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April 17, 1912

April 17, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

In School today Miss Hare talked about the “Titanic.” She told us that it was an English ship and she was very much afraid that it bumped into an iceberg because it was going much too fast. It was a brand new ship and the captain wanted it to be faster than any other ship that was sailing on the ocean. An iceberg is a big mountain of ice way down deep in the water and it is so sharp that it can cut a ship right in half, just like we cut apples. She said that the captain waited until everyone drowned and then he jumped from where he was, high up on the ship’s bridge I think and he drowned too. I asked Grandfather about it and he told me that it is polite or did Grandfather say policy? Well anyway, it seems that Captains are supposed to drown if their ship goes down. I think that is a very silly rule and if I were Captain, I would try not to drown. I should think that the captain’s wife would be happy if he didn’t drown but Grandfather said no, she would have been ashamed of him. I still think she would want him to live. Sometimes you love people more when you are ashamed of them because that’s when you need to love them. That is the way I loved Brownie and was ashamed of him at the same time, just the other day when he wet his pants in our parlor.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

April 16, 1912

April 16, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

No one talks about anything except the “Titanic.” Grandfather came home late for lunch because he stands all morning in front of the Examiner building looking for news on the Blackboard. Nearly everyone on the ship was drowned. One lady refused to go into the life boat without her beautiful Great Dane and one lady refused to go without her husband and they all drowned with musicians who kept playing all the time the ship was sinking. They played “Nearer My God to Thee,” which isn’t a very pretty melody but the words have something to do with being close to God and if you are drowning you might as well think of heaven, I guess?


I was unable to find information about the San Francisco Examiner’s “blackboard” — in the days before CNN and Twitter, the board would have been a convenient way to learn about breaking news between newspaper editions. Although the wikipedia entry for “Nearer My God to Thee” says that it was probably not played on the Titanic, the Examiner’s headlines a few days after today’s entry mention the song:

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco, Music

April 15, 1912

April 15, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

There was a terrible accident yesterday. A big ship called the “Titanic” was sunk. It was a beautiful ship, like a hotel floating on water. Maybe it is like a palace too. It had a ballroom and a big play room for children and kennels for their dogs and the people dressed up every night in evening clothes and they had music with their dinner and wonderful things to eat and bubbly wine to drink. Every day and night is like a party when you travel on the ocean.


The front page headline from the San Francisco Examiner on April 15, 1912:

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

April 14, 1912

April 14, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

This is Sunday but a nice one. The only people who came were Uncle Julius and Aunt Josie and they brought me the most beautiful Japanese kimono. It has a big sash around my waist and it is called an Obi and Japanese women carry their babies in it somehow. Ito showed me how little Japanese girls bow to their parents but I can’t do it and every time I try, I fall on my face.


One of the things I enjoyed about growing up in San Francisco was being surrounded by and exposed to people of different backgrounds and cultures. Hilda grew up in a very different era, in a city less embracing of “the other.” She is sometimes afraid of people who look different from her, but she is encouraged to see everyone as equal and as fellow human beings (see February 12 and March 7 entries). Unfortunately, humanity still has a lot to learn.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

April 13, 1912

April 13, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

This morning was lovely. All of a sudden there was music and right outside the parlor window was a man with a hand organ and with the darlingest monkey. The monkey was dressed in a little green suit trimmed in red and gold. All the children on the block came running and we gave the monkey nickels and pennies. He then took them in his little hands and put them in his pocket and every so often he would tip his hat, which looked like a tiny round box upside-down and it was green and gold too with a little red feather stuck in it. The man then sang a very beautiful song called “Santa Lucia” and it is an Italian song. People sing in gondolas. Gondolas are very special boats that are used in Venice and while the boatman sings the people hold hands and kiss. Venice is a city in Italy that has no streets and no streetcars and you have to ride in boats through water canals to get from place to place.


1892 photo, Overpeck (photographer, Hamilton, Ohio, USA), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco, Music

April 12, 1912

April 12, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

Grandfather took me and Brownie to a studio to have our pictures taken today. We are sitting in an airplane with our faces stuck out of the windows. Each of us has a window all to himself. Brownie too. The place where we had our pictures taken was fun. You could pick out anything you wanted to have your picture taken with, like you could be on a donkey or even the man in the moon or on a boat or if you wanted to you could hold a basket of flowers or a doll but of course I wouldn’t like that. You could even be sitting next to a phonograph, and listen to music.


Although Hilda doesn’t describe the photo we see at the start of each entry, it’s possible that it was taken on this very day. I’d love to see the photo of them in the “airplane.” I have similar studio portraits taken of my mother and uncle in Vienna in 1926. My mother holds her toy rather gingerly — most likely provided by the studio rather than being a treasured possession.

In Before 1919, Between the Wars Tags Hilda, San Francisco, Vienna

April 11, 1912

April 11, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Today I saw Alma again. She is at Lizzie’s house now, where the priests live. Grandfather brought me, we all sat in the garden and the nice nuns came and joined us. Grandfather asked them what they had done to make me love them so much. And then Sister Alba asked me if it was true and I said, “Oh yes! But though, I am so sorry that you have to wear those ugly black dresses.” Grandfather spoke up and said, “Why, Hilda! These lovely women are not interested in party clothes. They are too busy doing things for other people and thinking of God and His words. They can’t and don’t want to spend money on hair ribbons and fancy clothes like your Grandmother spends on you.” I said that I thought that they could be just as Holy wearing pretty dresses and maybe God would enjoy looking at them all dressed up. They all smiled and Grandfather asked them to please excuse me, that it seemed that I had left my very best manners at home today. They all said that they would.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

April 10, 1912

April 10, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Uncle Milton and Aunt Retta came for dinner last night. Her real name is Henrietta but no one calls her that. I don’t think Grandmother and Retta like each other very much, but I know I do. I really like Aunt Retta, only she disappointed me at her wedding. I thought all brides wore lace, and veils and orange blossoms, but she only wore an ordinary dark blue suit and a plain white blouse and a hat with some red feathers in it and Uncle Milton wore a dark blue suit too and he had a dark blue tie and so I’m not sure they are really married.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

April 9, 1912

April 9, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Tomorrow is my father’s birthday and this afternoon, my Grandfather let me send my own telegram. I wrote it out myself but when we got to the telegraph office then he said that maybe we should write it out again, not because my handwriting was bad but because the telegraph man wasn’t used to reading it and Grandfather said that I could also put the telegram I wrote into an envelope and send it to my father so he could see the message in my own handwriting, so we did that too. I also made a beautiful pen wiper for him. Aunt Tillie taught me how. You put four nails in a used-up spool of thread and then you wrap yarn around the nails and keep pulling it through the hole in the spool. It is called a cat’s tail; it doesn’t look like a real cat’s tail and this one is very beautiful and the colors are pink, blue, and lavender.


Apparently pen wipers were Hilda’s gift of choice. She wrote about making one in her January 11th entry. For a video about modern “spool knitting,” which is also known as “corking.”

In Before 1919 Tags San Francisco, Hilda

April 8, 1912

April 8, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

On Monday mornings the whole school must go to the auditorium and sing ugly songs. The ugliest of all is “The Star Spangled Banner.” It has notes that no one can reach, not even the principal who has a very nice voice and you can hear him over all ours and the other teachers’ voices too whenever we sing. I don’t like national songs so much and I don’t like flags either. Every morning we must salute the flag and then put our hand over on our forehead like soldiers do and say a piece about being true to our country. I do it but I do not like it. I don’t really understand it all or why? Anyway, my favorite songs are in German and Grandfather sings them. One is called “Die Lorelei.” She is a mermaid who stands on a rock in the middle of a river and combs her hair. Only I don’t see how she can stand up on a tail. Also, it isn’t very polite of her to comb her hair in public, I am never allowed to come out of my room until my hair is combed.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco, Music

April 7, 1912

April 7, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Today is Sunday and we had company, but I didn’t have to play the piano or recite because grandmother wanted to show off the new doll and have her sing. Grandmother named the doll “Tetrazzini.” Madame Tetrazzini is in the opera and she sings with a flute to accompany her. I heard about it because Grandmother once made Grandfather take her to the Tivoli Opera House to hear Madame Tetrazzini sing in an opera called “Lucia.” There is a special scene in it called the mad scene and Grandmother was talking about it to the company and Grandfather said in a loud voice, “Lucia isn’t the only one who is mad. There are a few others living in this house.” Everyone laughed but Grandmother didn’t and I know she was angry.


Luisa Tetrazzini was a famous opera singer who made her U.S. debut in San Francisco in January 1905. The town went wild for her, particularly her singing of the mad scene from Lucia di Lammermoor. She was so popular that she returned in the fall of 1905.

San Francisco Chronicle January 18, 1905

San Francisco Chronicle November 6, 1905

Tetrazzini returned to San Francisco several times, including in 1910, but not at the Tivoli Opera House which had been destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and not rebuilt until 1913. She loved San Francisco as much as San Francisco loved her, and she gave a free Christmas Eve concert in 1910 to thank residents for their support and to provide a morale boost to a town still recovering from the devastation of the earthquake and fire. Tetrazzini must have been fresh on their minds because a memorial plaque was unveiled on March 24, 1912, just two weeks before Hilda wrote this entry.

Plaque at Lotta’s fountain courtesy of SAN FRANCISCO HISTORY CENTER, SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC LIBRARY (according to SFPL digital photos: "Bas. relief portrait of Luisa Tetrazzini by Haig Patigian added to Lotta's Fountain in memory of event in which Tetrazzini sang 'The Last Rose of Summer' beside the fountain Christmas Eve 1910.")

Photo courtesy of SAN FRANCISCO HISTORY CENTER, SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC LIBRARY

Lotta’s fountain, present day. Plaque at top.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco, Music

April 6, 1912

April 6, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Everyone buys me dolls because they feel so sorry that I have no mother. I think that is a silly reason to buy a doll for me besides I hate dolls. Yesterday Grandmother bought me a big one. She has a little phonograph in her stomach and you put a little record into it and then you are to pretend the doll is singing. The songs are not pretty and the voice of the doll is ugly.


I really wanted a “Chatty Cathy” doll in the 1960s. It seemed like the most wonderful and modern invention. Who knew that talking dolls had been around for decades?!

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

April 5, 1912

April 5, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I now have a darling puppy and he is all my own. He’s a little Cocker Spaniel, and I call him Brownie just because he is all brown. He is a present from my Uncle Milton. Uncle Milton is my favorite Uncle. He loves all kinds of animals, birds, and bugs and I do too.


I didn’t have a date for Hilda’s photo. It appears to have been taken in 1912, at the same time that she was writing her diary - we met Brownie before knowing who he was!

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

April 4, 1912

April 4, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I haven’t written in this book for three weeks because I have been sick, but I don’t remember getting sick. It was after seeing the moving picture. They told me that I woke up in the middle of the night screaming and talking about knives and crowds of angry people and drums and blood. Grandmother had to call the doctor to give me something to make me stop screaming. But now I am glad I was sick because Sancha is gone. They know all about the butcher shop and the moving picture and I am not going to have a nurse again until Alma comes back.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

March 14, 1912

March 14, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Today Sancha didn’t take me to the butcher shop, she took me to a moving picture theater. It was so dreadful and I am afraid to go to bed tonight. In the picture show was a little, ugly man sitting in a bathtub and a woman came in with a long knife and she stuck it into him. Then there were millions of people around a platform and men on horseback and more men with drums. Then someone dragged in the woman who had killed the man in the bath tub. They put her up on the platform and then tied her to a board and then I saw that there was a long knife hanging over her head and I closed my eyes but I could hear the loud roll on the drums. Finally when I opened my eyes, I saw someone holding the woman’s head up by her hair and it was just terrible, terrible, too terrible!


I could not find the movie Hilda went to see. It sounds like it was about the French Revolution and the death of Marat at the hands of Charlotte Corday.


On this cliffhanger, Hilda stops writing in her diary for a few weeks, and we won’t hear from her again until April 4.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

March 13, 1912

March 13, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Every day is the same. Sancha calls for me at school and takes me to the butcher shop. It is full of horrible bloody cows cut in half and hanging from the ceiling on big hooks. Sancha puts me on a stool and gives me books to look at then she goes upstairs with the young man. When we leave, we go over to the park for a few minutes so if Grandmother asks me if we had been to the park, I can say yes, and everyday Sancha tells me that if I ever say where I was, they will cut me in half just like those cows and hang me from the ceiling. Of course I don’t think they would but just the same I am afraid to tell.

Undated photo of the Marion Silva Meat Department at the Crystal Palace Market, courtesy of the SAN FRANCISCO HISTORY CENTER, SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC LIBRARY


In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

March 12, 1912

March 12, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I can’t do arithmetic. Sancha tries to help me when I am at home but she can’t do it either. Grandfather always starts to help me but then I beg him to sing German songs to me instead and at first he says he won’t. He tells me that certain hours are for work, and certain ones for singing and this was still a working hour but he always ends up doing it and I know the words to some of the songs and we end up singing together. Arithmetic is so difficult and I have silly problems like Farmer Brown’s cow gives one gallon of milk and Farmer White’s cat had eight kittens so how long does it take Farmer Green’s chickens to lay a hundred eggs a day and how long is Farmer Black’s fence? Why all these farmers?

As I read today’s entry, I like to think that Hilda and her grandfather are singing songs from the book my grandmother sent her from Vienna when Hilda was a child. Hilda mentions this book in a 1946 letter to Helene.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco, Helene, Music

March 11, 1912

March 11, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Suzanne was here for lunch today and she told me a big secret. She told me she was going to marry Mr. Leonard. I’m ever so pleased and now I can tell Tante Esther that because once I heard Tante Esther say that Suzanne will never get married. That married men don’t marry girls like that. I don’t know why not? Suzanne is so beautiful and a prima ballerina and Tante Esther is ugly and old and blind but she had a husband. Maybe he was blind too.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco

March 10, 1912

March 10, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

The Ballet was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, and we came home so late that I don’t have to go to Sunday School today. The Ballet was just like Fairy Land. We all went together, Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunt Tillie, and I, and we sat close to the stage with the same two patent leather men who had come to dinner that night with Suzanne. They brought me flowers too, just like Aunt Tillie’s. Hers are small red roses and mine are tiny pink roses tied with a lovely blue ribbon. They are called corsages and we pinned them to our muffs. All the ladies looked so beautiful and the lights were so gay and bright and the men were so handsome and it was so much fun just to watch the musicians come into the pit. They call it a pit because it is deep down under the stage. It looks a little like a bear’s den. When the musicians started to tune their instruments it sounded very scratchy but very exciting because you knew that the scratching was going to stop and some beautiful sounds would come and they did. The lights dimmed, and then it got very dark. It really got black and then the curtain went up. First there was just the beautiful music in the darkness and you couldn’t see anything at all. Then it got a tiny bit lighter but I still couldn’t find Suzanne. All I could see on the stage were millions of slaves and they were wearing beautiful gold and silver clothes and their heads were bound in turbans and I knew they were turbans because Aunt Tillie had one that she wore last winter. Hers of courses didn’t have gold, silver, and diamonds sewn in it like these. All the time I was watching, I heard the music getting big and exciting and sometimes a little sad. Then it became lighter and you could see lots of colors and then everyone on the stage began to dance. They danced with wonderful baskets of fruit and flowers with cages of golden birds and turkeys and grapes on silver platters and jugs of wine. You couldn’t see that it was wine but I was sitting next to Grandfather and he said that it was meant to be wine. Some of them danced with boxes with strings of pearls spilling out of them or strings of rubies, diamonds, or emeralds. Then all of a sudden I saw a fat man lying on some pillows. This is the Sultan, and right next to him was Scheherazade, only it wasn’t Scheherazade, it was Suzanne, but it wasn’t really Suzanne either, it was Scheherazade. She was telling stories to the Sultan, but between the stories she danced. She danced alone and she danced with a beautiful prince and she danced with all the slaves and she wanted the Sultan to dance but he wouldn’t. Maybe he couldn’t because he was so fat. Suzanne looked like an angel. Her dress was all gold and silver and diamonds and pearls and she had diamonds and pearls in her hair. In the middle of all the dancing, the curtains came together again and the lights went on and I was afraid that was the end but Grandfather said no, it was only the first act and there would be two more whole acts to follow. And then he took me outside to a little dining room and we all sat at a little table and ate chicken sandwiches. I had hot chocolate and the grown-ups had coffee. The bell rang and we went back to our seats. I don’t remember too much about the rest of the Ballet. I must have fallen asleep, but I woke up before it ended. Everyone was clapping, and everyone on the stage was in front of the curtain, and Suzanne’s arms were full of flowers. She and the others were bowing. In fact I as wide awake and I wanted to go to the restaurant with Aunt Tillie and Suzanne and Mr. Ralph and Mr. Leonard. I’ve never been to that kind of restaurant, the kind where ladies and gentlemen go after the theater at night. Grandfather said that in just ten years more I can go. Then Mr. Leonard said, “Never mind, Hilda, you know I am waiting for you until you grow up.” So I went home in the carriage with Grandmother and Grandfather.


Although I could not find any photos or articles about this production or about Tillie’s friend Suzanne, the following links to the Jerome Robbins Dance Division, The New York Public Library. "Gertrude Hoffmann in Scheherazade" The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1911 - 1912 take you to photos of Gertrude Hoffman in the title role from the same era.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco, Music

March 9, 1912

March 9, 2022 Helen Goldsmith

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

This morning Aunt Tillie said that to punish me for liking dogs and cats better than babies they were not going to take me to Suzanne’s ballet tonight. I started to cry and stamp my feet and I said that dogs and cats were not only nicer than babies they were nicer than people and that no dog or cat would make me stay home from the ballet. So I was locked in my room but when Grandfather came home, he came right upstairs and when I told him what was the matter he said, “Kindchen, if you don’t go to the ballet I won’t go either.” So, I guess I’m going. Then Grandmother came upstairs and said that if I wanted to go out tonight I must stay in my bed and rest and I mustn’t write any more in this book because she doesn’t want any ink on the sheets. So I must stop now.

In Before 1919 Tags Hilda, San Francisco
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