A FEW DAYS AFTER returning from Yosemite to Bear Valley, Olmsted traveled alone to San Francisco to wind up his business affairs. On the way he fell seriously ill with what he thought was cholera. He was in bed for five days. He saw the owners of Mountain View Cemetery and collected his $1,000 fee for completing the first phase of the project. He also met the trustees of the College of California, who engaged him to survey the site and prepare a master plan; they would pay $1,000 in gold and $1,500 in land. He and Edward Miller spent ten days making a survey and sketching out the basic plan.
The site of the future college was a monotonous, scrubby hillside in Oakland. Olmsted proposed dense planting to limit the immediate views. To preserve the tranquillity of the college, he chose a location apart from the village plots that had already been laid out in a simple gridiron. The area surrounding the college buildings was divided into several neighborhoods of large, wooded residential lots. The winding roads resembled country lanes. A low, well-irrigated dell in front of the college buildings was the only turfed area. Olmsted recommended against building student dormitories and proposed that students rent rooms in the village or, if residences were needed, that they should take the form of large houses. He explained to the trustees that the overall arrangement of the college was intentionally picturesque rather than formal. This would blend with the desired character of the neighborhood, and it would also allow easy expansion and modification.
Olmsted was developing his own method of working, which was not based on a theory of design or a predetermined set of aesthetic rules. He thought things out from a practical point of view, carefully planning after firsthand observation of the topography and the landscape. He combined functional organization, site planning, urban design, landscaping, and gardening. And art. (Vaux had been right about that, Olmsted was an artist.) When he presented his ideas to the trustees, they accepted them enthusiastically and instructed him to proceed and develop the plan. They did not take up any of his suggestions for naming the college town, however. He proposed “Bushnell,” among others; instead, they decided on “Berkeley,” in honor of the Irish bishop and philosopher.
The detailed plans for Mountain View Cemetery and the report and plans for the College of California would be completed later by Miller, who had agreed to accompany Olmsted to New York. Olmsted intended to divide his fees with Vaux; he would not be returning to the partnership empty-handed. He also had a third project in mind. He wanted to “drive the San Franciscans into undertaking a park,” he wrote Vaux in his last letter. To that end he wrote an article that appeared in the San Francisco Daily Evening Bulletin. In “The Project of a Great Park for San Francisco” he argued strenuously that all major cities deserved an important park. To critics who said that building such a park was too expensive, he responded that the longer the matter was put off, the more costly land acquisition would become. He hoped that with the aid of influential friends such as William Ashburner and Frederick Billings, a trustee of the College of California, the city fathers might be convinced to undertake the park and to award the commission to Olmsted and Vaux.
While he was still in San Francisco, Olmsted received a telegram from Godkin’s benefactor, James McKim.
YOU ARE CHOSEN GENERAL SECRETARY AMERICAN FREEDMEN’S AID UNION SALARY SEVEN THOUSAND (7,000) BELLOWS AND GODKIN ADVISING ANSWER.
The Freedmen’s Aid Union combined several voluntary societies whose interest was the welfare of freed slaves. Olmsted had often talked and written about the subject. He was well qualified for the position; Bellows and Godkin clearly thought so. Yet two days after receiving the offer, Olmsted wrote to his father, “I have no intention of accepting it. I am not fit for any duty requiring much writing or exciting labor.” No doubt his recent illness had unnerved him. Nevertheless, he must have been intrigued by the offer, for despite his previous commitment to Vaux he left the door open. The telegram had already been delayed almost a month. Hoping for an explanatory letter, Olmsted decided to wait for the next delivery of his forwarded mail from Bear Valley before answering McKim.
A week later the mail arrived—nothing from McKim, but a letter from Vaux. It contained two announcements: the Board of Commissioners of Prospect Park had passed a resolution to hire Vaux for one year to make a plan and oversee the work (the fee was $7,500); and the Executive Committee of Central Park had appointed Olmsted & Vaux “Landscape Architects to the Board.” The firm was to receive $5,000 per annum, and $5,000 as back pay for services already rendered. Vaux was elated but worried; Olmsted’s letter with his decision to return had not yet reached him. “I should be satisfied with the result if I felt well assured of your real cooperation,” he wrote. “As I said before, my main perplexity all through has been in this direction.” If Olmsted had any doubts, the opportunity to work on his beloved Central Park dispelled them. He immediately sent two telegrams. One was to Vaux, assuring him of his intention to return to New York; the other was to McKim. It said simply, “I decline.”
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Shortly after, disturbing news arrived over the telegraph. His New York banker, Ketchum, Son & Company, had been forced to close its doors. Edward Ketchum—the “Son”—had embezzled $5 million. Olmsted, who had earlier requested that his account be transferred to San Francisco, was on tenterhooks. He eventually learned that the $6,400 had been transferred the day before the firm failed! His total loss amounted to one hundred shares of Mariposa stock, worth about $1,200. He felt “as if I had just come out from a cold bath.”
Olmsted stayed another week in San Francisco arranging his affairs—he left more than $12,000 invested in California securities—and returned to Bear Valley. He planned to embark on a steamship that was sailing for Nicaragua (the Nicaragua route was cheaper than the Panama route). While he and Mary were packing, a telegram arrived from his friend Howard Potter in New York. Olmsted had granted Potter power of attorney and asked him to approach the Mariposa owners on his behalf. Potter’s message was unambiguous: “No funds here yet no satisfactory assurances obtainable.” Olmsted had waited for nothing. He left the Mariposa Estate on October 2, 1865, just a few days short of two years since he had arrived.
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It was the spring of 1996 when I visited Bear Valley. Scant evidence remained that this was once the headquarters of the mighty Mariposa Estate. A small standing section of stone wall and traces of foundation were all that was left of Oso House, which had burned down years ago. I could only guess where the company store had stood. On the hillside I could see a handful of houses, one of which was obviously abandoned, the roof sagging, the windows boarded up. Bear Valley had not prospered. A sign by the two-lane highway listed the current population as seventy-five. There was a general store with two gas pumps. “Last Chance for Gas! No Service at Bagby,” the sign indicated. Bagby, five miles away on the Merced River, had been the northernmost point of the Mariposa Estate. The only other commercial buildings were a restaurant and “Mrs. Trabucco’s Mercantile,” advertising antiques and gifts. It was Sunday, and only the general store was open. I felt hot and dry and bought a bottle of soda and drank it outside in the shade of the porch. Rising to the east was the bulk of Mount Bullion, covered with scrubby growth. The grass between the clumps of trees was already burnt yellow by the sun. The view was cheerless. Frederick and Mary were happy here, but they could not have been sorry to leave.