How We Went to the Mountains, Part 1

Editor’s Note: On Tuesday, the Sierra County Board of Supervisors voted to accept a donation of an oil painting depicting the 1852 Downieville Courthouse. The painting was donated by Mary Flanagan-Hanson from the estate of the artist, Eleanor Scott Nevins. Mary recently passed away, leaving the following piece, which she wrote about her time living in Downieville during the 1930s with her parents, Eleanor and Arthur Nevins.

SIERRA CITY

In 1936, Daddy got a teaching job, a good one for which he was well-suited. In order to teach in California, one is required to have a teaching credential which certifies that the applicant has studied and passed the required courses for the level and subjects that he is to teach. Daddy had not completed college (his Stanford education had been interrupted by the Depression after 1.5 years of attendance), nor had he studied for a teaching credential; however, at that time a credential to teach music was being granted to those who were gifted in music and who passed a special test. Luckily, this worked out for Daddy.

Daddy took his first teaching job in the Sierra High School District, where he taught band, orchestra, and singing. His morning classes took place in Sierra City. Downieville — thirteen miles distant on Highway 49 — was the location for the afternoon classes. He developed a marching band in each school which played for parades and on other occasions. His singing classes were much in demand for entertainment in the small communities.

The Sierra City High School and Grammar School were located in one large building. I do not recall anything about the high school classrooms, but I do remember the grammar school room very well. It was one room for all eight grades, with a big pot-bellied stove in the middle, which heated the whole room through the fierce winters. The lower four grades were on one side of the room, and the upper four were on the other. Three girls, myself included, were in the first grade. There was no second grade. In the third grade were the two children of a widowed miner: a boy and his older sister Wanda, who was blind, with several fingers missing. As a small child she had played with some blasting caps, which exploded in her hands and face. The fourth grade contained about five children. The upper grades were a bit larger than the lower. Discipline for serious infractions in class involved having to hold out one’s hand to get it whacked several times with a ruler. I never did.

In the middle of that schoolroom was a huge pot-bellied stove in which a wood fire was kept burning through the winter to warm that very large space. The upper four grades were on the other side of the stove.

The teacher of these eight grades was Miss Moore, and it was said that she taught us well. Here I first learned to read, and at the age of six in 1936, was I ready! I recall trying to read everything. Sounding out the syllables; the newspaper suddenly had words for me. Every book I could grab became an adventure. I walked around spelling words to myself. I raced ahead, until by the end of the year I had completed the curriculum for both first and second grades.

The electric power in that town was very unpredictable. Apparently, the power plant did not have a way of regulating or balancing the load of electric current to the houses. Sometimes the lights in our house would suddenly glow bright and brighter. This was the signal to run and turn them off before the bulbs exploded. Every night, when it was time to turn off the last lights in the house, my parents would each stand at the last two lights, count, “one, two, three,” and switch them off simultaneously to keep the last bulb from exploding. Often enough, the timing was off, which meant lighting the kerosene lamps and sweeping up broken light bulbs.

From our front yard, we had a clear view of the Sierra Buttes. Here my mother began to paint. She set up her easel in the front yard, and using water-based tempera, painted those mountains. This gave her much pleasure. People walking by on the road would stop to chat, since the population of the town was so small that everyone knew everyone.