Arnold: By this year, George Smith was president of the Improvement Club. In addition to his duties as an Odd Fellows Cemetery Association board member. He takes on Supervisor Valleau, who made promises to the club in order to get elected that went unfulfilled.

Nicole: Shocking.

Arnold: Fired up with righteous indignation in October 1885. George said the petitions they were told to compile were quote, “placed in his hands, and we felt that our interests were safe, but we were mistaken in our man.” End quote.

Nicole: They trusted Valleau to fast track the installation of lights and the removal of dangerous trains. But instead, the supervisor, like, passed the buck [00:21:00] to committees that dragged their feet. And all these projects that they worked so hard on were postponed. So as a result, Smith said, and I quote, “Point Lobos is, at this time, in a deplorable condition.”

Arnold: And all through this, he continues to work.

Nicole: Good Lord.

Arnold: From his offices at 329 Sutter Street, he's hired to paint the Alcazar Theater in 1885. He started 1887 with a contract to work on the Oriel Block on Market Street and advocated for a better schoolhouse between First and Central Avenues. He couldn't have known this then, but this would be a foreshadowing of things to come for his Cook Street property.

Nicole: But this is the really big one that fascinates me. In July of 1887, he also asked the Board of Supervisors to remove City Cemetery outside of city limits. He said, and I quote, “the old cemeteries act as a barrier to the improvement of all the property west of [00:22:00] Divisidero Street. If they were not situated where they are, all the Point Lobos Avenue property would be settled. People seem to dread living in the neighborhood of a burying ground. The cemetery reserve comprises the finest building property in the county today. And the view from any point is magnificent.”

Arnold: He’s not wrong about that.

Nicole: No, but like this man who's on the board of a cemetery nearby is like, that other cemetery over there, that one's gotta go.

Arnold: And soon they'd all be gone.

Nicole: Yeah, it's true. So, he was one of the first people to really start this movement to advocate for the removal of the cemeteries.

Arnold: So as we talked about earlier, he had sued Whittier Fuller and Company for $100,000 in damages and was represented by none other than Reuben H. Lloyd.

Nicole: It's not what you know, it's who you know.

Arnold: For perspective, that's over $31 million in 2022. But the [00:23:00] trial seemed to linger for some reason and Smith left town. In May 1889, he left for New York where he attended the annual banquet of the 82nd volunteers followed by a lengthy European tour. He returned to San Francisco victorious, winning his lawsuit against Whittier Fuller Company with a judgment award of, get this, $30,000. Which is about $967,000 today. Life changing money.

Nicole: So this was a massive sum for the time and I read a great account that said that he would keep that check for the rest of his life and like, show people. Like hey, here's my $30,000 check. That was impressive enough, but the ruling also set a legal precedent for the entire country. The San Francisco Examiner reported that and I quote, “the decision…will be of interest to owners of buildings with elevators…According to the opinion, which is the first of its kind delivered in the United States, [00:24:00] elevators are common carriers and their owners are made responsible for all damages incurred to individuals by their cause.” So, in other words, in other words, those who owned buildings with elevators carry the same liability as stage coaches and railways. They had to ensure these elevators were safe in the same fashion.

Arnold: Exactly. At this point, things are looking up for George Smith, the man once called the genial painter.”

Nicole: Oh, great.

Arnold: A banquet was held in his honor to celebrate his return from Europe in October 1889, and he's featured in this amazing article about the gentleman drivers of Point Lobos Avenue.

Nicole: So good.

Arnold: The article talks in detail about the state of horse breeding in California and explains how Point Lobos was the quote, “pride of the town,” known as the “finest kept driveway in the United States.” It was coded with clay and dragged every morning so you could achieve maximum horsepower. [00:25:00] Hence it was quote, “the gathering place of the gentleman drivers.”

Nicole: Yeah. And the article laments that many of the old timers who like, used to race on Point Lobos, weren't around anymore and talks about how there was more fraternity and jollity among them. The Examiner goes on to, I quote, say, “road houses were more plentiful, closer together, and better patronized, and money seemed more plentiful…but the establishment of Golden Gate Park and the building of the Bay District Track proved the death knell of the Cliff House Road. The park immediately became the fashionable drive, and it has continued to increase in popularity.” So, gentle reminder San Franciscans, that since the dawn of time in the city, people have complained that San Francisco used to be better.

Arnold: Anyways, that article goes on to talk about Smith as part of the fashionable set [00:26:00] with fast horses, and they even drew him.

Nicole: Yeah.

Arnold: A picture of him in the paper. Also, in 1891, he's hired to paint and polish the Olympic Club building on post near Mason. But then, another stroke of bad luck.

Nicole: Guy can't catch a break. So, in January 1892, a fire severely damaged the Smith Paint Shop on Sutter Street. And big changes were already happening that year for his company, as the firm had been taken over by his sons, Henry J. and George S. Smith. And the business was actually renamed as George J. Smith and Sons.

Arnold: A newspaper account at that time described the family as quote, “both are native sons and are very prosperous in their businesses, as they follow the successful motor of their father to be honest in all dealings and do the best of work…Now retired from active life, George Smith's career has been as honorable as it has [00:27:00] been successful, and he now intends to have the rest of his life in quiet retirement, his only care being to see that his sons follow in his footsteps.” End quote.

Nicole: So now Arnold, he gets to live out his retirement with a big old $30,000 check in his breast pocket. Basking in the glow of his success. Right?

Arnold: Wrong.

Nicole: Yeah, not so much. Well shocker, he encounters some more bad luck. In April 1894, George Smith, and I swear to God we are not making this up, I can give you the footnote of this report, he slipped on an orange peel while walking on Market Street and fractured his right leg below the knee. Now, I've never heard of anybody actually doing this, except for in cartoons. But you can remember that, one, he had a horrific leg injury in the Civil War, and then there was that elevator accident and also that other carriage accident. So like, [00:28:00] he's not the most sturdy on his feet. And what's even worse is that this damaged the other leg. Like his good leg is where he was injured in this incident. So now he's got two crippled legs and, and things are not good, Arnold.

Arnold: However, the business carried on the family name despite these troubles. In 1895, George J. Smith and Sons put in the lowest bid to paint the Ferry Building. But delays with the project continually frustrated city officials. A quote, “strong letter” was sent to Smith and Sons, quote, “warning them that if they did not put more men to work by Tuesday next, commissioners would take the job out of their hands and do it themselves at Smith's expense.” End quote. When in doubt, of course blame the painter for the project delays. Seems like everything was cleared up by 1897 though, because the city awarded them another big contract then.

Nicole: Then they're like, oh [00:29:00] well, you're not great, but you're fine. So, although I did wonder if like their delays had something to do with the fact that they didn't push their employees past eight hours and they could only keep a certain amount of people on the payroll. So, I did wonder that, but I didn't follow up that thread when I was researching. So that brings us up to 1898. In January that year. George J. Smith, the builder of 46 Cook Street, ended his life with a bullet through the heart. After living in pain for the majority of his adult life, he, he absolutely couldn't take it anymore. He said goodbye to the last employee to leave the office that day, arranged things very neatly on his desk, and he pulled the trigger.

Arnold: Sad.

Nicole: Yeah.

Arnold: George asked that the Odd Fellows see to his funeral, requesting a quote, “plain redwood coffin with a plain black iron handles, neither shellac, varnish, paint or cloth on the coffin. [00:30:00] Just redwood, nothing more.” End quote. He also asked to be cremated once he arrived at the Odd Fellows Cemetery and that quote, “none of my family wear black or any outward sign of mourning after my death. Life is too short for that sort of, sort of thing.” End quote.

Nicole: He then asked for his remains to be kept in a niche at the Columbarium. He instructed, and I quote, “that there'd be no plate or inscription of any kind on the coffin, the inscription on the urn to be, ‘George J. Smith, born January 3rd, 1842, died…,” and then his death date, “no more, no less.” End quote. And that's where he remains today. Yes, that is a burial pun. You're welcome. So, this means that we can all still visit George Smith within San Francisco city limits and not far from the place he called home in life, which is pretty incredible. Like who among us get that kind of honor?

Arnold: One of [00:31:00] the few San Franciscans who still resides in the. Outside Lands.

>Nicole: Yeah.

Arnold: So to speak anyways. What strikes us about George is that he seemed to be such a good guy who had the absolute worst possible luck. Employees presented him with a gold cane on one of his birthdays, and they often worked for his painting business for decades. They were even invited to vacation at the Smith Ranch in Cloverdale every year. A tradition that continued after his death. As did painting the Ferry Building and the scandal around delays unfortunately.

Nicole: Kept going. And George's widow inherited all his property, something George made sure of before his death. The people who owned it next, the Svanes, would safeguard the land that included an orchard and farm extending all the way to Euclid and Blake Streets until the 21st century. And when the Svanes purchased the property, it still featured a carriage step with [00:32:00] George Smith's name carved into it, which is now gone.

Arnold: The Svanes, which by the way is spelled S-V-A-N-E, they hailed from Denmark, with Jorgen becoming a US citizen in Napa around 1887. He first appears significantly in local papers for participating in numerous Danish tug-of-war competitions, including one at Woodward Gardens in the Mission District. Working as a bricklayer when not competing, he began buying and selling property. And in June 1903, he married Caroline Rasmussen, although she was better known as Lena.

Nicole: So, Lena came from a pioneer Pleasanton family. Her father, Peter Anderson Rasmussen, was also from Denmark, and he met his wife Wilhelmina Lawson, at a local Danish gathering in Dublin. The couple were married in San Francisco at the home of a Danish priest in 1876, and their first home in Pleasanton is [00:33:00] now where the City's history museum stands, which was music to my ears.

Arnold: Shout out to the Pleasanton History Museum. Peter eventually married, rather owned his own farm on San Ramon Road, and when they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in 1926, they threw an epic party at the family home. Telegrams were sent from the King of Denmark and San Francisco's mayor, among others. Today there's a large Rasmussen family marker near the family plot in Dublin, in Dublin’s Pioneer Cemetery, that explains their whole history.

Nicole: This is now what I'm working to in my life. Like getting some sort of plaque in a cemetery that's like, here lies Nicole Meldahl and the Meldahl family. We'll see. So, Lena and Morgan were married at the Rasmussen home. The young couple quickly started a family giving birth to a son named [00:34:00] Leland Quist Svane in 1904 and Peter Victor Svane in 1907. And little over a year later, they purchased the Cook Street property. And, by 1909, Jorgen is listed as proprietor of the RB&S Special Delivery Company. He ran this drayage firm with his brother-in-law, R.B. Rasmussen, from offices on Oak Grove Avenue and Harrison Streets.

Arnold: That company did well and they expanded. Rasmussen, Svane, and another partner named Fred Ludekens, were granted certificates from the Railroad Commission to operate motor freight lines between San Francisco, Oakland, Crockett, Port Costa, and Martinez in the 1920s. They were also allowed to operate a quote “automotive truck line as a common carrier freight,” between those places. Although they sometimes lost their license to do so for failing to comply with regulations. By 1925, it was called the San Francisco [00:35:00] Martinez Express Company.

Nicole: So when Jorgen died in November 25th, 1927, he too was interred in the Columbarium and the Svane property on Oak and Harrison was put up for sale in 1928. And here is where the Svane family history takes a wild turn. So, buckle up listeners. Peter Victor Svane eloped with a society girl named Orrie Montgomery in January 1928. And this, and I quote, “runaway marriage,” as it was described in local papers, was over by December with Orrie suing for divorce on the grounds of cruelty.

Arnold: We should someday look up the pleadings in that case and find out what the cruelty was.

Nicole: It's like, this guy's a jerk. He's an idiot.

Arnold: Around that same time, a significant portion of the Svane’s Cook Street property was eminent domained by the city of San Francisco to build the John W. Geary [00:36:00] School. It was needed for overflow from Roosevelt High School. The contract to construct the school was awarded in May 1929, and the school opened on March 31st, 1930, changing the pastoral vibe of this block forever.

>Nicole: Thank God they opened that school that no longer hosts children anymore. Although it is beautiful. Future home of Western Neighborhoods project. Putting it out there, Unified School District.

Arnold: We have a lot of potential future homes of the Western Neighborhoods Project that we would like to have.

Nicole: Somebody give me a building. Like, we need a building, everybody. So, Peter continued to build a reputation as a real rascal. Let me tell you guys. In February 1937, he attended the Parilia Ball, which seems like an absolutely gnarly epic bacchanal costume party, and I'm not gonna even try to describe [00:37:00] it. Please just go to OpenSFHistory.org and type in P-A-R-I-L-I-A ball, to see a bunch of drunk and scantily clad photos of people's grandparents and great-grandparents like getting up to a lot of no good. So, trust me on this, you won't be disappointed. Anyway, at this event, Peter ends up with and I quote, “cheek cut in a bit of fisticuffs.” Which, in his defense, the police were called that year cause, like, a lot of crap went down. So, like, it wasn't like he was the only dude who caused trouble at this party. I will, I will defend him with.

Arnold: Now remember, he had gotten divorced from Orrie, but he didn't stop there. He seems to love getting married, then divorced, and getting remarried again. In between, he seems to have lived at home with his mother at 46 Cook Street. That is until Lena died on November 28th, 1947, after which Peter took over the family home. [00:38:00] He married again to a woman half his age in 1949. And that couple has two children, a son named Peter Svane, Jr., who was born in 1952, and then a daughter who was born in 1956.

Nicole: Yeah and, Junior is a real handful, so taking after his father with an arrest for marijuana charges in in 1968 while he's still in school. And an article written by R.B. Read in June 1969 is wonderful. He shares all of these memories of his like core group of miscreant youths in San Francisco. And he paints what I think is the perfect picture of Peter Victor Svane.

Arnold: So, of this group. R,B. Read said, quote, “it's most vitalistic member was a giant Swede named Peter Victor Svane, who is now a local trucking executive. In the backyard of the family home where P.V. was born, we used to enjoy roast capretto. In bad [00:39:00] weather, we had Swedish pancakes in the old carriage house. P.V.’s second hobby, (his first involved him in a number of marriages) was seeking out little restaurants of quality to which we would then repair in a boisterous body.”

The quote goes on to say, “but Peter Victor's greatest discovery was Pier 23, where he made an arrangement with the owners. He got them to rig up a speaker on the deck out back over the water, and to cook up a cauldron of clams on Saturdays. Every Saturday we congregated there, 25 or 30 of us, around a plank table eating the, those great clams, with French bread, drinking gallons of wine and dancing like crazy.” Remember this is, this is like the sixties, right?

Nicole: Yeah.

Arnold: “After a while I found myself attending these sessions in a sailor suit and shortly thereafter, floated away to another kind of clam bake in the South Pacific.” End [00:40:00] quote. We know what that clambake was.

Nicole: I actually think this is probably around like the forties, thirties, forties. Because he's talking about like his, like the yesteryear.

Arnold: Oh, that's right, the memories coming in the sixties. Yeah. Okay. So it's a different clambake in the South Pacific.

Nicole: Yeah, let’s not, it's not great, but yeah. Read also conjectures that Peter introduced Dixieland Jazz to Pier 23, which is actually what it kind of became known for after that. Who knows if that's true or not, but, but I do like it and I think we need to celebrate this man with clambakes at Western Neighborhoods Project forever more. And when Peter died at the Cook Street home in 1972, his obituary mentioned that his family drayage business was one of the oldest in the state, and he was in charge since 1932. It also notes that the Italianate home he lived in, grew up in, had been designated by [00:41:00] the Junior League of San Francisco as a heritage home in 1966. This heritage home became the Bohemian outpost for Peter Junior, whose 57 marijuana plants were discovered by police when they responded to a shooting at 46 Cook Street in August of 1975. So, apparently he ran some sort of, like, marijuana situation that his son picked up afterwards and like carried on the legacy. I don't know, the article was wild.

Arnold: Junior held onto this property until almost the present day. He bought out his sister Karen in 2001, but eventually put it up for sale in 2010 when it went on, and then came off the market for a couple years. It finally sold in 2012 for just over 1.5 million. Only to be sold [00:42:00] again, along with the carriage house, for 3 million in 2016. And the real estate listing in 2016 for this triple lot, each zoned for two units said, quote, “for the discerning buyer who desires maximum square footage in the heart of the city, this is an opportunity to develop in a state with a resident surrounded by lush and shady trees. Reminiscent of the Great Gatsby. Built pre-1900, this property is characteristic of the times with a true carriage house at the rear of the property that can easily be converted into a home office. This property has been in the same family since 1950.” End quote.

Nicole: Nope, not accurate. This person has clearly never read the Great Gatsby. What part of the Great Gatsby takes place on, like, a rural area anyways? Real estate agents are idiots sometimes. I'm sorry guys, like the broker babble as [00:43:00] SF Daily Photo mentions all the time is just truly astounding sometimes. And you can probably guess what happened next to the property. The 1870s Italianate home built by a pioneer westside resident, who was also an amazing dude I have a giant crush on. His property, which stayed remarkably intact into the 21st century, was gutted and sold in December 2020 for over $2 million. Look up 46 Cook Street online and like, gird your loins, because it is a horrific white box open concept. Just like, you know, Home Depot special.

Arnold: All the character was gone.

Nicole: Yeah, the outside is still pretty much intact. I will give them that because they're forced to do that, right? Like there's no protections for interior spaces. It's only exterior, but that's a whole other podcast. And they were going to tear down the carriage house, which is [00:44:00] now next door at 48 Cook Street, but it was saved because of a tree out front that was planted by George Smith from seedlings borrowed from nearby Odd Fellows Cemetery, since, you know, he was a member of the board and it was right. So ironically, the landmarking documentation for that tree is filled with a bunch of inaccurate history, mostly hearsay, and like interviews with the Svane family that, like, get you close to the truth, but not quite all the way there. But who cares? It's saved the Carriage House. Mission accomplished. And luckily that carriage house is still intact. Thanks to this artist who has faithfully saved it and we hope it stays like that forever, which it kind of seems like it's going to. So fingers crossed. It's sad to me that this remarkably intact multi-lot property that really harkened back to the pioneer days on the west coast, made it intact [00:45:00] all the way until a few years ago and couldn't get saved.

Arnold: So that's your story of these Cook Street properties that Nicole got a glimpse of recently, and that leads us to say…Say What Now?

Nicole: Oh!

Arnold: So Michael Cook, he continued to purchase land around Lone Mountain beyond his Cook Street footprint. In a partnership with a man named Williams, later allegedly selling Lone Mountain itself to Archbishop Joseph Alemany for $150.

Nicole: Whoa.

Arnold: Now, according to Lone Mountain’s current occupant, which is the University of San Francisco, Alemany did purchase Lone Mountain in 1860, turning it into the 23-acre Calvary Cemetery, where San Francisco's wealthy were buried until new internments ceased by City Decree in 1900. [00:46:00] However, we have yet to confirm that the land came from Cook. That's gonna be more research for another day.

Nicole: Can you, I would be so mad if my ancestors sold an entire mountain in San Francisco for 150 bucks.

Arnold: And, of course, at the time of that sale, Lone Mountain was not in San Francisco.

Nicole: It's true. Nonetheless, if that were like my great grandpa, I'd be like, oh, we owned Lone Mountain. We owned Lone Mountain.

Arnold: We will give an update someday when we learn whether or not this story is true.

>Nicole: Yeah. If you, if there was any, you know, Catholic church property experts out there, like please, hit us up. Which is, you know, a really great way to segue into…listener mail. So, Arnold, how can people well versed in [00:47:00] the Archdiocese property records contact us?