YANKEE WIT AND SIGHT-SEEING

Otago Witness, Issue 3769, 8 June 1926, Page 80

YANKEE WIT AND SIGHT-SEEING

By

G. E. Macleod.

(Fob thb Wit nibs.) (See Illustrated Pages in This Issue.) A sight-seeing trip in San Francisco is invariably accompanied by much talk from the man with the megaphone. The idea seems' to be to put the passengers in good humour with the service and with one another. As a rule the driver attends strictly to his business, leaving all entertainment to his colleague, who may be Mike, Joe, or Bill, but the greatest of these was Bill. Bill, as we knew him on a long day’s outing to La Honda Canyon, was a very fat man, w’ith a red, good-tempered face, and he scarcely stopped speaking from mid-morning till six in the evening. His voice carried well, even to the back of the 28-seater char-a-banc. Probably his ability with the megaphone, as well as his excellent management of the wheel, over very difficult portions of the most interesting district, made him able to claim both fee 6, for he was the onlv man we saw who tackled both jobs—driving and talking. “I go over this road 325 times a year,” he told us reassuringly, for with one hand on the megaphone, and his huge conveyance nosing round sharp bends and steop cuttings, we felt relieved when he momentarily dropped the megaphone and used both hands. “And I’ve been "oing over it for four years now,” he added. “I get 40 days’ holiday each year. One week with pay, the rest—without!” Bill had a decidedly comic emphasis, and a droll expression, which atoned for an amazing a' unt of drivel. As we passed through the city, Bill pointed out all places of interest, interspersing information with jokes and riddles. “Have you heard about the new Ford car.” he asked. “Henry’s made it 10 inches shorter than the present model, so that they can wash it in the kitchen sink. By the way—lf a man married a widow named Elizabeth with two wayward sons, what would he get?” No one hazarded a reply. “He’d get a ‘Lizzie’ and two secondhand run-abouts. See?’’

The countryside was very pleasant, and the way led bv whole fields of vegetables, conspicuous amongst them being areas of artichokes, quite different from the variety we are accustomed to. The plants were high, coarse, and spikey. resembling the plant we call “real Scotch thistle.” Bill enlarged on the excellencies of Califo'rnian artichokes, regretting that they were as .vet too immature for us to sample them. “Over there, ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, “are the Crystal Springs. The water in the Springs is erv, very good. If any of vou y are carrying anything stronger than water you had better hand it to me. In a few minutes we shall be stopped and searched. They will search you but they do not search me. So if you give me anything you may have on you I’ll keep it for you, and when we have passed them I'll hand you back the flask.” As if in protest .against Bill's departure from strict integrity of speech a loud report startled us, and slowly our great car came to a standstill. “Little Willie’s in trouble now,” murmured Bill, as he prepared to heave his weight downward. “How long will we have to— ” began an impatient passenger. Bill halted halfway to the ground, his smile wholly submerged in a challenging stare. # “Anybody that’s going to kick, do it right now,” he said, and waited, but an inarticulate mumble was all the passenger ventured. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” Bill added, “but I’ll have to get underneath.” In about a quarter of an hour he emerged from under, crimson, and mopping his face. He swung into his place, grasped his megaphone, and began . “This road is made over the original track of the Indians ” Distressful gurgles and chokings interrupted Bill, who seemed ill. “I had an automobile cocktail under the car,” he said in apology, “mv throat’s burning yet.” It appeared as if he had had to suck the petrol through the pipe, and thus poetic justice overtook Bill for his jibe at America’s lack of “something stronger.” But even so distasteful a cocktail could not damp his enthusiasm: “See that car we passed?” he asked. “Thai’s a Chevrolet 490. That model’s called 490 because they are four davs on the road and ninety in the repair shop.” As the hours of that exquisite day passed, a dav like one of New Zealand’s very best—mild, brisk and sunnv. Bill’s toit expanded. At a particularly sharp bend we were thrown violently against each other. “We call this ‘lntroduction Corner,* ” Bill remarked with a chuckle, “because you get acquainted before we descend this lovely vallev.” He waved hi,s megaphone comprehensively towards the sea. “Where do the ielly-fish get their fruit to make their iellv? From the currants in the ocean, of course.” By-and-bve a few trees and a house or two marked the approach to a settlement. “We are now entering Peralta,” he remarked; ns he swung his car round a corner. “We are now leaving Peralta. Seven people live here. There’s the school, and there’s.” wUh a how and a flourish towards the flag, “there’s Old Glory l” A queer, foreign feeling overtook us as we glanced at the Stars and Stripes, afloat in the breeze. It was the first and only lime that we were made consciows, even for a moment, that the

country was not our own, for, strange to say, there is far less American accent in California than in Canada. At noon we reached Big Tree Inn, where a chicken dinner could be obtained for one dollar fifty cents —6s 3d, or a less ambitious meal for one dollar. Thereafter we passed through the canyon, the summit of our anticipations. The noble army of red woods stood in their tens and in their hundreds —a glorious company. Beautiful mammoth trees, straight, lofty and ancient, formed great aisles and archways down the hillsides, and along the shining stream. Bill’s voice ceased for a merciful ten minutes reason of the intricacies of the road—Yankee wit, and the redwoods ! We did not have to bear so great a discipline of the spirit, and we looked along the ranks of the Olympians, glad of their strength, their silence and their symmetry. All too soon the Insufferable Person, who has always seen something better, spoke: “I was along here years ago. There seemed to be more of the larger trees. The clearings have ” This was too much for Bill. He could not have his trees, which he really seemed to appreciate, criticised. “Scenery’s like soup, ma’m! The first bowl seems the best ever, when you’re hungry. The second bowl ain’t half so good, and you don’t care whether you have the third or not. Scenery’s like soup, Ma’m. The first’s the best.” Leaving the canyon, and Bill’s savoury simile, we sped through much delightful country, sweet with summer fruits. Orchards of prunes, almost ready for the picking shone purple in the sunlight, Bill seemed still to ruminate on things to eat : “Say, folks, have any of you had a really good Californian"orange yet? No! I thought not! And you ain’t going to, either, in California. Thev ship ’em all East.” Late in the afternoon we visited the Leland Stanford Jr. University, and saw the famous memorial chapel* with its ■wonderful mosaics. At the entrance is a great coloured mosaic, and inside the beautiful chapel are mosaics covering almost all the walls. They reprtsent Old Testament stories, and New Testament themes are wrought upon stained glass windows. By the altar is a reproduction (in mosaic, I think) of the Last Supper, as it is in the Sistine Chapel in Rome—the only one ever permitted. A girl student showed different parties round, and lectured, but it was sometimes difficult to hear all she had to say. owing to numbers.

When we rejoined Bill, he was as fresh as ever, and treated us, as we wound through the fine and studiedly beautiful grounds, to several bearded chestnuts about peaches and “pairs.” Every San Franciscan sight-seeing man amuses his audiences by jibes at the expense of their neighbour and rival, Lop Angeles. Bill let no opportunity pass, slyly referring to Los Angeles as the largest seaport in the world—derisively adding—’22 miles from the sea.’ “But,” he went on. “did you hear about the big airship that was to have been called the ‘San Francisco?’ The people down there made a fuss arid got it called the ‘Los Angeles.’ The San Francisco folk are glad now,” said Bill gleefully, “for what better name than .Los Angeles could you have for a bag of wind?” And no one suggested ‘Bill!’