Identifier: sanfrancwat4192581930spri (find matches)
Title: San Francisco water
Year: 1922 (1920s)
Authors: Spring Valley Water Company (San Francisco, Calif.)
Subjects: Water-supply
Publisher: San Francisco, Calif. : Spring Valley Water Co.
Contributing Library: San Francisco Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: California State Library Califa/LSTA Grant

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re firmly on Plymouth Rock, but his head was often in the pretty clouds,and he loved to champion the cause of what-ever fanatic appealed to his sympathy. Heupheld the electronic theory of Dr. Abramsas the last word in science. He ranked Up-ton Sinclair with the noblest thinkers. Hebesought the less impecunious Bohemians toinvest in some astounding device calculatedto ward off lightning and reveal oil wells,and thereby grow rich. He regarded himself in exalted momentsas a very great poet; but his friendship fora local publisher prevented him from send-ing his poems to the leading Eastern firms.He would sweat and toil over a sonnet formonths—then give it away to someone. From the days when he was king of gaietyat Papa Coppas, with the jug behind thedoor, and read his merry, not to say Ra-belaisian, rhymes, up to a month ago, hisbest conceits were done as gifts for hisfriends. He had a pocketful of happy rhymesalways. He never got over a horror of selling July, 1928 SAN FRANCISCO WATER
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Ml >A ■SiSi W The memorial tablet: Edward F. ODay, S. P. Eastman (author of the tribute;, and Haig Patigiar them for cash. Less than a hundredth of hisstuff saw print, and the world lost somecapital foolery, like the famous AbaloneSong. Yet his published output is of respectabledimensions. There were The Testimony ofthe Suns, The House of Orchids, Be-yond the Breakers, The Caged Eagle,Sails and Mirage, and the formidabledramatic poems, done in the grand Hy-perion style of Keats, and not approachedby any other singer in the land, Truth,Rosamund, and Lilith, this last firstprinted on butcher paper on a hand press inUkiah. One night, at a memorable studio partygiven to Hugh Walpole, the English novel-ist, a happy affair, that lasted until dawn,when the windows and the furniture werebroken, he launched into a serious and im-passioned reading of The Binding of theBeast. It was spread-eagle stuff, delivered in a high, melancholy scream—and frighten-ed everybody for a moment. But that

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