Dear Reader
William A. Hightower was convicted in 1922 for murdering a Catholic priest, Father Patrick Heslin, in an infamous time of journalism history. William Randolph Hearst and "Yellow Journalism" were a part of the roaring 20's and Hightower's predicament was not helped by the San Francisco Examiner, owned by Hearst. In fact more of his trial was held within the pages of the newspaper prior to his court appearances. The are more than 2,000 stories filed on Hightower's case in news throughout the West and some eastern papers. His story would most likely have been more openly in the history books and the talk of the town if a little murder trial in Hollywood, featuring Fatty Arbuckle hadn't been going on at the same time.
Needless to say. . . in coming blog post we will discuss chapter by chapter, Hightower's life and incarceration. For now I will share a few more of his aphorisms the he concocted while sitting in his tiny jail cell of San Franciso Bay.
B
Babies
A baby is a bundle of possibilities and responsibilities
A baby is the most necessaryt nuisance in civilization
Babies are celestial lovelinks that are unsoiled by the sod
Babies are the greatest gifts that we get from God.
Bargains
Bargains show the way to buy ourselves into bankruptcy
Batchelor
There is no such thing as a bachelor of arts
Being a bachelor is a folly not art.
Beauty
Nothing can be added to your form or your face
That, to my way of thinking, could give thme more grace
Maybe her mind isn't made up
But her face certainly is.
Beauty is the soothing lotion that admiration
Pours into the eeager eyes of appreciation.
Being Good
My little sermon for today
Is that while we're common clay
We don't have to be dirty
Bigamy
If every woman that i wanted to marry had married me
I could be doing ten thousand years for Bigamy
Birds
With the coming of the morning light
The mysterious noises of the night
Are silenced by the songs of our feathered friends.
Books
By the use of paper and printers ink
Authors and printers teach us to think.
Booze
Women, on the average, live five years longer than men, and thus prove that as a preservative, paint is better than alcohol.
It looks a lot like man's freedom to drink
Is robbing mankind of their freedom to think.
Boys
Please remember, my son, that each start is a sun
And I want you to be like the other great suns
I hope you will rise high and shine very brightly
You have a bright future, don't take it lightly.
Business
You may apply a tax so high
It fills us with misgiving
And makes us feel we have to steal
If we are to make a living.
Until next time. .. .
Genelle
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Whit and wisdom from the Sage of San Quentin
If you have followed the last two blogs you will understand that William A. Hightower is an amazing character; fascinating and intriguing. What he did to keep himself going in those many years in prison is a story within a story and so much more. For today's entry I would like to share some of his whit and wisdom from the A section of his collections. His double meanings and colorful metaphors are entertaining and enlightening. For those who knew him, they will sound familiar and bring a smile to ones face. So here goes. Think of a man typing on an old Smith Corona, with letter tabs so worn he has made new ones out of paper being stuck to the key with chewed gum. He is sitting in his cell that has a width from about the fingertips on his left hand to the fingertips on his right hand. And his mind is going at warp speed.
A
Actions - If you're shocked by the charge that your ancestors were apes,
Why not try to act like they must have been angels?
Activity - Life is a loan and the Lord expects interest.
Advancement - Men should cease to copy all the things they can surpass.
Adversity - Adversity is the enemy that separates our friends from our acquaintances.
Advertisements - Advertisements cause fools to rush in where Angels fear to trade.
Age - After we become old enough to look after ourselves,
It isn't long until we become to old to look after ourselves.
Ambition - If we should shorten our longings, would we lengthen our lives?
Ambition is the eternal try angle.
Amnesia - Amnesia is a blow to the knows.
Ancestors - Are we the proper answer to the hopes of our ancestors?
Anger - Anger afflicts the head, but affects the feat
Anger is an indication that passion has compelled the abdication of reason.
Antique - Antique is an old made.
Apathy - Apathy is a block of would
Appreciation - A "thank you" is one of the small coins of courtesy that a gentleman can always find in his purse of appreciation.
Even worse than not getting anything we want, is getting everything we want only to find we don't want it.
Art - The prettiest part of a painting does not lie in lines, colors, contours, faces or figures that are visibly portrayed - but lie in the mental or spiritual reflections invited from those who view it.
Not only do the ladies know how to paint themselves, they also know how to draw men.
And certainly last but not least for this round of Hightowerism's from the Sage. . .
Atheism - Atheism is a kind of intellectual eddy where an unprogressive few are clinging to the denominational driftwood of long ago.
Destroying the feeble light of faith does nothing better than increase the darkness!
This from a man locked in a prison on circumstantial evidence for 42 years. He entered when cars were still young, the 20's were just at the meow stage instead of roaring, and the belief that man could some day go into outer space was nonsense and scientifically impossible.
In the coming days we will share more of the story and times of the Sage of San Quentin.
Genelle
A
Actions - If you're shocked by the charge that your ancestors were apes,
Why not try to act like they must have been angels?
Activity - Life is a loan and the Lord expects interest.
Advancement - Men should cease to copy all the things they can surpass.
Adversity - Adversity is the enemy that separates our friends from our acquaintances.
Advertisements - Advertisements cause fools to rush in where Angels fear to trade.
Age - After we become old enough to look after ourselves,
It isn't long until we become to old to look after ourselves.
Ambition - If we should shorten our longings, would we lengthen our lives?
Ambition is the eternal try angle.
Amnesia - Amnesia is a blow to the knows.
Ancestors - Are we the proper answer to the hopes of our ancestors?
Anger - Anger afflicts the head, but affects the feat
Anger is an indication that passion has compelled the abdication of reason.
Antique - Antique is an old made.
Apathy - Apathy is a block of would
Appreciation - A "thank you" is one of the small coins of courtesy that a gentleman can always find in his purse of appreciation.
Even worse than not getting anything we want, is getting everything we want only to find we don't want it.
Art - The prettiest part of a painting does not lie in lines, colors, contours, faces or figures that are visibly portrayed - but lie in the mental or spiritual reflections invited from those who view it.
Not only do the ladies know how to paint themselves, they also know how to draw men.
And certainly last but not least for this round of Hightowerism's from the Sage. . .
Atheism - Atheism is a kind of intellectual eddy where an unprogressive few are clinging to the denominational driftwood of long ago.
Destroying the feeble light of faith does nothing better than increase the darkness!
This from a man locked in a prison on circumstantial evidence for 42 years. He entered when cars were still young, the 20's were just at the meow stage instead of roaring, and the belief that man could some day go into outer space was nonsense and scientifically impossible.
In the coming days we will share more of the story and times of the Sage of San Quentin.
Genelle
Monday, March 7, 2011
Observations from a Hightower: Why I went to San Quentin
Dear Reader -
For almost as long as I can remember William A. Hightower (Uncle Bill), has been a part of my life. As a young girl I met him and knew him as a kind old man who showered me and my sister with all kinds of treats and stories. He would come every other Saturday to our home in West Los Angeles. My younger sister and I would run up the street to meet him at the bus. He lived in W. Hollywood and came to see my parents and us on a regular basis. That wasn't always the case.
My parents first met Uncle Bill soon after he was paroled. He was in his 80's and had basically served half of his life in San Quentin, one of Californias maximum security prisons. He went in before the Golden Gate Bridge was built, he survived the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression of the 1930s, World War II, the Baby boomer era, Korea, and Vietnam eras all from inside prison. That period of time also included prison reform. When he went in fingerprinting was a new forensic, the dungeon was still being used, and the prison doctor was doing wild experiments on the inmates (documented cases are in the San Quention museum and his own books).
Imagine going into prison when the Model T Ford was the buzz and coming out in the space age. Quite a shock, almost like Rip Van Winkle. When my parents met Bill they took him to a nice restaurant for dinner to get to know him. Mother's sister, Betty Hightower was a genealogist by hobby and her husband's family tree hooked into Bill's. Betty heard of him in the prison and became a sort of pen pal. Becasue we lived in Calfornia, Betty asked us to befriend him, as he was alone.
Bill told my folks that it had been 42 years since he had set at a table with a table clothe on it. He observed everything around him. Then they took him for a ride. First place was the LAX airport. It wasn't anything like it is now, but for Bill to see and hear a jet engine and to see planes take off and land, was a miracle. The Los Angeles freeways were a nightmare, but also an engineering wonder to him.
What does this have to do with me going to San Quentin so many years later? Well, I needed to know if all of the stories and things I inherited from Bill were really true. I wanted to see how and where he lived. We were prepairing a book and a movie script of his life and our research took us to the maximum security prison. Very few women visited inside the prison, the next woman to come after me was Mother Theresa.
The jail cells were stacked two or three stories high, facing a blank wall and they went it seems mabe half a football field, I could be exaggerating as I was distracted by the constant noise. The assistant warden had warned our small group not to make eye-contact with any of the prisoners. They were being lined up to go to the mess hall for lunch. That was difficult. I was the only woman in the group and the slurs and filthy language was pretty much a new experience for me.
As we toured throughout the yard, the cell blocks, the hospital etc. we asked the assistant warden about things, shared some of Bills stories and memoirs of the prison. Every once in a while he would look at us and say. . . You know about that? He varified everything we mentioned that Bill had written about. We knew we had a story and that Bill had a life worth telling about.
In the coming days I will share with you his story. He was a kind old man to us. But his life was filled with much more intrique than just spending time playing ball with little girls.
Genelle
For almost as long as I can remember William A. Hightower (Uncle Bill), has been a part of my life. As a young girl I met him and knew him as a kind old man who showered me and my sister with all kinds of treats and stories. He would come every other Saturday to our home in West Los Angeles. My younger sister and I would run up the street to meet him at the bus. He lived in W. Hollywood and came to see my parents and us on a regular basis. That wasn't always the case.
My parents first met Uncle Bill soon after he was paroled. He was in his 80's and had basically served half of his life in San Quentin, one of Californias maximum security prisons. He went in before the Golden Gate Bridge was built, he survived the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression of the 1930s, World War II, the Baby boomer era, Korea, and Vietnam eras all from inside prison. That period of time also included prison reform. When he went in fingerprinting was a new forensic, the dungeon was still being used, and the prison doctor was doing wild experiments on the inmates (documented cases are in the San Quention museum and his own books).
Imagine going into prison when the Model T Ford was the buzz and coming out in the space age. Quite a shock, almost like Rip Van Winkle. When my parents met Bill they took him to a nice restaurant for dinner to get to know him. Mother's sister, Betty Hightower was a genealogist by hobby and her husband's family tree hooked into Bill's. Betty heard of him in the prison and became a sort of pen pal. Becasue we lived in Calfornia, Betty asked us to befriend him, as he was alone.
Bill told my folks that it had been 42 years since he had set at a table with a table clothe on it. He observed everything around him. Then they took him for a ride. First place was the LAX airport. It wasn't anything like it is now, but for Bill to see and hear a jet engine and to see planes take off and land, was a miracle. The Los Angeles freeways were a nightmare, but also an engineering wonder to him.
What does this have to do with me going to San Quentin so many years later? Well, I needed to know if all of the stories and things I inherited from Bill were really true. I wanted to see how and where he lived. We were prepairing a book and a movie script of his life and our research took us to the maximum security prison. Very few women visited inside the prison, the next woman to come after me was Mother Theresa.
The jail cells were stacked two or three stories high, facing a blank wall and they went it seems mabe half a football field, I could be exaggerating as I was distracted by the constant noise. The assistant warden had warned our small group not to make eye-contact with any of the prisoners. They were being lined up to go to the mess hall for lunch. That was difficult. I was the only woman in the group and the slurs and filthy language was pretty much a new experience for me.
As we toured throughout the yard, the cell blocks, the hospital etc. we asked the assistant warden about things, shared some of Bills stories and memoirs of the prison. Every once in a while he would look at us and say. . . You know about that? He varified everything we mentioned that Bill had written about. We knew we had a story and that Bill had a life worth telling about.
In the coming days I will share with you his story. He was a kind old man to us. But his life was filled with much more intrique than just spending time playing ball with little girls.
Genelle
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Observations from a Hightower or The Sage of San Quentin
Dear Reader -
This is the beginning of a very long and wonderful reading experience provided by William A. Hightower's quips and quotes while he served a life sentence in San Quentin Prison (1922-1964). He entered the prison in October of 1922 after a sensational court case. It was part of the yellow journalism era of William Randolph Hearst. Hightower was accused of killing a Catholic Priest, Father Patrick Heslin. His body was found in the area of Half Moon Bay by Hightower. A reporter from the San Francisco Examiner went with him to verify there was a body. Hightower was taken not to jail but to the Examiner's news room and held while they printed an EXTRA! He was never set free again.
The story is long and intriguing with many twists and turns. We will cover that in the coming weeks. What Hightower did to keep his sanity in prison was to educate himself, read, and write bits of wisdom, similar to that of Benjamin Franklin and other word-smiths. Hightower died May 30, 1974 at the age of 95. His prose and poetry and obersvations are what he has left to give the world. Perhaps one day we will know if he committed the crime or not. But for more than 40 years Hightower served a sentence on circumstancial evidence, and chose to rise above his condition. He did so with old time gentlemanly grace and charm.
This blog is sponsored by Genelle Larsen Pugmire and Earle S. Larsen Jr. associates and friends of the late William Hightower. Genelle met "uncle Bill" at the Hotel California 1966. She was 10 years old, he was 86. She was the first child Bill had come close to since 1922. Her and her little sister Martha, became endeared to him and he found great joy in showering them with gifts, visiting their family (for he hand none he knew of). Genelle and Bill shared birthdates and in a twist of fate, he died the day Genelle graduated from high school. It was a right of passage in a way for Genelle who inherited trunks full of manuscripts typed or written off of antique typewriters on to prison paper, however Bill could get it. The books were bound with old mattress tatting from a mattress factory that used to be a part of the work place experience at San Quentin for the inmates.
Here are a few bits of wisdom:
The way things are going if won't be very long until all law will become but the right way to do wrong.
Leaving it to laziness and providence is the reason there is so much indigence.
Before I learned very much in the school of experience, I went to the university of adversity.
If this earthly existence is given to us as a gift, then why is it that none of us have ever got the drift, so that we can know from whence we came, and why we are here.
Life is a chance for all to learn and while this earth goes round and round, each one of us should do his turn.
How can any many hope to get more out of life than is in the right kind of home with the right kind of wife.
I shall try to see that my day will last until my last day. While I am alive I shall try to live.
Is life but an ill assortment of silly assorted ills, to be made by medical treatment, a mere pilgrimage of pills.
This is the beginning of a very long and wonderful reading experience provided by William A. Hightower's quips and quotes while he served a life sentence in San Quentin Prison (1922-1964). He entered the prison in October of 1922 after a sensational court case. It was part of the yellow journalism era of William Randolph Hearst. Hightower was accused of killing a Catholic Priest, Father Patrick Heslin. His body was found in the area of Half Moon Bay by Hightower. A reporter from the San Francisco Examiner went with him to verify there was a body. Hightower was taken not to jail but to the Examiner's news room and held while they printed an EXTRA! He was never set free again.
The story is long and intriguing with many twists and turns. We will cover that in the coming weeks. What Hightower did to keep his sanity in prison was to educate himself, read, and write bits of wisdom, similar to that of Benjamin Franklin and other word-smiths. Hightower died May 30, 1974 at the age of 95. His prose and poetry and obersvations are what he has left to give the world. Perhaps one day we will know if he committed the crime or not. But for more than 40 years Hightower served a sentence on circumstancial evidence, and chose to rise above his condition. He did so with old time gentlemanly grace and charm.
This blog is sponsored by Genelle Larsen Pugmire and Earle S. Larsen Jr. associates and friends of the late William Hightower. Genelle met "uncle Bill" at the Hotel California 1966. She was 10 years old, he was 86. She was the first child Bill had come close to since 1922. Her and her little sister Martha, became endeared to him and he found great joy in showering them with gifts, visiting their family (for he hand none he knew of). Genelle and Bill shared birthdates and in a twist of fate, he died the day Genelle graduated from high school. It was a right of passage in a way for Genelle who inherited trunks full of manuscripts typed or written off of antique typewriters on to prison paper, however Bill could get it. The books were bound with old mattress tatting from a mattress factory that used to be a part of the work place experience at San Quentin for the inmates.
Here are a few bits of wisdom:
The way things are going if won't be very long until all law will become but the right way to do wrong.
Leaving it to laziness and providence is the reason there is so much indigence.
Before I learned very much in the school of experience, I went to the university of adversity.
If this earthly existence is given to us as a gift, then why is it that none of us have ever got the drift, so that we can know from whence we came, and why we are here.
Life is a chance for all to learn and while this earth goes round and round, each one of us should do his turn.
How can any many hope to get more out of life than is in the right kind of home with the right kind of wife.
I shall try to see that my day will last until my last day. While I am alive I shall try to live.
Is life but an ill assortment of silly assorted ills, to be made by medical treatment, a mere pilgrimage of pills.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)