Mr. Moomey started with the machine and got within one mile of the Junction & had to go back. Tomorrow morning Mr. Browning s to go out, walking until he meets Mr. Moomey who will have horses for Mr. Browning to care for at this end of the line…Mr. Bennett told me a lot of things today, when I went there to register. She said Mr. Crowley has said he doesn’t want me back. She added that no teacher in the last ten years has pleased him anyway. We discussed Mrs. Kohler’s discontent with my teaching, too. I had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Kohler wants to leave Washington, & Mrs. Bennett verified my thought. Mrs. Kohler wants to leave so badly that she’s willing to find fault with anything. It certainly looks now as if there will be no school here next year. Mr. Crowley was here today trying to get Miss J. to say she’d go over and write Mr. Cole’s name in on the ballot. He added that he was coming to see the teacher tonight if it didn’t storm. It did storm, so there was no Brother Crowley. He told Miss J. that the minute Mr. Cole was elected, he’d take his children out of school. I believe he will, too. That will cook the goose for this town. The people here are determined that he shan’t boss them around to that extent, and a number are intending to vote for Carey. It’s really comical in some ways. Mrs. Kramer told me Mr. Harris told her he’d help out on the school business. And get some children up here, that belong to miners, but Mr. Harris spent an afternoon in jail in Nevada City recently because he fired a couple of men without paying them & they had him arrested. He had to wire to one of the capitalists in Los Angeles for money to pay off these men, and then he was let out. Things are coming to a climax here alright. I hope the schoolhouse isn’t all bloody next Friday afternoon for me to clean up. You coming in a hot time, me dear, despite the snow…Good night, sweetheart, daddy. We’ all are loving you hard.

Grandpa, March 24 (last letter):

Dear-People-I’ll-See-This-Week, Tonight I had supper over at the Livingston’s by a very special invitation of the lady of the house. It was real good—meat pie, asparagus, shrimp salad, biscuits and blackberry pie. Mrs. Livingston said that if you had been present, you’d have been able to name several other editions of the self-same meat pie. They all sent their very best to you, and asked to be remembered whenever we took any pictures, and wished us all sorts of luck…Saturday night Austin and I went down town, ostensibly to see a show together, but nothing looked anywhere near good enough for the likes of us, so we just hiked around and occasionally said a word or two to one another. (You can put your own valuation on that ‘one or two’ words.) Met up with Phil, too; so it’s just as well I got a note in with the pictures and policy I sent Saturday. Well, dears, this daddy is planning to do one of two things: Either trade the Overland for a second-hand Ford, or else sell the Overland outright and devote part of the proceeds to getting a Ford. There is an ad in the paper now, which I hope will get results. Shan’t decide which to do until I get answers from the ad. But at any rate you can expect to see me in a Ford; and beings as how I don’t know a great deal about the special innards of the beast, I’ve decided not to attempt to make the entire run in one day. Instead I’ll break the run in two. You can see how that is best though it means losing a day here. Even if I knew the Ford thoroughly, and even if it were not a second-hand one, it would still be a terrific job to drive that hold-her-like-grim-death car all the way from here in a single day. So I’ll leave here Friday about noon, go until I get tired, do no driving after night, and wind up comfortably in Washington before sundown Saturday night. That means, of course, that if you were to mail anything to me on Thursday’s stage, I’ll not get it, unless it be forwarded later. I wish I had doped this out beforehand, because it might be that you’d have some final errand for me to do. However, I believe we’ve threshed things out pretty thoroughly already, thanks to knowing what is in store for us from now on…Doesn’t it look great? I’ll tell the world that nothing is going to tempt me to spoil the prospects one little bit. You can count of me absolutely…Oh, I don’t mind work, especially if it has to do with cars, and is out of doors. Moomey can have eight hours a day from me if he likes, and more when needed.— The income tax returns which had to be turned in this month included only the income up to and including December 31st. Chas. Told me today. So we need not think about the money from the story, etc., until next March. I’ve seen saving up love until I’m almost running over with it. Is there anyone there who will hold some of it for me? Daddy Homer.

Nana, March 26:

I wonder if this will reach you before you leave San Jose. You have a terrible lot of things to tend to, I know…Fred Browing walked out seven miles to meet Mr. Moomey who came twelve miles on horseback with the mail sack. There are 30 inches of snow on the ridge between here & Nevada City. About five inches fell here last night. Today it rained & snowed by turns, but the rain washed most of the snow away. Mr. Crowley is still on the war path, but hasn’t called on me yet. Mrs. Cole came over tonight & staid a little while. Mr. Crowley wants Mr. Cole to run against Mr. Carey. The latter and the Coles are very good friends, & Mr. Cole doesn’t want to get mixed up in this. People here seem to rather have the school broken up & the Crowleys out of it than otherwise. They cling to the hope that the Eaglebird will bring family men up here, and that may be the case…That insurance policy looks good. Many thanks for sending it to this wife! My nerves are fine—no neuritis. I believe I am better than I have been for a long time. Those twenty minutes a day in exercises are a wonderful help. I wrote to Mama tonight to ask her if we could store our boxes there & also if she thought she is well enough to board you. I suggested Mrs. Lean’s boarding you & her rooming you—to see what she thought about it. Well, I hope we see you on the stage Saturday & anyway we’ll be listening to the phone Friday. No school in the afternoon. Maybe a letter that comes tomorrow will tell me when you’ll start from San Jose. Love in big ‘armfuls’ & kisses from your dreaming family & from her who soon will be. It has snowed a lot this evening, but it isn’t snowing now.

Newspaper Articles

During the investigation into my grandfather’s death, detectives considered the possibility that he’d been involved in a bank hold up in Fresno. They did so because some tacks were found in Grandpa’s possession, similar to ones used in the robbery. I’m guessing that’s how, as a child, I came up with the notion that my grandfather had been a bank robber. Back then saying my ancestor lived an exciting life spoke to my imagination. Needless to say, that’s no longer true.

San Jose Mercury News, 2/6/1924

FRESNO BANK HELD UP BY 2 BANDITS. Bandits Believed to Have Covered Retreat by Covering Highway with Nails.

Fresno, Ca. Feb. 5, Two unmasked men held up the First State Bank of Clovis, 11 miles from here, locked Cashier Thomas Bowison in the vault, and escaped in an automobile with a sum estimated at $25,000.

Officials of the sheriff’s office were immediately notified and two deputies were dispatched to Clovis, while other officials were spread out to cover roads leading away from the Fresno county town.

Assistant Cashier Emory Raybourn, returning from lunch, avoided the robbers and released his fellow worker.

Officials of the bank said later that they believed the loss must have been between $10,000 and $12,000.

According to reports reaching here this afternoon, it is believed that the bandits covered their retreat by putting roofing nails along the highway leading from Clovis to Fresno. Nails were reported found and were believed by officials to have been scattered to puncture tires on pursuing automobiles.

The first two numbers on the license plate of the bandits’ car, as reported to him, led Sheriff W.F. Jones to the belief that the car was registered in Los Angeles, he said this afternoon. According to Howison’s story, one of the bandits approached his window about 1 o’clock and asked that a $20 bill be changed. The cashier turned in his cage to get the change, and found himself covered. The pair then locked him in the vault.

Raybourn came into the bank shortly afterwards and was held by the bandits while they looted the bank, the officers were told. Estimates of the loot, they said, were between $20,000 and $25,000.

Raybourn saw the car, a red-colored machine, with glass out in the rear, leave the bank. He said the first two numbers on the license were 58, and that he could not distinguish the rest. The number officials said is of the Los Angeles series.

* * * *

San Jose Mercury, Feb. 7.

TWO SUSPECTS ARE CAUGHT IN FRESNO. Will Be Subjected to Grilling on Bank robbery by Sheriff’s Officials.

Fresno, Feb. 6. With two suspects under arrest, Fresno county and officers were making an effort today to close the net around the two unmasked bandits who entered the Clovis State bank yesterday afternoon, locked the cashier in the vault and escaped in an automobile with $25,000. The men under arrest are John Whittehead and Albert Posey. They were arrested by Fresno police in a café here early this morning on a description furnished by Vice President E.E. Hayburn of the bank, who was held at bay after his cashier had been placed in the vault.

San Joaquin valley roads were being guarded today by officers armed with a description of the two men, said to be youths. The suspects were to be subjected to grilling by sheriff’s officers here today.

* * * *

The first article about my grandfather’s death read:

Sunday, March 27, Oakland.

BODY FOUND AS STOLEN TAXI WRECKS.

Oakland Owner of Car Held Up. Robbed of Machine Shortly Before Auto Takes Death Dive Off Highway. Corpse of Bandit Suspect Has Papers Belonging to San Jose Man; Highwayman’s Pistol Still Missing.

After robbing a taxi driver of his automobile on a lonely spot on the road near Pleasanton last night, a man believed to be Homer Eon Flindt of San Jose drove the car off the road in the dark a few miles further on, and was killed. The body lying near the wrecked machine, was found this morning by Paul Brass, a ranch owner less than ten miles from the place where the robbery occurred. The car was identified by the owner.

L. S. Handley, 831 Sixteenth St. the owner and driver of the car, said that he had driven a passenger from Oakland to Dublin last night, and then, at the latter’s request, had turned down the road toward Pleasanton. About a mile from Dublin the passenger produced a revolver, ordered Handley out of the car, and drove away with it.

DEATH PLUNGE IN DARK INDICATED.

Indications were that the driver, unfamiliar with the road, had driven off in the darkness at a dangerous curve.

Papers in the dead man’s pockets indicated that he was Homer E. Flindt, 608 South Locust Street, San Jose. His description is said to tally closely with that given by Handley as to the man who stole his car. A suitcase, resembling one which Handley said was carried by the robber, was found in the car. It contained only a few toilet articles.

The body was turned over to Deputy Coroner Charles Graham of Pleastanton. Constable Larkin Locke of Pleasanton notified Sheriff Barnet’s office, and Deputy Sheriffs Jack Colder and Joe Coares were assigned to work on the case.

SPURNED MONEY BUT DEMANDED MACHINE.

According to Handley, the robber, after backing him against a fence at the roadside, assured him that he did not want Handley’s valuables, but only the automobile. A search of the dead man’s pockets today revealed only a few minor coins.

The revolver, with which Handley says his passenger held him up, was not found at the scene of the accident today. Search for it was being continued by the authorities.

FLINDT SAID TO BE SHORT-STORY WRITER.

Flindt is a partner with his brother, Charles Flindt, in one of the leading shoe repairing establishments in San Jose. He is said to have written and published a number of short stories. He has been living with his sister, Mrs. E. De Arman, at 608 South Locust Street, San Jose.

Flindt left home yesterday, according to Mrs. De Arman, to visit a friend, James Hansen at Gilroy, intending then to proceed to Nevada City and establish a “bus service” there. Hansen said today that he had not seen Flindt.

Mrs. De Arman left San Jose today for Pleasanton to view the body found beside the wrecked car to see whether it is her brother.

* * * *

San Jose, March 28.

SAN JOSE AUTHOR DEAD IN DUBLIN CANYON MYSTERY.

Pinned beneath the wreck of a “reported” stolen automobile, the body of Homer Eon Flindt, nationally known short story writer of San Jose, was found in a lonely canyon on the Dublin-Pleasanton road at an early hour yesterday morning. A .38 caliber revolver was found a short distance away and in the car was a grip containing, among other things, a quantity of roofing tacks similar to those found after the robbery of the Clovis bank on February 5, 1924, when the bandit got away with $25,000.

Case Very Mysterious. Since the finding of the body, the affair has assumed one of the most mysterious phases with which criminal officials have had to deal. The first report linked the dead man with the hold up and robbery of L. S. Handley, rent car driver whose car was the one found with the body and who between 9 and 10 o’clock Wednesday night reported to the Oakland police he had been forced from his car by a “fare” and had been robbed of a small sum of money and his car driven away.

Bruises on the body of the dead man, his reputation in this city, and other items in connection with the case have thrown grave doubt on this phase of the matter in the minds of his relatives and of officials investigating the death and robbery and they will make the fullest investigation in an endeavor to find the facts which may prove to be a story stranger than any of those which won a reputation for Mr. Flindt.

Details of Story. Wednesday evening, according to Mr. Handley, he was approached at Eleventh and Broadway, Oakland, by a stranger who desired to be taken to Dublin. Details as to the amount of the fare were discussed and settled and the journey started. While en route, the stranger was most pleasant to the driver and very entertaining in his conversation.

Arriving at Dublin he asked to be conveyed a short distance further on the Pleasanton road. Handley complied and when the town was well passed a revolver was pushed against the driver’s side with the command to stop the car and to alight. Complying, the driver is alleged to have been robbed of a small sum, after which the passenger got into the car and drove away.

Found by Farmers. Yesterday morning farmers passing along the Dublin-Pleasanton road noticed the wrecked automobile in a canyon about 50 feet deep and investigation revealed the man’s body pinned beneath.

The Alameda county coroner was notified and the body taken to an undertaker’s parlors at Pleastanton, where a card bearing the name of Homer Eon Flindt, 608 Locust street, San Jose, was found.

Immediately Oakland officers communicated with Sheriff George W. Lyle and Chief of Police J. N. Black. Charles L. Flindt, brother of the dead man, and Mrs. D. L. De Arman, sister, were informed of the finding of the body. Flindt and Mr. De Arman went to Pleasanton where they positively identified the body as that of the writer.

Flindt’s Moves Traced. Investigation here has shown that the dead man had been missing since Wednesday afternoon from the home of his sister, where he had been living since last September, but nothing had been thought of this as he had intended going to Gilroy to visit another writer, James Haseti, for a last visit before leaving San Jose.

According to the story told by relatives, Homer Flindt had become involved financially some time ago and his wife, in order…[something missing] this indebtedness after which he was to join her.

Accepted Story Paid Debts. Lately, according to the story, Flindt had been paid a considerable sum for one of his stories and this had placed him in a position to pay practically all his debts and he had left his position in the shoe shop last Saturday and was spending the last few days since with various friends here preparatory to going to Washington where he had engaged to go to work as a stage driver from that town to Nevada City.

It was in this connection that he spent Tuesday evening with his friend Austin Hall, another well-known San Jose writer, and Philip Richards, a youth who has been employed at the Commercial club. The trio drove about the valley in Mr. Hall’s car and discussed Flindt’s stories and his future. Incidentally, Flindt mentioned that he would visit Hansen at Gilroy before his departure for the north. Young Richards also stated that night that he had planned to accompany Flindt on his journey as far as their paths lay together, as he was to go to Reno, Nevada and that they had decided to leave San Jose Friday noon.

Communication with Mr. Hansen at Gilroy showed that Flindt had not been there for some time past and that he had no knowledge of his whereabouts. Other investigation showed the dead man had paid many of his bills. This was co-laborated by the finding of a receipt for a payment on an automobile which Flindt bought some time ago. That he did not have an overabundance of funds was shown by the fact that he left a balance unpaid on this account of less than $5.

Working February 5. Whatever connection the finding of the roofing nails found in the wrecked auto can have in the case remain to be found out, but last night his brother stated he had been away from his work for only a day at any one time for months except on three occasions when he went to visit his wife and children and on two of those trips he was accompanied by relatives or Friends. Charles Flindt last night stated that records showed Homer was at work February 5, thus making impossible to connect him with the Clovis bank robbery. The brother and other relatives were convinced that the dead man had met with foul play and will do everything in their power to have the investigation show such was a—thus clear the dead man’s name. The suit case found in the wrecked auto contained, in addition to the roofing tacks articles of clothing which Charles Flindt and other relatives could not identify as belonging to Homer E. Flindt or a—which he would purchase—any circumstances.

* * * *

Oakland Tribune, Saturday, March 29, 1924.

NEW CLUES DEVELOP IN TAXI DEATH.

Stomach of Dead Man to be Examined for Traces of Poison: Contents of Grip in Car Too Large for Flindt. Several new and important matters developed at a late hour today in the case of Homer Eon Flindt. It was learned today that Assistant District Attorney Frank Shay was having the stomach analyzed to determine if any poison had been administered to Flindt.

Another new angle was the statement by Shay that the pistol mentioned in the evidence was not found in the automobile, but was picked up some distance from the car. A theory advances as to how the pistol came to be thrown so far from the machine is that it may have been in the grip found later in the car, and that it was hurled out when the grip opened.

Grip Not Owned By Flindt. Another reason for Shay’s decision not to drop the investigation is that the sox and cap found in the grip are too large for Flindt. The sheriff’s office is investigating to learn the identity of the person whose name was found on the suitcase.

“This is a matter which this office is prepared to sift with great thoroughness,” said Shay today. “We believe this action is justified. The contents of the grip is a matter for careful investigation. The ball of heavy woven twine is strong enough to tie a man so that he could not get way. Then there are the roofing nails which correspond to those used in a recent bank robbery.”

In giving out the result of the autopsy, Dr. Barbera stated that death had been caused by fractures and by other injuries to the spine. He said that the body was pinned under the machine and it was necessary to use a block and tackle and other implements to remove it. He added that there were no marks on the body that could not have been caused by the accident.

The machine had plunged off the road over a steep embankment, he said. He stated that it had rolled over and struck against the wreckage of a machine that had met with a similar accident at that point some months ago.

Owner Has Police Record. Handley, it was learned, has a police record. He has been arrested twice on charges of being an accomplice in holdups, but was released both times.

According to the Assistant District Attorney Frank Shay, it would be a physical impossibility to hold up a man as Handley described the alleged holdup. Other discrepancies are said to have been noted by the police in the story told by Handley.

On October 3, 1921, Handley was arrested in company with Gerald Lister and Thomas Whelan in connection with the alleged holding up of a soft drink establishment at Twenty-third and Brush streets. He was released later on. On October 4, 1923, Miss Alice Nells of Oakland complained to the police that she had lost money and jewelry in Handley’s machine. Handley was again taken into custody, but was released this time also. On this occasion his license was taken from him.

Revolver Identified. Word was received from San Jose today that a .38 caliber Savage automatic pistol, found beneath the wrecked automobile near Flindt’s body, had been positively identified as having been the property of Flindt. Identification was effected through Chief of Police J. N. Black and Police Detective Ray Starbird of San Jose.

According to the police, the gun was traced through its number, and was purchased by Flindt July 9 last from a local sport shop. Records of Flindt having bought and disposed of nearly a score of firearms of various makes and calibers were also found in gun stores and pawn shops in that city.

It is rumored in San Jose that Flindt, within the past few weeks, took out two life insurance policies, one in one company for $5000 and the second in a separate company for $2000.

Following receipt of word in San Jose that Handley was twice arrested on robbery charges in Oakland, relatives of the dead author in that city are redoubling their efforts to determine whether Flindt met with foul play and his body was placed in the automobile which was then rolled over the bank to the bottom of the small ravine in which it was found.

* * * *

March 29:

OFFICERS SIFT EVIDENCE IN EFFORT TO LEARN REAL FACTS IN FLINDT’S DEATH.

Handley’s Story Discredited: Disclosures which have led officers to a decision to conduct a full and complete investigation before accepting Handley’s story, were as follows:

1. Handley has been arrested twice, police records revealed, on charges of being implicated in holdups.

2. Handley has told conflicting stories to Oakland officers by whom he was questioned, first stating that he was directed by Flindt to drive along the Dublin road until he came to a white light, and later stating that it was a red light at which he was directed to stop.

3. Flindt’s body was found beneath the wrecked automobile in such a position that it appeared he must have been occupying a seat in the rear of the car, and not the driver’s seat at the time of the wreck.

4. Two rings, which relatives claim Flindt always wore, were reported to have been found in the bottom of the wreck.

5. Articles found in the grip, which Handley claimed Flindt carried when he entered the automobile, and which was in the wrecked automobile, make it unlikely that the grip was Flindt’s. Socks of a size larger than Flindt wore and a hat of a size larger than Flindt wore, were said to be among the articles.

6. Tacks found in the grip of the sort used by escaping thugs to strew along the highway to puncture cars of pursuers, it was reported, had been purchased in Oakland before Flindt reached that city Wednesday.

Other developments of a different character for which explanations are felt necessary before Flindt’s innocence can be established, were as follows:

1. The .38 caliber Savage revolver found in the wrecked automobile with Flindt’s body was purchased by Flindt at a San Jose sporting goods house in July of last year. This was positively established by the number of the weapon, 20778B.

2. Investigation by Chief of Police J. N. Black disclosed that Flindt had purchased nine guns since 1918, many of which were pawned and redeemed at various times.

3. Flindt told relatives and friends here that he was leaving to visit James Hansen, an author friend at Gilroy, but instead went to Oakland where he visited an aunt, Mrs. A.C. Renfree, 526 Richmont street, El Cerrito, on the outskirts of that city.

4. Flindt recently increased the amount of life insurance he carried. A $3000 policy said to have lapsed was renewed, and increased to $5000, and an additional policy for $2000, with an accident provision, was also taken out.

Evidence that Handley’s story of the affair will not be accepted by the officers until a careful investigation has been completed was afforded in statements given a representative of the Mercury Harold last night by Assistant District Attorney Frank Shay of Alameda County. According to Shay, Handley’s only evidence that Flindt voluntarily entered his automobile was the word of Leo Burron, who also has a police record. “Both men,” Shay declared, “are associates of thieves and gamblers.”

Local friends and relatives of Flindt explain the purchase of firearms by Flindt with the statement that some years ago he endeavored to perfect an invention in connection with firearms on which he hoped to procure a patent, and that firearms have always been a sort of hobby with him.

The new $2000 life insurance policy he took out they think he intended as precaution to protect his wife and three children from the hazards of the job as stage driver, which he expected to get in Washington, Nevada county, where he was soon to join his family.

* * * *

Oakland Tribune: March 29:

It was leaned today that Assistant District Attorney Frank Shay was having the stomach analyzed to determine if any poison had been administered to Flindt.

Another new angle was the statement by Shay that the pistol mentioned in the evidence was not found in the automobile, but was picked up some distance from the car. A theory advanced as to how the pistol came to be thrown so far from the machine is that it may have been in the grip found after in the car, and that it was hurled out when the grip opened.

In giving out the result of the autopsy, Dr. Barbera stated that death had been caused by fractures and by other injuries to the spine. He said that the body was pinned under the machine and it was necessary to use a block and tackle and other implements to remove it. He added that there were no marks on the body that could not have been caused by the accident.

In this connection attention was called to the position in which the body lay when it was found. According to the authorities it was in the topneau and not at the driver’s wheel.

Other angles of the investigation include an announcement made at San Jose by Flindt’s sister, Mrs. A.R. De Arman, well known clubwoman, that her brother had no weapons. It is also stated by relatives of Flindt that when Flindt left San Jose he had at least $100 on his person. Three rings and $1.40 were all that the police found on his person.

Bag Of Nails In Taxi: Denial is made both by Handley and by Flindt’s relatives, that they knew anything about a black bag containing ten pounds of nails and a quantity of strong twine, which was found in the wrecked automobile.

It was learned yesterday that Flindt had called on Mrs. A. C. Renfree, his wife’s aunt in El Cerrito. Mrs. Renfree said that Flindt told her that he was going to Washington, Nevada County to visit his wife and children.

The possibility of another clue into the mystery came to light today in connection with a remark that was made by Flindt before he left San Jose. At that time he said that he was going to visit Jim Hansen in Gilroy. On the day Flindt was killed a man named Hansen went into a hardware store in San Jose and bought 2000 percussion caps. He gave his address as 157 South Second Street, San Jose, which is the address where Flindt worked at his trade of cobbler.

* * * *

March 30, unknown newspaper:

Mystery of the suitcase and its contents found in the wrecked automobile remained unsolved yesterday. A sticker found on the case yesterday gave the name of “Everett Wilson” and showed that it had been shipped from Ogden, Utah, to Oakland. Police are seeking “Everett Wilson” in the belief that he may be able to shed light upon the case.

Who Owned Articles? Conflicting opinions as to whether or not the articles found in the suitcase belonged to Flindt developed yesterday. Deputy Sheriff Joseph Soares, of Hayward, who has been carefully investigating the case declared last night that he was positive that Flindt was the man who had held up Handley and taken the car. He asserted that the articles found in the suitcase belonged to Flindt, that the cap was the same size as the hat worn by Flindt and that the sox might have been worn by him. The cap and sox, he said were purchased from the same San Francisco store as was the overcoat which Flindt was wearing. The gun found some little distance from the wrecked car has been identified as one owned by Flindt, and, according to Soares, in Flindt’s overcoat pocket were loose bullets and a cartridge clip for this gun.

Detectives Disagree. On the other hand, Bureau detectives investigating for the Bankers association because of a possible connection between the nails found in the suitcase and the robber of the bank on February 2, declared that the cap and sox were purchased at the San Francisco store by a man whose description does not tally at all with that of Flindt. They scout the theory that the suitcase belonged to Flindt and are said to be searching for a third party.

Charles Flindt, brother of the dead man, stated last night that the cap found in the suitcase was of 7 1/4 size, whereas Homer never wore a size larger than 7. The sox found, he said, were size 11, too large for Homer. Deputy District Attorney Shay of Alameda county also declared that the cap and sox were too large for Flindt.

Where Is Money? First reports stated that Handley had reported to the police that in addition to taking the automobile, his passenger had also robbed him of $10. No more than a few moments could have elapsed between the time Handley claims he was held up and when the automobile crashed over the cliff. When Flindt’s body was found he had but $1.15 in his possession. Handley is now reported as saying that no money was taken from him.

A number of liquor flasks were said to have been found in the suitcases. Flindt, according to members of his family, and without a single exception all of his friends and acquaintances here, never under any circumstances would touch a drop of liquor of any kind.

Supposition that the fact that Flindt had taken out a $2000 combination life and accident policy two weeks ago had anything to do with his death was disputed most thoroughly yesterday, even by insurance men. Flindt explained at the time of taking out the accident policy that he was taking a job as stage driver, and wanted his wife and children more fully protected in case anything happened.

Will Go To The Bottom. In a statement yesterday, Deputy District Attorney Shay of Alameda county said: “This is a case which the district attorney’s office is determined to sift with great thoroughness. We believe that this action is justified in view of the fact that a man was found dead in Leo Barron’s automobile on one occasion, that Barron has been implicated in two crimes, that Handley has been implicated in criminal activities and that these men are friends.

FLINDT FAMILY IN DEFENSE OF AUTHOR.

Although too overcome to be interviewed by a reporter, Mrs. Homer Flindt, widow of Homer Eon Flindt, local author-cobbler who met his death in the Dublin canyon at an early hour Thursday morning, reaffirmed belief in her husband’s innocence, in a brief conversation, following her arrival from Nevada City yesterday.

Charles Flindt, owner of the Second street shoe repair shop where Homer Flindt was formerly employed, also asserted his brother’s reputation spoke for itself. He said the splendid way their many friends declared their staunch belief in the fair reputation of Flindt was the only thing which made it possible for any of the family “to smile once in a while.”

* * * *

March 31, unknown.

Conflicting Evidence: Loath at first to accept without question the story of Handley, twice suspected and arrested of being implicated in hold-ups, Alameda county officers conducted a rigid investigation to determine if Flindt had been the victim of foul play. Doubt as to the ownership of a grip found with Flindt’s body which Handley asserted Flindt carried when he engaged him to drive him out on the Dublin road, raised the possibility that a third man might have been involved. Later Deputy Sheriffs Jack Collier and Joseph Soares of Alameda county declared themselves certain that the grip was Flindt’s and that no evidence had been disclosed to discredit the story told by Handley.

An effort is being made to locate the Everett Wilson whose name was found in a sticker in the bottom of the grip in question, indicating that it had been shipped from Ogden, Utah, to Oakland. Whether Wilson is any way involved in Flindt’s death, or whether Flindt purchased the grip from a second hand store is but one of the many questions yet unanswered in the mysterious case.

* * * *

April 1, unknown:

HUNDREDS ATTEND FUNERAL SERVICES OF HOMER FLINDT.

Presence of Crowd Taken as Indication of City’s Faith in Late Author. Mystery Shrouds Death. Members of Local Authors’ Colony Act as Pallbearers for their Friend.

San Jose, Thursday, 4-3.

MYSTERIOUS GRIP WAS PURCHASED BY DEAD AUTHOR HERE.

Theory That Third Man Might Have Been Connected with Flindt Case is Shattered. Inquest Set For Today. Further Developments Expected Following Long Conference With Sheriff Lyle.

Less than 24 hours before his lifeless body was found last Thursday morning beneath the wrecked automobile of L. S. Handley, Oakland rent-car driver, Homer Flindt purchased at the second-hand store of J.T. Sheward & Son at 81 East San Fernando Street in San Jose the black grip which was found in the wrecked automobile.

This statement came early this morning from Sheriff George W. Lyle, following a conference of more than four hours between him, two Burns Detective Agency men, Charles Flindt, the dead writer’s brother, and E.L. De Arman, his brother-in-law.

No “Third Man”. Hitherto doubt as to the ownership of the grip has been the basis of the theory that a third man might have been involved in the circumstances attending Flindt’s death. Evidence that he purchased the article in San Jose, according to Lyle and the other officials disposes of the “third man” theory.

It was at 9 o’clock Wednesday morning, the last day Flindt was seen alive by his San Jose friends and relatives, that he entered Sheward’s store. He was the first customer in the store that morning, according to Sherward, who knew him personally. Sheward remembered selling him the grip and saw him open it and put inside a small bundle evidently containing the personal effects which he took with him from his room at the home of his sister, Mrs. De Arman.

* * * *

April 4, Mercury Harold.

FLINDT FOUND TO HAVE BEEN DRIVER OF WRECKED AUTO.

Coroner’s Jury Hears Testimony Concerning Death of San Jose Author. No New Developments. Witnesses at Pleasanton Investigation Corroborate Published Stories.

Homer Eon Flindt died as a result of a “broken back sustained when the automobile he was driving went off the grade, crushing him under the overturned car, and we are unable to place the responsibility for the accident.”

Such was the verdict rendered yesterday afternoon at Pleasanton by a jury summoned by Grand Miller, coroner of Alameda county, after they had heard the testimony of the Oakland officers, a physician, L.S. Handley, taxi driver, and others who knew or had some part in the identification of Mr. Flindt’s body found pinned beneath the wrecked car at a dangerous curve on the Pleasanton-Sunol road early Thursday morning, March 27, after Handley had reported being held up and having his car stolen.

Practically nothing new developed at the inquest which different greatly from the accounts already published in the Mercury Harold, except that the life insurance left by the dead man was declared as $3000 rather than $7000 as told here. The jury’s verdict finds Flindt to have been the driver of the car which was stolen on the evening of March 26 and in which he met his death.

Testimony of Witnesses. L.S. Handley, the taxi driver who told the Oakland officers of the theft of his car when he was held up by a passenger, was the principal witness. He told an apparently straight story of the actual happening from the time he left Oakland shortly before 8 o’clock on the night of March 26 with Flindt as his passenger until he was robbed.

Handley told of driving to Dublin, where Flindt took out a paper and stated that he was seeking the home of one “Trousdale” and that the directions were to go straight ahead and that Trousdale” would meet him with a lantern. Coming to a place with a red lantern hanging before it, Handley claimed he stopped the car and turned to Flindt in the rear seat and asked if this was the place.

As he asked the question, he declared that Flindt drew a gun and told him to leave the machine. Complying with this demand, the taxi driver said Flindt then made him turn his back while Flindt searched his pockets for weapons and, finding none, ordered the driver to walk to the fence. As Handley complied with this demand, Flindt stepped into the machine and drove off.

Telephoned from Dublin. Handley claimed that for a moment he was so startled he did nothing but watch the disappearing machine. He then started toward Dublin, and coming to a house, made inquiry for a telephone, only to be told there was none there. On telling his story of the holdup, the proprietor of this place, Dan E. Tehan, took Handley in his automobile to Dublin, where he could telephone the officers.

The officer then produced the suitcase which the relatives of Flindt were positive had never belonged to him, but which has since been identified as having been bought in San Jose by Flindt, and the clothing was identified as that worn by Flindt when he left San Jose. The identification was made by the brother, Charles. L. Flindt, who could not identify any of the other contents except an automobile blue book which was the property of his brother and was identified from the handwriting therein of a nephew of the dead man.

The officer told of the finding of the loaded .38 caliber Savage automatic revolver which was later found to have been bought in San Jose by Flindt in July, 1923, and which had been pawned and only recently redeemed. This gun was found a short distance from the wrecked car. In the overcoat worn by Flindt was found a second clip of the cartridges to fit this gun.

Make-Up Hair Found. Nothing was said about the liquor claimed to have been found in the suitcase, but the coroner produced a short rope of what was said to be human hair and which the coroner stated was in the suitcase and was much used by actors in preparing false mustaches or whiskers. This was the first information that any such article had been found. The only reference made to the package of roofing tacks said to have been in the grip was when the coroner asked Chas. L. Flindt if the man had ever been a roofer or if he could assign any reason for his having those in his possession, which brought a negative answer.

Find Back Broken. Dr. M. E. Eastman, who performed the autopsy on the body of the dead man told of finding no serious injuries or abrasions on his body, of examining the internal organs which showed no cause for death and on being questioned stated the stomach, which was removed for analysis, showed no inflammation which would be the case had Flindt been a drinking man.

The physician told of finally finding a hemorrhage near the spinal column in its lower portion and later of finding the back broken in this region and the spinal cord badly injured. In the opinion of the physician, Flindt was killed instantly and suffered no pain. So far there has been no report as to the stomach analysis.

Incidents Recited. Other witnesses told of the finding of the wrecked car and the body pinned beneath the wreck of the left rear wheel and left fender. While no testimony was given under oath regarding the matter, it was stated by some of these witnesses that the car must have turned over at least three times and that Flindt’s back was broken in the first turn, later being thrown from the car and then pinned beneath the wreck.

Charles L. Flindt, the brother, testified as to reputation of the dead man; his movements as far as he knew them up to the time of his leaving this city, and to the fact that there was two insurance policies carried by his brother, one being an accident policy for $2000 and one a life policy for $1000.

Sheriff George W. Lyle was an interested spectator throughout the inquest proceedings and afterward expressed his belief that the evidence produced was the truth and that for some unknown reason Flindt had committed the holdup but that he would continue his investigation of the affair if other facts were brought to his attention which would warrant any further delving into the matter.

Sheriff Lyle also stated that he had had a visit from Sheriff F. W. Jones of Fresno county recently but that the visit was not because of any possible connection between Flindt and the robbery at the Clovis bank, although that subject was discussed. The Fresno officer stated that he had no thought of connecting the dead man with that crime to which he had been linked because of the finding of roofing tacks such as were used by the bandits in that case.

* * * *

In 1904 he was hired as a Deputy Constable for Santa Clara and became Constable in 1909. In 1918 he was elected Sheriff. He subsequently won elections in 1922 and 1926 but lost the 1930 election. Days before the August primary election, the San Jose Mercury Herald accused Lyle and some of his deputies of aiding and protecting John Locurto, a convicted still operator. Lyle had two of his deputies arrest a witness who was to give sworn testimony on the bootlegging conditions as he was entering the Grand Jury Court room. Sheriff Lyle won the election in 1934. He lost in 1938, and again in 1942.

Information about assistant attorney Frank Shay came from oral interviews courtesy of Regional Oral History Office, University of California, Berkley. In 1925, Santa Clara district attorney Ezra Decoto was leaving and Frank Shay and Earl Warren, both assistants, were hoping to be promoted to the vacant position. At the time, Warren was handling primarily civil work while Shay was doing more of the criminal work. A Mr. Jahnsen who was a member of the district attorney’s staff said about Shay: “An excellent person? Oh, a very, very fine man, and a very fine family.”

Regarding the appointment of Warren, another member of the district attorney’s staff, a Mr. Oakley, said: “Frank Shay, everyone was very fond of him, including Earl Warren. I think that everyone figured that Frank Shay would get the position. Three supervisors were supposed to be for Frank Shay. But Johnny Mullins was one of those supervisors and he decided that he was going to go for Earl Warren instead of going for Shay. It took only one switch and there we were.”

Family Life Afterward

When my grandfather died, his mother had already been dead for nine years. His father, who lived to 83, never remarried. I don’t know where he lived. As I’ve been able to piece things together based on communication with my uncle, Grandpa’s brother Charlie called a Washington resident, Mr. Kohler, with news of Grandpa’s death. Uncle Max said later, “We got a visit from Mr. Kohler, giving us the shocking news. He wanted Mother to come to his place—why I don’t know. So she and I went to see him—it was only a five minute walk. It was a sad and terrible day. I do remember one thing; someone asked Mother over the phone if she would come to the funeral, and she said, ‘I’ll be there.’ And she was. Yes we had a phone. But I suspect now that Mr. Kohler wanted to offer money to Mother for the trip, and that is why he wanted her to come to his house.”

Nana and Uncle Max attended Grandpa’s funeral while my mother and aunt stayed behind with the live-in housekeeper. Whether Nana and Max took the stage all the way to San Jose or someone drove them, I don’t know. Neither do I know whether law enforcement talked to her. If so, it wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper articles. A few days later, mother and son returned to Washington and reunited with the girls.

My grandmother had a saying I heard numerous times. “To horse,” she encouraged which meant for people to get to what needed to be done. That’s how she lived her life. Before Grandpa’s death, Nana had concerns about her job security because her student load was so low. However, she wound up teaching in Washington for four and a half years, four of those after she was widowed. My mother remembers other Washington residents supplying them with fish, squirrel, and deer meat. Once they came home from school to discover three bear steaks outside. Nana put the steaks in the stone-walled cellar for several days so they’d lose their gaminess.

As proof the residents embraced the fatherless family, my mother speaks warmly of the three pairs of pine wood skis a neighbor made for the children. “He painted them bright red,” she said. “There were no heel straps, only wide leather bands across the toes. We absolutely loved skiing around town. No ski lessons. We just went out and did it.” The ski-builder’s brother was the town’s blacksmith and barber. He charged nothing to cut the children’s hair. My mother has many fond memories of the barber, a married man with one child. Apparently he took it upon himself to try to fill some of the void the children felt following their father’s death.

Thanks to the San Jose relatives, Nana was able to supply her children with such items as the knee-high rubber boots they wore while skiing. Nana had a friend back east whose daughters were older than Mother and Aunt Vella. The friend woman passed along her daughters’ outgrown clothing. Some of them wound up in Nana’s closet in Nevada City, and my sister and I loved playing dress-up in the fancy if impractical garments.

Losing his father was particularly hard on Uncle Max. The only boy anywhere near him in age in Washington was two years younger. Thus he spent a lot of time alone and told me he read every book in the little school library. He also admitted to a lot of scientific experimenting. He once brought me a chemistry kit and encouraged me to simply mix ingredients together to see what would happen—which I did.

The winter after Grandpa’s death, my aunt Vella developed an ulcerated tooth. My mother remembers standing by the stove early on a snowy morning watching her mother take hot rocks out of the oven for her and Vella to place in their pockets. The trio got into the stage and went up the 40 degree grade for a while. They then switched to a wagon drawn by a team of horses. At the top of the grade they switched from the wagon to a horse-drawn sleigh. When they were close to Nevada City the three got back into a wagon and finally an automobile. My mother guesses the round trip to the dentist took eight hours.

Finally there weren’t enough students to justify keeping the school open. Nana found another position in Drum Camp, an electric powerhouse surrounded by a cluster of houses where employees of the powerhouse lived. A year and a half later, when Max was ready for high school, she applied for and was awarded a teaching job near Nevada City in an area called Indian Flat. Four years later that school was closed down as part of a consolidation. Sixty teachers applied for two positions at Nevada City, and Nana got one of them, in part because she’d lost her school, in part I suspect because she was a single parent.

From the time they left Drum, the little family lived where her mother had before her death. Nana’s brother sold his interest in the Nevada City property to his sister for $10, assuring she’d always have a roof over her head. That place, which had been built around 1900, had only wood heat and a foundation consisting of 4 by 4’s resting on rocks. Afraid the house might fall down, Nana didn’t allow the children to run around in it.

Nana was still teaching but no longer financially responsible for her children when she had the old house torn down and a two bedroom, one bath, 900 square foot place built. She paid it off several years before her death. I was brought to that house soon after my birth, and I always considered it home base. My sister was married in it. When I was in the first or second grade, my mother was hospitalized for the better part of a year. Nana brought Judee and me under her wing and roof and assumed the role of mother. She always gave books as gifts and encouraged us to frequent the library. In addition to making sure we did our homework and chores, she made the best lemon meringue pies I have ever eaten.

Heart problems made it necessary for Nana to retire at age 63. I have vivid memories of her lying on her side in her bed when she ate. Her extremely small esophagus made it impossible for her to keep food down any other way. She slept in the living room because that was where the only heat source was—an oil stove. The house had no insulation (my mother and I put some in many years later when Mother lived there), and Nana’s feet and hands were always cold.

Three days after Christmas, 1958, my mother, sister, and I were with Nana reliving the holiday’s excitement, especially visits from the cousins and their parents. Uncle Max had returned home to the Bay Area, but my aunt and her family were at her in-law’s place in Grass Valley four miles away.

It was after dark when my sister came out of the one bathroom and whispered to me that our 71 year old Nana had walked in on her, something she’d never done before. A few minutes later Nana went into the unheated front bedroom and stretched out on the bed. Soon after she returned to the living room and backed up to the oil stove. I looked at her. She was gray.

I don’t recall what she and my mother said, but Mother guided her outside and into Mother’s car, leaving my sister and me behind as they headed for the hospital a mile away. Mother was gone most of the night. When she returned, her expression said it all. Nana was dead.

Like her mother, my mother became a teacher after going to nursing school for a year. Divorced when Judee was three and me five, she lived closest to Nana, and we went to her place most weekends where my mother tended to the chores Nana could no longer handle. We also spent most of the summer there which delighted Judee and me because we could walk to the town swimming pool. In between climbing the cherry tree and making ourselves sick eating the fruit, we assumed responsibility for the yard, and searched for gold on the property.

My aunt became a nurse, married a dentist, and had five children, four girls and a boy. They lived in the Bay Area, and I remain convinced my aunt was the world’s best cookie baker, particularly at Christmas. She’d quit working when the children started arriving. A warm and wonderful woman, she always made sure my sister and I got new clothes for Christmas. Her family had a cabin at Lake Tahoe, and some of my best memories are of visiting them there. Aunt Vella too had heart problems and died too young, several years after her husband’s death.

Uncle Max (who had three children) was fascinated by chemistry, physics, biology, paleontology, and anthropology. He was Senior Laboratory Technician under Nobelists Dr. Edward Teller, Dr. Glenn Seaborg, and Dr. Melvin Calvin at Lawrence Radiation Laboratory at Berkeley, and Laboratory Analyst in research at Lockheed. As the result of research into whether mankind may be the result of a prehistoric union of terrestrial humanoids and starmen, he wrote On Tiptoe Beyond Darwin and self-published it. That was followed by Mankind, Child of the Stars written with Otto O. Binder who is best known for his Captain Mavel scripts. That book was favorably reviewed by Erich von Daniken, co-founder of the Archaeology, Astronautics and SETI Research Association. My mother did extensive editing on his final work, Between the Apes and The Angels, and I connected him with a publisher friend of mine. The book came out not long before his death.

Time has taken many of my 93 year old mother’s memories, but some of the past remains clear. Losing her father the way she did affected her as nothing else in her life has. The pain still cuts deep as it did throughout her mother’s and siblings’ lives. One day she had a loving father. The next she had nothing except the cloud over his legacy.

The Grave

The sexton at Oak Hill Funeral Home & Memorial Park in San Jose, California was ancient, with dirt-stained jeans that clung to his spare hips and skin like dry leaves. His hair was all but gone, his smile open. This man with one foot in the graves he tended stood in sharp contrast to the 350 lush landscaped acres.

My mother, sister, and I met him outside the main building, and I wondered if he wasn’t allowed in the wide carpeted and pale tile halls and rooms where death is spoken of in euphemisms. Those who roam the quiet spaces with spotless wall-to-wall windows dress in respectful, tasteful, professional black. It is as if, by presenting themselves as dark ghosts, they are determined to keep reality at bay. In contrast, a sexton walks among the dead.

Grandpa has been here since 1924. Mother, Judee, and I came to find his grave. The journey began maybe a year earlier when Mother told us she’d never been to her father’s grave. At that time she was in her 80s. In the glance Judee and I exchanged, we shared the same question. What kept her away? We also made a silent vow. Before she dies, we, her only children, will make sure she sees where her beloved father is buried.

Oak Hill, in existence since 1839, is the oldest secular cemetery in California. Buried here are members of the ill-fated Donner party. On the day we were there, my impression was that Oak Hill is too vast and polished for Grandpa. He belonged in the Nevada City cemetery with its hodge-podge of weathered headstones, where his wife is buried. Just the same, I enjoyed the robins and squirrels around the oak, sequoia, cedar, and pepper trees.

Judee and I wore slacks and knit tops while Mother had on her uniform of cotton front-button shirt and jeans as we climbed onto the back of the sexton’s motorized wagon. We held onto the low sides as the sexton zipped over identical-looking hills and valleys to a series of graves put in place before the cemetery’s data base existed. This elderly man was our only hope.

We pulled to a stop in a gentle swale dotted with headstones half swallowed by grass. Judee and I exchanged yet another glance. How would she react? How will we? The sexton stood and eyeballed headstones all around. With a nod, he positioned himself. Hands too big and strong for someone so shrunken gripped a flat-blade shovel, and he began digging.

I smelled damp earth, mowed grass, a hint of exhaust fumes. Heard voices. An earthworm slid about on the dirt. The sexton continued to dig. Mother’s face was expressionless. I couldn’t tear my attention from what the shovel was doing.

“There.”

The sexton didn’t need to speak because I’d heard the thunk. No large rock dared remain in this molded and landscaped place. I wanted to see what my sister was doing. At the same time, I felt I owed Grandpa my full attention.

At first I saw only a glimpse of faded blue cement, but soon I made out writing carved into the headstone. Dirt imbedded in the writing made comprehension impossible while shovel-size mounds piled up around the rectangular depression. The wonderful smell of earth grew.

Leaning over with a creak of joints, the sexton used a rag to wipe away the last bit of dirt and I read: Flindt, Homer Eon, 1888—1924.

My sister wiped away tears, but, although my eyes burned, I knew I wouldn’t cry. As the sexton drove away, I silently reached out to the man whose blood runs through my veins. Does he know what I’ve become--that like he once did, I capture what’s in my mind and heart and put those things down on paper? I, his oldest grandchild, understand why he had to write. The drive, instinct, compulsion--whatever this so-called creative force is--I came from him. I’m convinced of it.

I’m sorry it took me so long to find you, I told him. Sorry I went so many years not caring what happened to you. But I do now. Just as we’re both addicted to exploring what can be done with words, I’m addicted to your story.

However, unlike Grandpa’s and my fiction, his tale will never have an ending. There’s no happy ever after. The truth of what took place the night of March 27, 1924, died with him. L.S. Handley also knew the truth, but he too is dead.

Mother dropped to her knees next to her father’s headstone. Judee took her picture. Pulling myself back to reality, I did the same, noting the delighted smile on Mother’s face. She had her daughters with her that day; all was right with her world. If she was thinking about the man who left her when she was too young to comprehend, I didn’t see sorrow in her wrinkles. Good. I needed her to stay in the moment.

There are other relatives buried here, and the three of us visited them too, Mother smiling her sweet smile the whole time.

It wasn’t yet time to take Mother home. She’d shown no interest in the rest of what I needed to do that day, but Judee understood so aAfter lunch at a local restaurant, I pulled out the map I’d printed from the Internet and we braved the freeway again, heading north to Pleasanton, across the Bay from San Francisco. I spotted the turnoff to Dublin Canyon Road and we exited. My stomach tightened. I didn’t want to face what the road represented. Dublin Canyon takes travelers through mostly farming country. Judee and I looked in vain for a change in the landscape, a canyon. All we could conclude was that in 1924, Dublin Canyon must have been longer, maybe going into the foothills. Despite my disappointment with what remains, I was relieved not to find a drop-off. If we had found one, Judee and I would have stared down into it and asked ourselves if this was where our grandfather’s life ended.

Mother had chatted about the other relatives whose graves we’d visited and let us know, again, how delighted she was for the day. As we headed north again toward Auburn where Mother was living, Judee concentrated on traffic.

My thoughts were split between the headstone and canyon we didn’t find. I again began a silent monologue.

You aren’t dead, Grandpa, not entirely. You left behind a legacy in the form of the fiction you wrote; I’m grateful for each word. Did you know Nana kept the letters you wrote her just as you’d kept hers. Those things are in my possession—as are the newspaper clippings.

Grandpa, those articles were written after your death. Maybe you know nothing of the police investigation, the things L.S. Handley said, the conclusion the detective came to and the D.A.’s disagreement with those findings.

What would you say if you could speak? Would you agree with the investigation that concluded you’d met a violent, accidental, and maybe deserved death at the bottom of a lonely canyon?

Or would you say you’d been murdered?

Death Revisited

Please indulge me here. Yes, my grandfather died the better part of a hundred years ago, and nothing is going to change that.

Maybe it’s the writer’s curiosity in me. Maybe it’s being surrounded by tangible and personal proof of his existence in my office. Whatever the reason, I can’t just accept his violent and untimely death. I keep looking for answers I know I’ll never find.

Grandpa’s last story, The Money-Miler, was published several months after his death. It was prefaced by an editorial comment which, although inaccurate, doubtless helped sell the story and kept the mystery’s flames going.

In death the author of “The Money-Miler” has delved into as great a mystery as fiction ever knew. A month or two ago the body of Homer Eon Flint was discovered lying at the bottom on a lonely fifty foot canyon near San Jose, California, pinned beneath the ruins of a wrecked taxicab.

On their arrival the police found no clues pointing definitely to the presence of any other human being on the spot at the time the mysterious tragedy took place.

The similarity of the situation to one of Flint’s own plots was startling. Friends would have thought it a playful hoax but for the mute testimony of the lifeless body in the canyon.

A small tool bag and an unfired thirty-eight caliber revolver lay near by. Mr. Flint’s rings were on the floor of the car. But the brief case known to be carried by the author has never been found. Nor has any reasonable explanation been offered for the strange contusions on Flint’s body.

The taxicab was traced to a driver with a police record. He told a sensational story of having been held up by a fare and robbed of his car on the eve of the tragedy. This story was being investigated.

His fellow members of the little writers’ colony at San Jose swear by the loveableness of Homer Flint’s character. He was a hard worker with a burning ambition to succeed as a writer.

The matter rests, as mystifying a thriller as ever flowed from the author’s facile pen. Whether Homer Eon Flint drove the death dealing car over the embankment himself or whether he was already dead when the car plunged to destruction is a problem that seems to defy solution.

Forrest J Ackerman, the noted author and editor, wrote a preface for the Ace Books release of The Blind Spot in 1953. Ackerman had long wanted to see the book republished and had been trying to locate my grandmother and Austin Hall’s relatives. As part of his interest in the authors, he’d dug into their past and learned a little about Grandpa’s death. To let Ackerman speak for himself via the preface:

I visited a friend whose hobby (besides reading fantasy) was the occult, who volunteered to entertain me with automatic writing and the Ouija-board. Now, I share Lovecraft’s skepticism towards the supernatural, regarding it as best a means of amusement. When the question arose of what spirits we should try to lure to our planchette, the names of Lovecraft, Merritt, Hall, and Flint popped into my pixitated mind. So I set my fingers on the wooden heart and since my host was also a Flint admirer, we asked about Flint’s fatal accident. The Ouija spelled out:

N-O—A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T—R-O-B-B-E-R-Y

In 1995, R. Alain Everts, then a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, wrote his dissertation about contributors to the early American pulp magazines. He wrote my uncle, asking for some biographical details about Grandpa. Everts also wrote my mother requesting the same information. He brought up Grandpa’s death, stating he wasn’t sure whether she had any information about his mysterious death. He wrote, “I would welcome your own statement on this rather than the stories I have heard (I’ve heard robbery, murder, burglary, bootlegging), but actually have not seen either a newspaper article on his death.”

I don’t know if my uncle responded but my mother did. In part she wrote:

It is true that my father’s death was, and still is, a mystery. Unfortunately, much unwarranted speculation has occurred in this case, and the total situation has caused great harm to our family. The senior members of our family are very anxious for a cessation of the sensationalism that has surrounded his case, so we can return to some semblance of normal living, and raise our children and grandchildren untainted by the corroding effect of wildly speculative theorizing, and sensational newspaper stories.

It is our understanding that the one person who made accusations against my father was subsequently put in prison and died there. It was his accusations that spawned all the speculation, but his demise, in prison, for a crime he was convicted of, in a court of law, casts considerable doubt on his testimony, and in fact makes it almost certainly invalid.

Therefore, if you can possibly do so, we would greatly appreciate it if you could possibly dismiss the subject of his death as (perhaps)—a mystery, which has never been solved, but which has caused endless speculation, speculation which has produced considerable unwarranted damage to Homer Eon Flindt’s family and descendants.

Historian Mike Ashley first contacted my mother in 1990 asking for information to help him write an article about Grandpa. She responded, but five years passed while he worked on other projects. By the time Mr. Ashley contacted her again, she’d told various relatives about the earlier communication with him. As my mother wrote Mr. Ashley on May 8, 1995:

My delay in answering you came about because I felt the need to discuss your request with other members of the family. I made copies of your first draft and distributed them.

The problem developed because the letters you and I exchanged five years ago made no mention of the circumstances of my father’s death. I responded to your questions then without consulting others. That I can no longer do.

There are far more individuals who were too young in 1924 to have a voice and individuals who were not yet born.

For the most part, your article is complementary of my father, and taken as a unit, can do little or no harm (and possibly a lot of good!) to us. However, (as you mention), your speculations on page 12, second complete paragraph, could spark more of the seemingly endless speculation that has damaged our family so badly. We have been badly hurt socially, economically, psychologically, professionally, and emotionally by my father’s death and the huge barrage and speculation that followed.

Therefore, please, if you possibly can, could you rearrange page 12 so as not to “fan the flames” of speculation any higher? Could you do this and yet not lose the thread of the narrative?

In a follow-up letter written three days later, Mother expanded on the family’s concerns, including the possibility that some might use legal means to try to stop Mr. Ashley from writing certain things. She also offered suggestions about how he might shift the article’s focus.

When Mr. Ashley responded, he admitted he’d been knocked back a bit, then pointed out that the article was going into a publication with a small circulation of mainly early science fiction devotees. Those people would already know Grandpa had died young under mysterious circumstance. He pointed out that Grandpa’s relatives couldn’t change the past and referenced other publications such as The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction that had already addressed his unusual death.

In the end, my mother approved of the final article, which Mr. Ashley had stripped of any speculation and tried to stick to the facts. As he pointed out, “…others who someday will write more about your father’s death, and the chances are that they will not seek to consult you as I have.”

* * * *

In October of 2001, my mother sent a letter to various family members detailing her experiences with psychics. Her belief system was an interesting mix of traditional Christian religion, science, and the paranormal. She’d started listening to Art Bell, a nighttime radio talk show host who had among his guests Eric von Daniken. His talk with the psychic Sylvia Browne made a particular impact on Mother.

After learning that Sylvia Browne would be appearing in Campbell, near San Jose on September 27th and that Browne’s spirit guide Francine would answer questions, my sister secured an opening for the two of them and they attended. People were allowed to ask a limit of two questions at $100 a question. Mother taped her segment which took about 40 seconds.

Mother: “In 1924 at the age of 35 (she was wrong about that), my father died near San Jose. His death has been a mystery to his family.”

Sylvia (or Francine): “It was murder.”

Mother: “It was! My father?”

Sylvia: “Yes. It was made to look like an accident or a natural occurrence. I know someone did him in.”

Mother: “I was afraid you said my father was a murderer.”

Sylvia: “Oh, no, no. Someone did him in.”

Mother: “Thank you very much.”

Sylvia: Yes—yes. And the problem with that was it was mistaken identification. So he didn’t do anything wrong—to people—identification. The records never told you anything?”

Mother: “No. It was in the paper. San Jose Mercury Herald. My father was a writer of science fiction.”

Sylvia: “Yes. Had a lot of people—jealousy, but that’s not what caused it—mistaken identification.”

Mother: “Thank you.”

* * * *

In 2004, I asked my nephew, a San Jose detective, to read the newspaper articles and give me his opinion of the investigation. He agreed with me that news reports can contain inaccuracies, and pointed out that reporters work under tight deadlines and sometimes supply their own answers when they don’t have time to run down every detail. When he’s working a crime case, he said, he looks at two basic elements when determining whether a certain person committed a crime: motive and opportunity.

I tried not to get defensive, and simply opened myself to the possibility that Grandpa might have had motive and opportunity to rob Handley or steal the taxi. My nephew pointed out how high the stakes would have been for Grandpa. At one point, Handley said Grandpa had taken $10 from him, then that story changed. $10 was worth more then, and since they were alone and Grandpa had a gun, he had opportunity. However, it seems to me Handley would have certainly reported the theft.

My nephew said something that has stuck with me. “Everyone is capable of anything given the circumstances.” At first, I wondered if he was saying that about Grandpa. Then I flipped things around and looked in terms of Handley being capable of doing something.

There was the matter of red flags, specifically the tacks that were similar to the ones used in the Clovis bank robbery and which my nephew said there was no shred of evidence Grandpa had anything to do with. (If the dates are correct, Grandpa was in Washington at the time of the bank robbery.) Experience has taught my nephew that one red flag means nothing. There are always inconsistencies in a crime investigation. If there’d been other unexplained things that pointed to Grandpa having broken the law, my nephew would have been suspicious, but there weren’t any. Grandpa was known to collect and tinker with guns, and there weren’t any gun control laws back then.

He also brought up such issues as the grip Grandpa had just bought, which his relatives couldn’t identify and didn’t believe belonged to him. Also my nephew said that witnesses’ ability to remember something or describe something is less than an exact science.

Regarding where Grandpa’s body was found, my nephew has seen many accidents; drivers and passengers can wind up just about anywhere. Besides, there were no seatbelts back then and cars were pretty flimsy. In other words, there’s no way of telling where Grandpa had been in the car before it crashed.

My nephew believes the police did as much of an investigation as they could do at the time, but didn’t follow up on a couple of important things. For one, Handley said Grandpa wanted to find a certain man and apparently the police never tried to verify that. Grandpa had told his relatives he was going one place but wound up going to another. As my nephew said, people change their minds all the time but that should have been further checked.

In the end, he disagreed with the results of the police investigation, which basically agreed with Handley’s version of events. He saw nothing in Grandpa’s background or nature to make him believe he would have acted the way Handley said he did.

Something my uncle told me but I’ve been unable to verify is that Grandpa’s brother paid a private detective $1000 to look into the death. How much was $1000 worth in 1924? How would a shoe repairman who was feeling the financial crunch come up with that sum? According to Uncle Max, the private detective came up with nothing beyond the police investigation.

How I wish I could have asked this mysterious private detective something—and if not him, the police. In Grandpa’s last letter he made it clear he’d put the Overland up for sale and intended to come to Washington at a Ford.

My grandmother, mother, and uncle told me Grandpa was in the habit of carrying large amounts of cash on him. He liked to show off when he could. Had he sold the Overland? Was he in a taxi because he had no other way of getting around? Did he have a wad of bills on him? Did Handley see and covet those bills—maybe enough to murder for them?

The satisfying thing about fiction is that there is resolution. The loose ends are tied up and all questions are answered.

Real life is different.

And sometimes the consequences touch future generations.

They have me.

Grandpa, if I could meet anyone in the world, it would be you. We’d talk shop, compare your writing world with mine. I’d tell you what happened to your wife and children and grandchildren following your death.

And you’d tell me what happened the last night of your life.