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| 23-year-old John McNamara |
On the 67th anniversary of California's admission into the United
States, John McNamara, a 23 year old Irish emigrant, woke up to the sound of a
parade; the small town he had called
home for the past two years was readying for an enormous celebration. It was
Sunday, his day off, and although the parade promised to make for an enjoyable
morning, he had an appointment to keep.
From his flat at 1628 Ninth Street, John would have to navigate the busy streets of a small town masquerading as a big city, as thousands of parade-goers and automobiles clogged the normally quiet streets of Sacramento, California.
Traditionally the Admissions Day Parade was a production of the Native
Sons and Daughters of the Golden West, a fraternal society dedicated to the
preservation of the pioneer spirit. It was a celebration of an earlier, simpler
time, where small towns were concerned with Main Street issues and certainly
not the squabbles and wars of distant lands.
Yet on that bright, late summer morning of September 9, 1917,
Sacramento and the rest of the country were preparing for war with cautious
excitement. Augmenting the parade lineup, so cheerfully staffed by the Native
Sons and Daughters, were representatives of each military branch, a police
mounted posse, and a pipe band from Scotland.
Although the parade was scheduled for an 11:00 am start, by 9:00
am the streets were full of people eagerly staking out positions along J and K
streets, the traditional celebratory routes of Sacramento.
As John McNamara made his way north up Ninth Street towards
greater downtown, he ran into something brand new in Sacramento, a traffic jam.
Automobiles eager to find parking were beginning to crowd the
parade participants, forcing the police officers to huddle in search of traffic
solutions. Although slowed by the downtown congestion, with an important
appointment pending, John was in an ideal position to see the beginning of the
parade.
In spite of the traffic issues, the parade began right on
time with the Grand Marshall June Harris leading the way. As the President of
the Native Sons and Daughters of the Golden West, June, as the newspapers said
later, was a dream in a coat of white and cream.
After paying his respects to the nattily attired Grand
Marshall, John tried to cross the street before the next parade entry went by.
As he readied to dart across L Street, a raucous cheer erupted from the crowd
followed by hoots of laughter and hearty backslapping. A goat dressed in a German
uniform pranced in front of four sailors who loudly proclaimed to the frenzied
onlookers: “We've got the Kaiser's Goat ! We've got the Kaiser's Goat.”
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| Admission Day Parade, 1917 |
The growing crowd was delirious with patriotism, and Sacramento
had never seen anything like it. As the
city proprietors began to open their shops, taverns, restaurants, and hotels,
they began to wonder if their services could sufficiently serve the swelling
crowds, rumored now to be over 100,000 strong.
More cheers filled the air as a man dressed as Uncle Sam sat atop
a mechanized vehicle called a "tank" and waved to the crowd. Before the Preston School of Industry
Marching Band could begin their set, a man in a bear suite made entirely of
prunes waved a large American flag to the applause and laughter from the
crowd. With the parade stalled and the
police officers amused by the performing bear, John McNamara quickly crossed
the street and spent his final moments of civilian life walking uninterrupted
to the recruitment office.
While the parade continued its colorful meander, workers
hurriedly attached red, white and blue bunting to the Plaza Park Stage, across
from City Hall, where Governor Stephens would lead the oratorical exercises
after the parade.
John McNamara didn't need a speech to join the army, he had
registered for the draft immediately following President Wilson's Declaration
of War on April 2, 1917. His enlistment day just happened to fall on one of the
most inspiring and colorful days in Sacramento history. For the past two years,
he had worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad first as a laborer, then
promoted to car inspector. With his knowledge of railroad logistics and his
willingness to do anything, he was assigned to the 1st Engineers Division of
the storied 1st Army.
After passing his physical, he filled out the requisite paperwork
and was given a new suit of olive drab pants, a matching tunic, and a wide
brimmed campaign hat.
John McNamara had walked into the recruiting office an everyday
Irish laborer, so common on the streets of Sacramento, so resented by the
native establishment, and ever reminded of that fact by the "No Irish
need apply" signs that hung in the windows of some of the finer businesses
in town. He walked out a soldier of the American Expeditionary Force, and as he
headed down the street towards the studio that would snap his official war
portrait, the anonymity that had haunted him in America, disappeared into a sea
of back slaps and well wishes.
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| Army portrait, September 9, 1917 |
"There's our boy!" "Do us proud, soldier"
"Kick the Kaiser for me, will you Pat!"
The parade was beginning to wind down as the dignitaries,
wallowing in their self- importance, eyed suspiciously the pecking order of the
seating chart on the flag draped stage.
Governor Stevens and his retinue of state officials had been
received warmly by the parade crowd, and he beamed with purpose, striding to
the place of honor in the middle of the stage. Plaza Park teemed with excitement,
and as far as the eye could reach bands played and flags waved in a pure sea of
patriotic unity.
Governor Stevens, whose mansion was merely a few blocks away,
felt comfortable that this crowd would not repeat the sorry scene he had
witnessed on the opening day of the baseball season in Los Angeles, where an
unfortunate gentleman of German descent failed to remove his cap during the
national anthem and received a savage beating from the fans in the right field
bleachers. On the day that the Pacific Coast League would start its 1917
season, the biggest cheer of the day was not for the home town Angles or the
visiting team from Salt Lake City. It was the sight of two police officers
dragging the bloodied Hun through the centerfield gates.
In contrast, this crowd seemed refreshingly naive, feeling that
America was on the precipice of a great adventure. There were no burning
effigies of the Kaiser, only the hastily renamed vendor hawked hot dog accouterments
of liberty cabbage.
Never one for politics, John McNamara skipped the speeches and
headed back home though the various exhibits and demonstrations of modern
warfare that had taken root in Plaza Park. In the sky two airplanes circled
about while a commentator, with the breathless excitement of a circus barker,
described to the crowd the tactics of an aerial dogfight. At a table strewn
with various gadgets and telephones, smartly dressed officers spoke of
futuristic modes of communications that would revolutionize warfare. There was
even a "sham battle" scheduled for later in the day where 200 navel
apprentices would demonstrate the present day methods of warfare.
Sacramento was having a golden day, and it would only get better
as the State Fair was set to open later that afternoon. Professional baseball
had taken a leave of absence from the capital city since 1916, but there was to
be plenty of ball scheduled over the next week as the Native Son's League of
Parlors readied for their annual tournament at Buffalo Park.
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| The last collision |
But with all the pageantry of the parades, the excitement of the
war games, and even the thrill of organized baseball, preparations were under
way for an event later in the week that all of Sacramento loved. For as far
back as anyone could remember, two powerful locomotives were raced into each
other with dizzying speed to produce a spectacular crash. It was simply called
The Collision. Sadly, for many Sacramentans, this would be the last year of the
spectacle due to the events in Europe where great armies of steel and flesh
were colliding on a daily basis.
Before taking his leave of Plaza Park, John McNamara sat down on
a park bench to review some of his documents freshly stamped with the black ink
of orders. He was to report to Fort McDowell, also known as Angel Island, by
tomorrow for basic training, and at the bottom of his enlistment papers was a
final box that read "destination": France.
After a 3,000 mile train ride to New Jersey and a dangerous
Atlantic crossing, he figured to be in the trenches by Christmas.
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| War Service Card |
“Will that be all soldier? We are
having a nice sale on lace curtains, regular $5.75, now just $2.79 a pair. Your
mother would be quite pleased.”
With a quick shake of the head, he was out the door and headed
home for his last night in Sacramento. Uncle Sam was impatient, so there would
be no time for post parade revelry. Besides, most of the scheduled Admission
Day parties, concerts, and balls were for the natives and their various clubs and
parlors. The uniform brought him attention and accolades but not respect and
acceptance into the mainstream of the American Dream. That would have to come
later. If indeed there would be a later.
