Volume 029-2 - April 1975 (6 pages)

NORTH BLOOMFIELD HOMECOMING PARADE. CLAMPER FIRETRUCK AND DRAY Although Zumwalt’s overtures in pehalf of the lodge were for the most part unsuccessful, a slight toehold was gained but nothing more. The Hangtown miners were too intent scooping up the seemingly inexhaustible golden horde to take seriously ‘‘the crazy man from Missouri trying to sell his silly lodge.’? Zumwalt persisted. It wasn’t long until an ad-hoc committee, totally lacking any sense of humor, called at his diggin’s to inform him that he was scheduled as guest of honor at a soon-to-be held ‘‘hemp party’? which they guaranteed would be well attended and properly staffed. Joe took the none to sublte hint and deciding that discretion was truly the better part of valor hit the trail for Mokelumne Hill, a healthy 50 miles south and away from the hostile atmosphere of Hangtown. In the camp of ‘‘Mok Hill’’ he found a much more salubrious climate. Here the boys knew how to unwind and, after a hard day’s digging with pick and pan, relished the convivality offered by the town’s saloons. Zumwalt was warmly accepted into the camp’s nonhostile society. Here (he reasoned) members for E Clampus Vitus could 10. be readily recruited from the virgin ranks of the free-wheeling, unshaven, hell-for-leather Argonauts who swarmed daily in ever increasing numbers to the wild gold camp. A Clamper chapter was quickly formed with Zumwalt as its Humbug. Solemn initiation ceremonies were performed almost daily and in afew weeks E Clampus Vitus had cornered the market of all eligible candidates. The miners joined for fun and fellowship; the shop and saloon keeper joined for self-preservation. Credo: ‘‘Clampers only patronize brother Clampers.’’ Together they presented a formidable bloc to the outside world. Non-Clamper merchants soon joined up and in turn began to harass the unsuspecting naive transient, the drummer and all others who wandered into town. The membership roster and treasury swelled to unbelievable proportions. Initiation fees were governed by the candidates ability to pay. A miner down on his luck sometimes got in free while others paid as much as half the gold in their possession, frequently amounting to hundreds of dollars. The word circulated rapidly among the traveling sales torce that Clampers only patronized their own kind. The first act a non-Clamper salesman performed when he arrived in town was to seek out the Noble Grand Humbug and petition for immediate admission into the confraternity but only after first secreting all but a few dollars then in his possession. If the peddler had already ‘‘seen the light,’’ he would demonstrate to the Humbug his membership by giving the secret sign of the **well jackass,’’ Once in the brotherhood he was never questioned about the cost of his goods; a salesman asked for and received any price quoted. Not all Clamper activity was in the hell-raising vein. On the credit side was the Order’s philanthropic deeds which were many and varied and always unheralded, Another paragraph in ancient credo bound the brothers ‘‘to the protection of the Widows and Orphans’’ wherever and whenever encountered. The brethern did, and without the monkey business or fanfare usually associated with their activities, render aid and comfort to the destitute frail and her dependents. Many a wagonload of groceries, clothing or fuel were left without ceremony and undercover of darkness at the doorstep of the unfortunates. Sometimes outright cash gifts were made and sometimes, depending on the need, a new home or barn was built for a family who had been burned out. In the thirty-five years between 1850 and 1885, the Lodge filled its fraternal niche. With the coming of civilization to the mining camps and with organization of a formal society, the Order began its long slide into obscurity. In its years of pristine glory the Ancient and Honorable Order of E Clampus Vitus boasted more than 50 thousand members from every walk of life and field of endeavor, then hit the skids and slowly died along with the free and easy spirit of the Gold Rush which had nurtured its existence. There was no wake, no mourners wailed the demise. E Clampus Vitus quietly passed from the scene gone but not quite forgotten. The robust 49er lived on, though his ranks were thinning rapidly, the memory of past triumphs remained keen. A new century arrived and with it a fresh hope arose in the hearts of the stalwarts that soon hoards of red shirted brothers ‘would again roam the foothills of the Golden Sierra Nevada eager to harvest a fresh crop of Poor Blind Candidates. The Hewgag was loudly sounded but its musical notes tumbled into empty canyons and fell on vacant river bars. All was quiet, there were no prospectors to lay down their picks and pans and hasten to answer the call. Such was the state of events as the first decade of the 20thcentury became history. Periodically an ancient incorigible would stumble upon a decrepit Hewgag mouldering in a basement or attic or in some forgotten miner’s trunk. Assuming the posture of a Grand Royal Musician of yore he would blow and, as always, no answer. Finally in 1915, in Marysville, Yuba County, California came the long and patiently awaited response. A few authentic old-time members, some sons of old-time members anda handful of curiosity seekers who had been regaled with tales of the past heeded the bray. An anemic but sincerely genuine attempt to revitalize the Order got only a few steps past legal incorporation of the name E Clampus Vitus then ran out of steam. Once again everything was quiet. Fifteen more years were to pass until, in the spring of 1930, it dawned upon the minds of two San Francisco men, both devotees of the Gold Rush past, that the noted and notorious fraternal Order had fallen upon evil days. ‘‘Well-neigh forgotten with the passing of years, this fine old California institution had languished and disappeared from the ken of man fallen like some once-loved tombstone, alone and unremembered, among the weeds of the twentieth century,’? wrote Carl I. Wheat in The Enigmatic Book of Vitus, ike

NORTH BLOOMFIELD HOMECOMING PARADE. CLAMPER FIRETRUCK AND DRAY Although Zumwalt’s overtures in pehalf of the lodge were for the most part unsuccessful, a slight toehold was gained but nothing more. The Hangtown miners were too intent scooping up the seemingly inexhaustible golden horde to take seriously ‘‘the crazy man from Missouri trying to sell his silly lodge.’? Zumwalt persisted. It wasn’t long until an ad-hoc committee, totally lacking any sense of humor, called at his diggin’s to inform him that he was scheduled as guest of honor at a soon-to-be held ‘‘hemp party’? which they guaranteed would be well attended and properly staffed. Joe took the none to sublte hint and deciding that discretion was truly the better part of valor hit the trail for Mokelumne Hill, a healthy 50 miles south and away from the hostile atmosphere of Hangtown. In the camp of ‘‘Mok Hill’’ he found a much more salubrious climate. Here the boys knew how to unwind and, after a hard day’s digging with pick and pan, relished the convivality offered by the town’s saloons. Zumwalt was warmly accepted into the camp’s nonhostile society. Here (he reasoned) members for E Clampus Vitus could 10. be readily recruited from the virgin ranks of the free-wheeling, unshaven, hell-for-leather Argonauts who swarmed daily in ever increasing numbers to the wild gold camp. A Clamper chapter was quickly formed with Zumwalt as its Humbug. Solemn initiation ceremonies were performed almost daily and in afew weeks E Clampus Vitus had cornered the market of all eligible candidates. The miners joined for fun and fellowship; the shop and saloon keeper joined for self-preservation. Credo: ‘‘Clampers only patronize brother Clampers.’’ Together they presented a formidable bloc to the outside world. Non-Clamper merchants soon joined up and in turn began to harass the unsuspecting naive transient, the drummer and all others who wandered into town. The membership roster and treasury swelled to unbelievable proportions. Initiation fees were governed by the candidates ability to pay. A miner down on his luck sometimes got in free while others paid as much as half the gold in their possession, frequently amounting to hundreds of dollars. The word circulated rapidly among the traveling sales torce that Clampers only patronized their own kind. The first act a non-Clamper salesman performed when he arrived in town was to seek out the Noble Grand Humbug and petition for immediate admission into the confraternity but only after first secreting all but a few dollars then in his possession. If the peddler had already ‘‘seen the light,’’ he would demonstrate to the Humbug his membership by giving the secret sign of the **well jackass,’’ Once in the brotherhood he was never questioned about the cost of his goods; a salesman asked for and received any price quoted. Not all Clamper activity was in the hell-raising vein. On the credit side was the Order’s philanthropic deeds which were many and varied and always unheralded, Another paragraph in ancient credo bound the brothers ‘‘to the protection of the Widows and Orphans’’ wherever and whenever encountered. The brethern did, and without the monkey business or fanfare usually

associated with their activities, render aid and comfort to the destitute frail and her dependents. Many a wagonload of groceries, clothing or fuel were left without ceremony and undercover of darkness at the doorstep of the unfortunates. Sometimes outright cash gifts were made and sometimes, depending on the need, a new home or barn was built for a family who had been burned out. In the thirty-five years between 1850 and 1885, the Lodge filled its fraternal niche. With the coming of civilization to the mining camps and with organization of a formal society, the Order began its long slide into obscurity. In its years of pristine glory the Ancient and Honorable Order of E Clampus Vitus boasted more than 50 thousand members from every walk of life and field of endeavor, then hit the skids and slowly died along with the free and easy spirit of the Gold Rush which had nurtured its existence. There was no wake, no mourners wailed the demise. E Clampus Vitus quietly passed from the scene gone but not quite forgotten. The robust 49er lived on, though his ranks were thinning rapidly, the memory of past triumphs remained keen. A new century arrived and with it a fresh hope arose in the hearts of the stalwarts that soon hoards of red shirted brothers ‘would again roam the foothills of the Golden Sierra Nevada eager to harvest a fresh crop of Poor Blind Candidates. The Hewgag was loudly sounded but its musical notes tumbled into empty canyons and fell on vacant river bars. All was quiet, there were no prospectors to lay down their picks and pans and hasten to answer the call. Such was the state of events as the first decade of the 20thcentury became history. Periodically an ancient incorigible would stumble upon a decrepit Hewgag mouldering in a basement or attic or in some forgotten miner’s trunk. Assuming the posture of a Grand Royal Musician of yore he would blow and, as always, no answer. Finally in 1915, in Marysville, Yuba County, California came the long and patiently awaited response. A few authentic old-time members, some sons of old-time members anda handful of curiosity seekers who had been regaled with tales of the past heeded the bray. An anemic but sincerely genuine attempt to revitalize the Order got only a few steps past legal incorporation of the name E Clampus Vitus then ran out of steam. Once again everything was quiet. Fifteen more years were to pass until, in the spring of 1930, it dawned upon the minds of two San Francisco men, both devotees of the Gold Rush past, that the noted and notorious fraternal Order had fallen upon evil days. ‘‘Well-neigh forgotten with the passing of years, this fine old California institution had languished and disappeared from the ken of man fallen like some once-loved tombstone, alone and unremembered, among the weeds of the twentieth century,’? wrote Carl I. Wheat in The Enigmatic Book of Vitus, ike