way we liked it.
Giselle, too, was excited to move on from working on the wharf to serving in our restaurant. It would now be up to Hawthorne to make her a happy bride. It had been a difficult courtship as Hawthorne wasn’t making enough money in his law practice to set up a household until just recently. Giselle had wisely insisted that their earnings be separate when married until such time as they had children.
“LOLA MONTEZ, COUNTESS OF LANDSFELD”
— portrait reproduced from an etching by Laurie. Courtesy of the Archives for the Performing Arts, San Francisco.
California Gold Rush Journal
CHAPTER FOUR
San Francisco — 1853
Manon was finishing lunch service and I was seated at a back table of our restaurant jotting down all the things to do to get my express company up and running when a huge, light-skinned black woman barreled through the door. She shared a few words with Manon who pointed in my direction. The two women made their way to my table chatting animatedly.
“Pierre, I want you to meet Mary Ellen Pleasant, the noted cook and opponent of slavery. She is working for a rich merchant and would like us to cater some of his parties. I’m going to have her meet our two chefs, Rose and Joséphine, and plan some menus after she speaks with you. She’s seen your ad about helping with investments,” Manon said sweetly.
I rose at once and extended my hand which she shook firmly. “I’m delighted to meet you Mrs. Pleasant. I’ve heard about your good work with the Quakers on behalf of your people back East, and like my wife you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself here in San Francisco with a frying pan and bold recipes. Won’t you please have a seat?”
She plopped her big frame onto a chair and doffed her large hat gaily decorated with tropical bird feathers. She made an impressive appearance. She’d traded her cook’s uniform for a red and white calico dress that complimented her glossy, almost white skin. It was a stunning outfit that only a handsome black woman could parade about town in. She appeared to be in her forties and dressed to sing in the choir of a revival meeting or attend Sunday church.
We’d heard about her through the town gossips and she was a favorite with the newspaper scribblers who always referred to her as “Mammy Pleasant.” Her arrival in San Francisco was a very dramatic event that all the newspapers chronicled. According to press coverage, she arrived in San Francisco from New Orleans with a reputation as a great cook. Several miners, who’d struck it rich, were waiting to vie for her services when her ship docked. Successful miners were willing to pay a steep price for a really good cook. They’d had their fill of camp food before striking it rich — singed salt beef, moldy salt pork, burned beans, chicory-flavored, adulterated coffee, spoiled potatoes, and wormy flap jacks. According to those present, the bidding was spirited. Her services were won for $500.00 a month with her stipulation, “no washin’, no dishwashin’ at all!”
“So, Mrs. Pleasant, what sort of investment did you have in mind?” I asked.
“Well I don’t want to do no investin’ in speculative land or untried ventures. I want investments what’s safe an’ secure. Since you musta heard about my interest in moving my people out of slavery in the South, I’m partial to buyin’ businesses where freed an’ escaped slaves can work, start a new life and support a family.”
“You mean here in California?” I was surprised at her plan to help escaped slaves get to California. The issue of California as a non-slavery state had been decided by a constitutional convention in California and a vote by Congress to admit California as a non-slavery state. Our local political boss, David Broderick, was firmly anti-slavery and instrumental in the struggle to have California admitted as a non-slavery state, but powerful politicians in the state capital had been born in southern slave states and some had brought slaves with them to California. “I’m sure you’re aware of Judge David Terry’s supporters who are trying to get the slavery issue reversed in the state?” I added.
“Oh yeah, I know about that bunch of southern slavers who’re tryin’ to take over the government and bring they slaves here. I keeps my ears open when the boss has all his high society friends to dinner. They say they got too many northerners here mining an’ in business. No way them slave owners gonna get a vote in their favor. Boss’s friends say could only happen by insurrection an’ they ain’t got the firepower to beat the Yankees. Would be over my dead body if they tried,” she asserted with conviction and assurance.
I chuckled to myself. This is one clever lady. She’s in a position to eavesdrop on conversations of the city’s movers and shakers and they don’t have a clue she’s both self-interested and taking it all in. “Since you’re in a position to be well informed about our political scene, I expect you’ve heard a lot about good and bad investments,” I said.
“‘Course I have, but they are rich and got officials under their thumbs. I don’t. What money I got come from my first husband, James Henry Smith, bless his soul. I promise him before he passed I’d use his money to free as many slaves as I could and see they stayed free. My second husband, John James Pleasant, was himself a slave, so we see eye-to-eye on the subject.”
“What decided you to come to me and not one of your employer’s investment advisors?”
“I don’t want none of them knowin’ my business or what I do with my money. Figured you’d made a profitable business on the wharf and wid’ your restaurant. I saw your advertisement for women to work as apprentice cooks. I reckoned anyone who was lookin’ to train women in men’s jobs gotta be good peoples. So what kind of advice do you have for me? I kinda thought maybe I should invest in wash houses. There’s a big need for washin’, ironin’ and mendin’ wid all the single men in town what don’t know one end of a needle from the other or how to wash they dirty drawers. I hear some men folks send they clothes all the way to China to get ‘em cleaned. What do you think of my idea?”
“I agree with you that there is a need for more laundries, but the days of sending dirty shirts to be laundered in Shanghai and waiting months for their return are over. With so many Chinese now arriving, they are doing the menial jobs the white men won’t do. You walk around Little China and you’ll see lots of Chinese coolies taking in washing and running a 2-day laundry service. The same goes for cigar making and other dirty or undesirable jobs as well as for girls in the sex trade. I don’t have to tell you about the prevailing attitudes and prejudices regarding the Chinese, other foreigners and your people, but they still give their dirty laundry to the Chinese because it’s cheaper. The Chinese coolies are slaves just like your people in the South. They’re not paid a wage for the work they are required to do. Thus, there’ll be a lot of competition if you want freed slaves to earn a living working in your laundry business.”
I went on to explain the three investment opportunities I could offer: the bilingual school, my express company and Levi Strauss’ work pants.
“I don’t see how the school or express company would work for me. I like the idea of makin’ somethin’ folks need what’s better quality than the competition. It’s just like cookin’, so I can relate to it. I would like to invest in the makin’ of the work pants but I got a condition. Since you gonna run the business, I want an agreement that you’ll train and hire black men and women to work makin’ the work pants along wid’ your other workers.”
“Not a problem. We’ll use our investors’