Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 302, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 December 1915 — Visited Home of Burbank [ARTICLE]

Visited Home of Burbank

Cecil Alter Writes to Sister of Exposition’s Close and of Visit to Home of the Great Naturalist

J. Cecil Alter, son of Mr. and Mrs. John E. Alter, of Union township, who had charge of the government’s weather bureau exhibit at the Pana-ma-Pacific exposition, wrote his sister, Mrs. J. A. Pullin, the following inteersting letter and The Republican is pleased to be'privileged to publish it: San.' Francisco, Cal., 'Dec. 7th. Dear Iva:

I am at the exposition space, surrounded by chaos, mostly boxes, excelsior, papers, and exhibits clogged here and there, on the way to the shipping cases; and thus it is throughout the entire 635 acres of ‘what was once the world .famous Panama-Pacific International Exposition —it is gone. The doors are all closed except two small 'back exits where a throng of laborers push boxes, and jostle each other in search of work, the whole scene managed by a guard who examines every outgoing package for its bill of sale or permit and every incoming person for his authority and passes—one to ■ the grounds and . one to this specific building; the battle ships have left the channel of the Golden Gate (where they have been for 10 months, and the marine, for 11 months mecca for throngs, is a litter of benches and trash, and the millions of sea gulls which used to keep respectable distances away, now perch on the railings, and overturned seats, and the ground, whistling and fluffing their Wings in a melancholy chant—even attempting at times to take one’s lunch from one’s very hands. But what do you care! Mr. Burbank was in this exhibit a few weeks ago with Mr. Edison, and Mr. Ford, Mr. Burbank being a trifle the oldest of the trio, and stooped with bis 65 years or whatever it is; Mr. Ford is stooped much more but his droop is merely the folding of a thin man. So many were striving for a look at them that I did not get to meet them, but was content to be near them half an hour as they wandered here and there rather aimlessly. The gentleman in charge of the Louisiana exhibit down the aisle a little way found an. old man looking through his exhibit one day and asked if he were interested in Louisiana. “No,” said the visitor, “just looking at this corn.” The Louisianan explained that the seed selection was a great feature with them, and that the great advances in crops in that state were due largely to plant breeding and seed selection. The visitor was a willing listener, and heard with great interest how they plant the south end of a corn row with kernels from ear number one, and the north end from ear number two, finishing the south end from ear number one, and alternating across the patch, each with its complete history. Opposite ends of the rows are detasseled before polleniaation, here and there so as to bring out or deveilop certain qualities dn one ear that is possessed by another, the result being a combination of the good qualities of both ears, and an elimination of all .bad qualities; how they do the same yearfrfter year till they get a corn of correct shape, that will come out o a stalk the right height, that will close the ends of the husk tightly, that will droop properly for husking, that will have proper amount of cob, proper color, proper keeping qualities, and so forth, all developed in that soil, climate, and culture. And then the visitor wanted to hug him, and did assure him that the world owed the south a blessing for such modern and such efficient methods of developing their own perfect crops, in such an excellent manner. It is just the way I developed the Burbank Potato 35 years ago, said the visitor—yes, yes, I am Mr. Burbank, of Santa Rosa—l live just across the bay to the north—would be glad to have you visit me some time; and the Louisianan was so astonished he lost the thread of his story. ' I was with the Lousianan, two weeks ago, on a visit With a hundred others in charge of agricultural exhibits here, to Mr. Burbank’s hotme. We crossed the ferry to Sausalito, north and from there took a train to Santa Rosa, about 65 miles north. 22 automobiles supplied by the Santa Rosa commercial club hauled us over the valley, and to a Tittle residence in the midst of the city. The city is about like Rensselaer, for size, maybe a little-larger, but it has the California foliage everywhere, very level and very pretty. TUe place we Stopped was a corner lot, and a new two-story frame house, square, undecorated, except for a long front porch, wfth a palm in the yard, and a new lawn sowed in the front. Our

autos 'filled the streets and the folks filled the yard, and Mr. Burbank was busy showing some new corn, and some turnips. His thin red face made me think of WHnfred Pufllin; and while every time he looked up some camera snapped in his face somewhat discoutreously and unexpectedly, he seemed more or less resigned to them, and with little interruption would continue hds talks; in fact, I made severed snaps of him myself, but haven’t had them developed yet. •I couldn’t (hear what he was telling them, as he was standing in the yard and the crowd was around him, most of the folks being taller than he. Boon he left the crowd for the house, and >1 heard murmerings that he went for some new pears; as he Zame out hovering over an armful of big yellow pears about twice the size of those we buy at five cents each, the first thing he ran into was my camera—it was so sudden I was as much surprised as he, and as he stopped, in sort of pose for me, he grinned a little at our mutual embarrassment, and I snapped and stepped aside and by that time every one had him surrounded and he told them of the pears while I slunk away regretting that I hadn’t had time to get a proper focus on him. I made a view of the house, and of some of the patches nearby, which all had the autumn appearance of the harvest time, and cleaning-up season.

Then he took the crowd across the lot, or across the street rather, to a cornfield, about twenty by thirty feet in size in the middle of the lot, all the corn being very spindling, tall, and apparently unproductive; but it Is a breeding plat, and represents m'any years’ work so far, With nothing to give out yet. One of the most prominent of our men was in charge of the Illinois exhibit, a com state, and he quietly slipped off an ear of com and put it into his pocket. Mr. Burbank saw it;.he saw everything, and was watching all the time, just like a grandfather might watdh a bunch of children; Mr. Burbank said he was sorry but wanted the ear left as it might mean millions to some one some day; not only every ear is being accounted for, he said, but every grain is counted. In proper humility the Sucker state man lodged the ear on the stalk where he found it, and we went on. Meanwhile, one of the commercial club escorts, told us that the gardens had been closed for many years, for that very reason, and that our party was the first to get inside in a dozen years, without great restrictions. Every leaf is numbered, almost, and Mr. Burbank knows everyone including its varying complexions with the weather. His spineless cactuses are in a long patch on one side of the lot, with a few odd-sized beds elsewhere; the spinelessness is less interesting than the cucumber that grow on, and which folks are eating, and which we all had a sample of; *.t is tasteless, and useless—but then, so was the tomato, cucumber, and pumpkin when we first got them. The cactus fruiting body as he calls it, grows out like a stubby smooth cucumber with a slight suggestion of a leaf formation at the end, like a bud. They are about an inch in diameter and 3 inches long usually; they distributed a market basket full to us, as souvenirs.

The Burbank place is a block and a half, the residence Being on one end of the half block, and the opposite whoel block being the gardens, as well as the other end of the residence place. On the corner opposite his place is the office of the corporation organized to market his productions. It is in Ms old original home, all the buildings, including the back houses, beng kept intact. Not a vessel, sails into the Golden Gate from abroad without its distinguished foreigner wh'o wants to see Mr. Burbank. So many in fact have preyed upon his time, for mere curiosity, that ■if you come unannounced, an attendant gives you a card, signed by Mr. Burbank, saying that Ms time is worth a dollar a minute; if you want 15 minutes send in the sls and set a date. There is another small tract used by him about 4 miles over the valley. He Was ridden there once a day for years, in axheid nattley buggy bdhind a honey horse which trots more up and down thhh. straight ahead, and it is on the atntamth of (that dollar-a-minute budineiß that his friends induced him to get a little Ford. As a matter of convenience, and his own comfort, he is nftener seen riding about the street of Santa Rosa on a very antiquated bicycle. A company gave Mm $300,000 fog

his name a few years ago. They are to market everything he produces. They are using the offices in his old place on the opposite oorner and they pay all his expenses of farming, and would give him a limousine and a chauffeur if he would use them. If he says he wants a certain * tract plowed 12 feet deep, it is done instantly; if he wants a two-foot tree m*oved seven inches they do it —or at least he has only 1» express his desires and it is done for him dn a way to make a millionaire envious. This company has a large seed and plant house on Market Street, here, and Jennie has visited there, though I have not. It is not greatly different from what I imagine amy large seed house in the east would look like. They think the world of him there, and even the children look for a chance to flavor him. A lady who was eternally asking more than she couM possibly remember, asked what that tree was. He said it was a nut tree of some hfind '(I qouldnU hhar wbat), but that it produced something fabulous in amounts; she said “Why don’t you sell them?” “We alerady have an order for eleven million of them at $5 apiece,” said Mr. Burbank. The tree is probably 8 years old, and it will fake some years to fill that order. A walnut tree 4 inches through the base has about ten bushels of walnuts stored under it. “This tree bore all those note this year,” he told us—and even I almost doubted the old fellow's veracity—black walnuts they were, jwft like those at home. He said with al) the simplicity of truth itself, “That tree will produce walnuts in such large quantities as to render it profitable to raise them for fuel alone.” And here is the night and 2 miles to walk. iHbiM,