Guest blogger and author Aleta George reflects on how she came to write her new biography of poet/librarian Ina Coolbrith, Ina Coolbrith: The Bittersweet Song of California's First Poet Laureate. Join us for her talk this Thursday, June 25th.
My first memory of the San Francisco History Center comes from the old library building (now the Asian Art Museum). I don't recall what I was researching, but I do remember the fresh flowers on the tables and the windows being open to San Francisco air. I later learned that the old library building had opened its doors in 1917 when Ina Coolbrith, the subject of my biography, was still alive. Two years earlier, on June 30, 1915, Coolbrith was crowned California's first poet laureate during the Panama-Pacific International Exposition. This year marks her centennial, and for several reasons, the San Francisco Public Library is the perfect place to celebrate her anniversary.
First, Coolbrith was a librarian. In 2014, the California Library Association recognized her contributions to the field when they inducted her into the California Library Hall of Fame. Among her accomplishments as librarian for the Oakland Free Library was her now-famous mentorship of Jack London and Isadora Duncan, a mentorship acknowledged by both. London shared his appreciation by letter on December 13, 1906:
And Isadora Duncan wrote in her autobiography, "The librarian was a very wonderful and beautiful woman, a poetess of California, Ina Coolbrith. She encouraged my reading and I thought she always looked pleased when I asked for fine books."
Coolbrith's near 20-year reign as Oakland's first public librarian ended when the board of directors fired her and replaced her with the nephew she had helped to raise. When she began looking for another position, John Muir asked if she would apply to the San Francisco Library. She explained that they hired only male librarians and was thus "disqualified by sex." Shortly thereafter, she accepted a job at the Mercantile Library, which later merged with the Mechanics' Institute. She nearly lost that position before even starting, however, when certain members of the all-male board of directors grumbled about "petticoat rule." One member said it was nothing against Miss Coolbrith but "a mere question of sex and the weaker is in disfavor." This injustice came in spite of the fact that for nearly 20 years, Coolbrith had managed budgets, staff, acquisitions, and catalogues as Oakland's head librarian. The San Francisco Examiner came to her defense when it suggested on January 17, 1898, that the library burn all books written by women if they were to deny Coolbrith. "No intellectual petticoatism! Down with the Mrs. Brownings, the Jane Austens, the George Eliots and the Charlotte Brontes!"
In the end, Coolbrith got the job but didn't stay long. A year later, she took a half-time position as librarian for the Bohemian Club, the all-male club of which she was an honorary member. Her new job gave her time to write, a luxury that she hadn't had in decades.
Though Coolbrith never worked at the San Francisco Public Library, it's where my research on her began. After learning about the "pearl" of San Francisco's first literary heyday, I decided to write an article. Within a short time, her epic story captured me, and I committed to writing a book. By then, the new Main Library had opened, and I went to the 6th floor at 100 Larkin Street to research Bret Harte and Charles Warren Stoddard, who, along with Coolbrith, had been dubbed the Overland Trinity. After a critic accused them of forming a poetry monopoly in the Overland Monthly, Coolbrith suggested to Harte that he not include her poetry as frequently.
"I edit the mag, Madam," he replied. "When better stuff comes to me than yours, never fear that I shall fail to take advantage of it."
My ongoing research took me to libraries across California. I also returned to the San Francisco Public Library, where I had discovered treasures such as Franklin Walker's San Francisco's Literary Frontier (I now own two copies). One find in particular occurred when a reference librarian led me to a microfiche list of articles about Joseph Duncan, respected businessman, infamous banker, and Isadora Duncan's father. He was also a poet rumored to have lost his heart to Ina Coolbrith, the spinster poet of Russian Hill. I never would have found these articles, and the stories they revealed, with Google.
People have asked me how long it took to research and write Ina Coolbrith: The Bittersweet Song of California's First Poet Laureate. My standard reply is ten years. But after digging up old notes for this post, I discovered that my interest began in 2000, a century after Coolbrith threatened to rule by petticoat (and, may I add, at least 20 years before she had the right to vote).
Petticoat Rule
My first memory of the San Francisco History Center comes from the old library building (now the Asian Art Museum). I don't recall what I was researching, but I do remember the fresh flowers on the tables and the windows being open to San Francisco air. I later learned that the old library building had opened its doors in 1917 when Ina Coolbrith, the subject of my biography, was still alive. Two years earlier, on June 30, 1915, Coolbrith was crowned California's first poet laureate during the Panama-Pacific International Exposition. This year marks her centennial, and for several reasons, the San Francisco Public Library is the perfect place to celebrate her anniversary.
First, Coolbrith was a librarian. In 2014, the California Library Association recognized her contributions to the field when they inducted her into the California Library Hall of Fame. Among her accomplishments as librarian for the Oakland Free Library was her now-famous mentorship of Jack London and Isadora Duncan, a mentorship acknowledged by both. London shared his appreciation by letter on December 13, 1906:
. . . The old Oakland Library days! Do you know, you were the first one who ever complimented me on my choice of reading matter. Nobody at home bothered their heads over what I read. I was an eager, thirsty, hungry little kid — and one day, at the library, I drew out a volume on Pizzaro in Peru (I was ten years old). You got the book & stamped it for me. And as you handed it to me you praised me for reading books of that nature. Proud! If you only knew how proud your words made me.
Ina Coolbrith about 1871. Photograph by Louis Thor
And Isadora Duncan wrote in her autobiography, "The librarian was a very wonderful and beautiful woman, a poetess of California, Ina Coolbrith. She encouraged my reading and I thought she always looked pleased when I asked for fine books."
Coolbrith's near 20-year reign as Oakland's first public librarian ended when the board of directors fired her and replaced her with the nephew she had helped to raise. When she began looking for another position, John Muir asked if she would apply to the San Francisco Library. She explained that they hired only male librarians and was thus "disqualified by sex." Shortly thereafter, she accepted a job at the Mercantile Library, which later merged with the Mechanics' Institute. She nearly lost that position before even starting, however, when certain members of the all-male board of directors grumbled about "petticoat rule." One member said it was nothing against Miss Coolbrith but "a mere question of sex and the weaker is in disfavor." This injustice came in spite of the fact that for nearly 20 years, Coolbrith had managed budgets, staff, acquisitions, and catalogues as Oakland's head librarian. The San Francisco Examiner came to her defense when it suggested on January 17, 1898, that the library burn all books written by women if they were to deny Coolbrith. "No intellectual petticoatism! Down with the Mrs. Brownings, the Jane Austens, the George Eliots and the Charlotte Brontes!"
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| Coolbrith's poem "Copa De Oro," in the PPIE pamphlet Undaunted |
In the end, Coolbrith got the job but didn't stay long. A year later, she took a half-time position as librarian for the Bohemian Club, the all-male club of which she was an honorary member. Her new job gave her time to write, a luxury that she hadn't had in decades.
Though Coolbrith never worked at the San Francisco Public Library, it's where my research on her began. After learning about the "pearl" of San Francisco's first literary heyday, I decided to write an article. Within a short time, her epic story captured me, and I committed to writing a book. By then, the new Main Library had opened, and I went to the 6th floor at 100 Larkin Street to research Bret Harte and Charles Warren Stoddard, who, along with Coolbrith, had been dubbed the Overland Trinity. After a critic accused them of forming a poetry monopoly in the Overland Monthly, Coolbrith suggested to Harte that he not include her poetry as frequently.
"I edit the mag, Madam," he replied. "When better stuff comes to me than yours, never fear that I shall fail to take advantage of it."
My ongoing research took me to libraries across California. I also returned to the San Francisco Public Library, where I had discovered treasures such as Franklin Walker's San Francisco's Literary Frontier (I now own two copies). One find in particular occurred when a reference librarian led me to a microfiche list of articles about Joseph Duncan, respected businessman, infamous banker, and Isadora Duncan's father. He was also a poet rumored to have lost his heart to Ina Coolbrith, the spinster poet of Russian Hill. I never would have found these articles, and the stories they revealed, with Google.
People have asked me how long it took to research and write Ina Coolbrith: The Bittersweet Song of California's First Poet Laureate. My standard reply is ten years. But after digging up old notes for this post, I discovered that my interest began in 2000, a century after Coolbrith threatened to rule by petticoat (and, may I add, at least 20 years before she had the right to vote).
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