Part 459: William F. Hamilton, Blood Brother to the Nez Perce and Yakima
While exploring the life of William F. Hamilton, I discovered an interesting newspaper article that provided some insight into this evasive scenic artist. During 1924, George Kendrick submitted a letter to the local newspaper that he had received from his cousin Bill Hamilton. I was surprised that the “Will” who Thomas G. Moses spoke of was known as “Bill” to his family.
“The News-Herald” reported, “When the Hamilton family removed to New Jersey some 30 years ago, Will was a scenic artist, and later did he work on a “white city” in a park in Pittsburgh. He has been in the show business for all these years, his particular line now being the furnishing of special entertainment features” (Franklin, PA, 27 Dec. 1924). Here is the letter submitted by Kendrick to the newspaper:
“Dear Cousin George:
I read in a late issue of The Billboard that Franklin was soon to have another home-coming celebration, and it reminded me of the fact that for many years I have rather lost track of both friends and relatives in that neck of the woods. While I feel ‘just as young as I used to be,’ I am hep to the fact that I am no longer in the sophomore class, and a notice of George Moffett’s death which came to me a short time ago made me think that some of my friends might be crossing the Great Divide at any time and I would possibly not know of it.
When I left New York four years ago on a hurry up trip to Chicago I thought Broadway would worry along without me for about six weeks. I have never been back, but, from general reports, Broadway has managed to survive the shock. As for myself, I have never enjoyed life more than I have since I settled in California and became a “native son.” My work chases me over the landscape from Canada to Mexico, but I manage to get home often enough to keep fairly well acquainted with my family, and our collie dog has never really bitten me when I have returned from a long trip, and he is a very good watchdog at that.
“Last year, while in the Northwest, I was adopted into two tribes of ‘honest to god’ Indians, the Nez Perce and Yakima. The ceremony of making me a blood brother included the presentation of wonderful old specimens of Indian handicraft, and for several days I was feasted in the tepees of various chiefs, on which occasions I was again given presents which white men could not buy. I have always been a ‘nut’ on Indian relics and that experience finished the job. Before I left I added to my already extensive collection to such an extent that I now have one of the best collections on the Coast. Get letters from all parts of the country from those who have one or more pieces to sell or trade. Went into one of the clubs in Spokane after a trip to one of the reservations. Having motored 150 miles over the mountain I was too tired and hungry to change my clothes before dinner. Joined several friends at one of the round tables. Shortly after I sat down an old-timer who had been in the Modoc war sniffed several times and finally said: “I smell Indian.” I had carried the odor of the wood fires of the tepees in my clothes. The joke was on me and it cost me plenty before I had furnished enough cigars (and other aromas) to kill the smell of Indian to the satisfaction of the bunch.
“Our home is on the King’s Highway, about 16 miles from San Francisco. It is built around a patio in the old Spanish style, with rose vines on all sides and a garden with all sorts of fruit trees in the back – the kind of a place I dreamed of all my life, but never hoped to own. The eternal sunshine is all right, but I miss the frost and falling leaves and welcome a trip to come places where I can see the snow fly. Our cousins, Fanny and Kate, are here in California, but I have not seen much of them, as they live in Los Angeles most of the time and I do not go there often. [The Fanny and Kate “Bill” speaks of are Mrs. Fred H. Hillman and Mrs. J. E. McClintock, sisters of George Moffett]
Well, old top, it is getting late and I am old enough to want my full quota of sleep, especially after the effort required to write a letter on this old machine. Could find a lot to say if I could stand the strain, but, having given you a fair idea of where I am and what I am doing, I will save the rest until I know whether this reaches you or not. I am hoping that this will get a rise out of you and that I may hear how time and good fortune has treated you during these many years; also, how the rest of your family is faring. Is your mother still living and John and the girls? Give them my best wishes. Hoping you are well, happy, and prosperous and that I may have a line to prove it, good night.
Sincerely, Cousin Bill”
To be continued…
