"The bedlam of the town": The Noise of Old San Francisco

For the past few weeks, I've been giving you a sense of what Old San Francisco looked like: the drawings, the photos, the buildings, the ships-turned-hotels-and-what-not, and the descriptions of Portsmouth Square in all its interchangeable forms. For so small a town, San Francisco was a feast for the eyes with never a dull sight to behold.

But as Ah Toy debarked her ship in 1849, the sounds of San Francisco hit her just as strongly as the sights. Not immediately, of course, because she saw San Francisco before she heard it as she sailed through the Golden Gate (or rather, saw it soon after ... the town wasn't visible from the Golden Gate). But as her ship pulled into the harbor and the town grew closer, she began to hear the sounds of life become louder and louder. She also heard her fellow passengers become more and more excited and chattery.

After leaving the ship and walking up the wharf with her belongings, Ah Toy heard the hum of voices of people debarking some ships and embarking on others. Above the fray a voice rang out: "Mornin’ Pa—p—u—z! Mornin’ Pa—p—u—z!" It was a newspaper man,

who stood every morning on the corner of Long Wharf (now Commercial street) and Montgomery street, selling the Alta California. We have stood long and often, to see if the old fellow would utter some thing more than the stereotyped "M—o—r—n~i—n’ P—a—p—u—z!" but he never did.

Trudging from the wharf up Clay Street, Ah Toy's ears were assaulted by the sounds of a town in rapid growth. So much activity was buzzing, Elisha Smith Capron wrote, that "one often forgets that he is not in New York or Boston!" He continued, describing the

crowds on the sidewalks, the rattle of drays, the display of hacks, the roll of omnibuses, the ringing of bells, the fruit stands on the corners of the streets, [and] the cries of the various pedlars of small wares and knick-knacks.

After a ten minute struggle up the hill, Ah Toy reached the biggest din of all, Portsmouth Square. Luther Schaeffer, taking Ah Toy's route, wrote:

I reached the great centre of attraction—the bedlam of the town—the plaza, or public square. Here was an immense crowd. I could hear music, excited men shouting, swearing, some laughing ... Here were assembled the sporting fraternity in full force.

Portsmouth Square was the center of activity and noise. Hundreds of voices and music (or the attempts at) poured out of the many saloons and gambling tents. Friedrich Gerstacker recalled:

In the evening some unfortunate virtuoso, hired for the purpose [of playing the piano], sat down and executed, what a clever French writer gives as a general definition of music, "a noise that is not disagreeable;" and noise certainly it must have been, to drown the loud laughter and riotous conversation of the guests in the saloon, who did not in the least care whether their din and clatter interfered with the music or not. ... After this, a very thin lady made her appearance, and executed, in all probability, a comic song; for she had a sheet of music in her hand, was smiling all over and continually opening her mouth, and twice or three times she closed her eyes; all of it, however, at least as it appeared to me, without uttering a sound.

Even exiting the gambling halls provided no escape, because street preacher William Taylor was right outside, ready to save your soul:

Taking the stand, I sung on a high key, "Hear the royal proclamation, / The glad tidings of salvation, / Publishing to every creature, / To the ruin'd sons of nature, / Jesus reigns, he reigns victorious / Over heaven and earth most glorious."

The Chinese added their fair share of noise. At least one Chinese restaurateur figured out a sure-fire way to call potential diners to supper. Vicente Perez Rosales noted in his autobiography:

... one of the servants, who was nothing but a young gentleman converted into a cafe waiter, was standing at the door of the building and beating on an enormous metal cake tin that went by the name of Chinese gong, hitting it so often that he deafened all passers-by to call them to dinner.

The noise was unceasing, coming at all times of the day and night. Mary Jane Megquier wrote in a letter:

But it is a mighty busy place, it is now past midnight, I can hear guns firing, music, some calling for help. I think by the sound they are having a drunken row, but it is so common it is of no account, rolling ten pins and Uncle is snoring, it is a perfect beehive so much noise and confusion all the time.

Ah Toy would also add her own contribution to the cacophony. According to the Daily Alta California on December 11, 1851:

Last evening, about eight o'clock, that portion of the city in the vicinity of the Plaza was aroused by a certain nondescript noise, which, on further investigation was found to be a series of musical screechings, performed by Miss Atoy, and resembling somewhat a prolonged cry, interspersed with the clatterings of a gong ... When we arrived near the spot whence the outcry was proceeding, we found her in full chase after a suspicious looking individual ... Some little talk ensued, in which Atoy made herself distinctly heard for four squares around, although not very distinctly understood ... 

San Francisco was noise, and noise was San Francisco. However, not everyone could handle the persistent din. "Of all the evils next to a scolding wife, toothache or fleas, that tend to annoy a man living in this country," ranted the editor of the Daily Alta California,

there is none greater than these itinerant organ grinders. ... Every evening about the time we trim our tapers for the night's work, a big, double-fisted, strapping fellow, with a barrel organ as big as a hand-cart, can be seen walking up [the] street, until he arrives nearly opposite our office, when he unloads and deliberately commences the affliction. Everything from "Fisher's Hornpipe" to "Old Grimes is Dead," is ground out at an extravagant rate, and in most execrable style. ... If the police cannot take notice of him as a common nuisance, he will have to be turned over to the Inspector of Licenses, who can cite him up for retailing such horrible harmony without a license.

[Listen, if you can stand it, to "Fisher's Hornpipe" on the organ grinder]

So where, for the love of God, could one find peace?!?

Perhaps the best place was, ironically, in the very places where noise issued forth most often! Nowhere was quieter, at least in town, than a brothel house in the morning. "I always ran a tight house the way a good captain runs a tight ship," Madam Nell Kimball wrote in her autobiography. "Mornings a house was like a tomb. The girls sleeping and ... the shutters up."

This is where Ah Toy, the future madam and "musical screecher," would find her most tranquil moments in the relentless din of San Francisco.