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From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
I am frightened. Alma is sick and must go to the hospital tomorrow, and after that she must rest a long time and she will stay with Lizzie. I am to have a German nurse called Sancha, and she will speak German to me. I know I won’t like her.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Sunday School this morning. Our teacher told us the story of Abraham and Isaac. It is not a very nice story, and it seems that most of the people in the Bible are not very nice. Sometimes, even God isn’t nice. For instance, I don’t’ think it was very nice of Him to ask Abraham to kill his own son, even if He didn’t really mean him to do it. After all, there could have been an accident. Suppose that when Isaac was tied to the bundle of wood, God could have been delayed somewhere, and couldn’t get there in time to point out that He really had a ram in mind for sacrifice or suppose that the ram ran right out of sight. When I came home from lunch, I was still thinking about what would have happened “if.” Grandfather asked me why I was so quiet and thoughtful and not eating. So I asked him if he would kill his own son if God asked him to do it, and he said, “That depends on which one of them he chose.” I think he was thinking of Uncle Harold.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Today we called on some friends of Aunt Tillie’s who have only Chinese furniture in their house and Chinese art too. It scares me a bit. All the chairs are hard and uncomfortable, and sometimes you sit on dragons teeth and when you lean back the tassels tickle your neck. I don’t like this furniture and I don’t like the people who live in this house.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
When I came down to breakfast this morning, I found I had a very large chocolate hatchet by my cereal dish and it was from Gladys. She said she forgot to give it to me yesterday but I said it would taste just as good today and anyhow I don’t like George Washington and it’s not a very important holiday like the Fourth of July or Christmas.
Like my grandmother, Hilda’s family appears to have been secular Jews. Although she attended Sunday school where she learned Jewish customs and traditions, the family enjoyed celebrating Christmas.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Today is Washington’s birthday so there is no school. Yesterday, Miss Hare went up and down every row and asked each of us to tell a story about what we knew of George Washington. William said that he was the only man in the world who couldn’t tell a lie. Wesley said that he chopped down all of his father’s cherry trees and when his father asked him who did it, he said “I did it, father, with my little hatchet.” Robert said he was a fine General and Antoinette said he was a fine horseback rider and Leonard said he was good to his men at Valley Forge, he froze along with them. When she got to me, there was nothing more to say about him but to tell about his false teeth and I said that they were the first false teeth that could chew corn. I am not sure that the part about the corn was true. I guess I made it up because Grandfather always tells everyone that his false teeth are so perfect and that he can even eat corn on the cob. I couldn’t think of anything else. Miss Hare said that I made a nice contribution and told me to sit down.
As I read Hilda’s explanation of George Washington, I realized that I had the same history lessons over 50 years later when I was in elementary school in San Francisco.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Today Aunt Tillie took me shopping in Chinatown. I am not afraid of it anymore because the Chinese men don’t wear pigtails like they used to or those funny little hats with a sort of cherry on top. But just the same, I am always glad when we get to the top of the hill on Grant Avenue and I can see the flags waving from the top of the White House department store.
Here are some photos from OpenSFHistory of Chinatown as it looked in 1910:
Photos: OpenSFHistory / wnp15.599, OpenSFHistory / wnp15.1154, OpenSFHistory / wnp14.1154
Photos: OpenSFHistory / wnp15.704, OpenSFHistory / wnp37.00149, OpenSFHistory / wnp26.481, OpenSFHistory / wnp59.00111
Below is a photograph of opening day of the White House in 1907, flags waving:
I recall going with my mother when I was a child to the White House department store before it closed in 1965 — at that point it had moved from its original location at Post and Grant to Sutter and Grant:
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
A lot of ladies were here when I got home from school today. Older ladies! So I took my sewing to the parlor and sat on my little stool behind the piano. I love to hear the ladies talk when they forget that I am in the room. It is so different than when they remember. Mrs. Leon said that her husband doesn’t give her any peace at night and Mrs. Fox said she was lucky that it was only at night. Then after a while they all went into the dining room for a Kafe Klatch and then we had some homemade tarts and strudel from the bakery and lots of cookies That’s when they noticed me and made a fuss about nothing. I have always to promise Aunt Tillie or Grandmother that I won’t spoil my appetite for dinner and then I eat just what I like anyhow, as they are so busy with their friends they don’t really watch me and if I have a dress on with a pocket in it, I can slip in a few cookies and have a party with Sherry in my room after dinner.
In Hilda’s entry today, we again see how she devoloped a voice that at times seems very advanced for her age. In a house full of adults, she was often in the background soaking up every word being said. She may not have understood everything, but sensed when things being said (or unsaid) were important.
Her comments remind me of a summer I worked at a pre-school. One very confident 3-year old stood with her hands on her hips and responded to something she didn’t like by asserting: “That’s a bunch of baloney!” Even in 1978, that was an out-dated phrase, but it flowed easily from her mouth, obviously something she heard in her house on a regular basis. I am currently reading Vivian Gornick’s “Fierce Attachments, a memoir about her complicated relationship with her mother. She says: “Sometimes I think I was born saying, ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Gornick says it in response to just about any situation. As a mature adult, she runs into an old friend who hadn’t seen her since she was 13 who asks if she still says it. She does.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Why do we have to ask permission to go to the bathroom at school? We don’t at home. When you wave your hand around in the air, everyone knows what’s the matter with you. If you are standing at the blackboard doing arithmetic examples, it is an awful felling because it is hard enough to do arithmetic without having to go to the bathroom at the same time.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Sunday is a difficult day, first Sunday School, then all the people I don’t like call on us. I don’t know why, but they do.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Suzanne was here for lunch today but didn’t stay very long, because she had to go to a ballet rehearsal and all she could eat was a little sandwich with a cup of tea. She said it was because she had to dance right afterwards. I can always eat a big lunch before I go to my dancing school class.
Unfortunately, I have been unable to find any newspaper articles about the ballet in which Suzanne performed in San Francisco in March 1912.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Last night Uncle Felix came to have dinner with us. He was married to my Grandfather’s sister Lena. Grandmother says that he killed her but she didn’t tell me how. It would have been better if she had killed him instead. He is an ugly man with three beards on his face. One on each cheek, and one on his chin. He walks with a cane that has a crook in it and he likes to catch children’s legs with it when they are running and make them fall down. Then he laughs and laughs. I hate him. He carries peppermints in his pocket, just loose not in a paper bag, and they always look used and they are really peppery and burn. When he gives you one he insists that you eat it to be polite. Sometimes, I can’t find a place to spit it out without his noticing, but most times I can. Uncle Felix lives with all his children but really, only one of them at a time. I don’t know why, but I guess they don’t like him either and don’t want him to stay for very long. He loves to play cards and eat herring. Whenever he eats here, we have a big platter of herring right next to him at the table. It has an ugly gray sauce with raw onions floating in it and it smells nasty. After dinner, my Grandfather has to play pinochle with him until Uncle Felix wins some money.
I believe that Lena was Minna/Wilhemina, the sister of Jacob and my grandmother’s father. If so, they were the parents of Bertha Schiller. See the link to the Family Tree to understand family relationships. My mother lived with Bertha and her husband when she came to the U.S. in 1939.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
This is Thursday and every Thursday our drawing teacher comes into our classes at school. He has a beard. His name is Mr. Marc. He doesn’t really teach us anything, he just walks from desk to desk and tells us why he doesn’t like our pictures. But today he stopped and looked at what I painted and said that he liked mine. He said, “This is a very nice cow, but why did you paint her green?” So I didn’t tell him that it was a horse.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
This is Valentine’s day. He was a Saint. A Saint is a man who gives away all his clothes and food, even his dessert. On his day, everyone sends everyone else valentines to show that everyone loves everyone. The valentines are pretty pictures of cupids and hearts and flowers. Some of them are trimmed in lovely lace. I got thirty-one valentines in school today and then when I got home I found two more from my Grandmother and Aunt Tillie. Grandfather didn’t give me any. Instead, he put his hand in his pocket and gave me a big silver dollar and he told me to buy a valentine or anything I wanted with it. I think I shall buy a chocolate heart. Maybe I can buy two, one for Grandfather.
I could not easily find an example of valentines and chocolate hearts from the early 20th century but found sites on the history of Valentine cards and on the history of candy. It’s amazing to think that Hilda probably enjoyed some of the same candy that I did as a child: Hershey’s milk chocolate bars and kisses, Necco wafers, and Chiclets all bring back fond (and sweet!) memories for me.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary (referring to a song mentioned in her February 11th entry):
I begged Alma to teach me the song about the bear. She said that she didn’t know any song about a bear but I said she did know it. Didn’t she remember, the one they sang at the church party and she sang it there and knew all the words. The little bear’s name was Gladly and he was cross-eyed. Then she laughed and said that the song wasn’t about a bear but about all troubles and sorrows that the devout people are willing to bear for our dear Lord. Then she wrote it out for me. The name of it is “Gladly A Cross I Bear.” So I said that if the song wasn’t about an animal, I wasn’t interested in it and she didn’t have to teach it to me. Alma said it was very naughty of me. Maybe so, but I didn’t learn the song.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
This is Lincoln’s Birthday. He was one of our Presidents. I like him better than Washington, our first one. Washington had false teeth. Some day when I am older, my father is going to take me to Washington, D.C., the capitol city of the U.S., and then I will see Washington’s teeth in a museum. Lincoln didn’t have false teeth and Grandfather said that it was probably because he was killed before his own fell out.
Lincoln was a fine man. He believed that everyone was as good as everyone else and no one had the right to boss anyone else around. In those days people owned slaves. It was a very wicked thing to do. Sometimes husbands and wives were sold to different families and they never saw each other again. The children were sold too. Some families were very kind to their slaves but most of them were mean and some beat them and kept them in chains. So President Lincoln had to have a big war with the people who insisted on having slaves. It really divided up the United States and the half of the United States that didn’t believe in slaves won the war. Now, we are all living happily ever after. Maybe everyone isn’t happy but it is much better; I think.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
It was a very nice party but I like it better when we just visit Lizzie and sit with the nuns. Some of the children did sing and some danced with a basket of flowers that they threw about on the stage. Then a fat lady, in a white and gold dress, sang a song about a lily. And a fat boy in a sailor suit recited a poem about a boy who stood on a burning deck of a burning ship. But why would a boy stand there instead of running away? Well, when everyone got finished doing everything, the fat lady came to the front of the stage and said that now we would all sing together. I didn’t know the words of the song, but they were in English and it sounded as if it were about a cross-eyed bear called Gladly. I wish we could sing songs in English in my Sunday school.
Hilda was certainly not the first or last to mishear the hymn (called a mondegreen) — there are photos and videos of “Gladly the Cross-Eyed Bear” and even a mystery novel. The boy probably recited a poem entitled “Casabianca”.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
I am not going to dancing school today because Alma is taking me to a party at her church. That is, the party isn’t in the church, it is in the room underneath it but there will be lots of children there and they are serving ice cream. The children will dance and sing too.
Note on a day with few words from Hilda: When I began reading her diary, I wondered whether an adult (Hilda or someone else) had edited the entries — she often seemed more clever and worldly than I could imagine or remember a child being. I have few memories from that age. A few readers wrote me similar comments.
As the year began, I happened to read two novels which were told in the voice of or from the point of view of 9-year olds – Miriam Toews’ Fight Night and Richard Powers Bewilderment. I recalled the books of author Marissa Moss, whose Amelia’s Notebook series begins when the “author” is in 5th grade. My grandmother’s memoirs paint a portrait of herself as a precocious, articulate, sometimes infuriating child. A few of her letters tell stories showing her children in a similar light. Then I recalled being a summer camp counselor for 9 or 10 year old girls when I was a teenager. All of these children — whether fictional or real — were smart, funny, articulate, curious, and at the same time naive and innocent.
Having read these books and stories, and remembered those actual girls, I realize I did Hilda a disservice in doubting the truth of her words. She was an intelligent, clever, and emotional child living in a house full of adults, most of whom did not encourage her to play, pretend, or tell stories. Her diary was the only safe place for her thoughts and feelings.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Early this morning Uncle Harold came up to see me, and tell me goodbye. He said that he was going to take a vacation to New York and there, he would see my father and he would tell him to come to see me. He said that when he came back, he would bring me a beautiful present. I would much rather not have the present and have him stay there or anywhere and never come back. While I was eating breakfast, I heard Alma and Gladys talking in the pantry. Alma said, “That poor man, a respected citizen, sitting in the box and seeing his own son brought in with a bunch of hoodlums.” I wanted to ask what man and how can he sit in a box? I think she meant Grandfather, and that must have something to do with Uncle Harold, so I was afraid to ask. Besides, Alma scolds and always tells me how impolite it is to ask questions about things you are not supposed to know, and if you do hear them, you are supposed to pretend that you didn’t hear them at all. I know I feel very sorry about this and I know everyone feels so embarrassed but whatever happened it caused Uncle Harold to leave so I think it was a good thing.
A good thing indeed.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Something awful happened today but no one will tell me what. Grandfather didn’t come home for lunch and Grandmother stayed in her room and Aunt Tillie came to the table just to correct my table manners, because it was Alma’s day off. Aunt Tillie wouldn’t eat, thought I didn’t know why. I was glad to go back to school in the afternoon. The house felt so dreary, just like a picture I once saw of a tired old horse dragging a buggy through a dark street on a rainy day. Aunt Tillie called for me at school at three o’clock and took me to the park and let me ride on a very sweet donkey and she even let me go around three times. When we came home Grandfather was still not there and Grandmother was still in her room and I brought Sherry up to mine. Sometimes I love Sherry more than anyone in the world. At six o’clock I heard Grandfather come in the door and then the dinner gong rang. It was a horrible dinner, even with lamb chops and potatoes which I really love but there was such a silence in the room. Uncle Harry was there too but everyone’s eyes were looking at their plates and no one even attempted to talk. After dinner I went right up to my room and I went right to bed but I couldn’t sleep. I wondered for a long while, what had happened but I couldn’t imagine and so I got up, and I looked around the room. I found Alma’s squirrel tippet and I took it to bed with me and it made me feel comfortable and warm and I closed my eyes.
According to Wikipedia, “a tippet is is often any scarf-like wrap, usually made of fur.” We met Sherry (aka Scheherazade) the kitten in January diary entries. Although I don’t have a photo of Hilda on a donkey, we can imagine her in this photo from the same era from OpenSFHistory:
OpenSFHistory / wnp27.0373
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Now I can write a little bit more about Monday night. Last night I got very sleepy but on Monday night I was not sleepy at all. In the middle of my supper upstairs with Alma, Aunt Tillie came in and said that the company had finished dinner and wanted to see me downstairs in the parlor. So Alma combed my hair and she braided a pretty ribbon full of rosebuds into it and she scrubbed my hands and nails with a scrubbing brush, and then I went downstairs. Suzanne looked just like a queen, only I had never seen a Queen dressed in black before. Her dress was velvet and full of little ermine tails and her hair was so soft and curly and a bit wild. The gentlemen looked as if they were made of patent leather, like my dancing school slippers, all in shiny black suits and they smelled so nice but not of scented flowers. I went from one gentleman to the other and they patted my head and asked whose little girl I was and if they should wait for me to grow up so they could marry me. I said, “Thank you very much, but don’t wait because I want to marry Victor.” Then I had to tell them all about Victor and one of them laughed and said that he would have to come to my dancing class one day. Then Alma took me back upstairs and let me have an extra portion of chocolate pudding. The pudding was good, I didn’t much like the company.
We heard about Victor in Hilda’s January 5th and 6th diary entries.
