Sometimes Bolton dealt with cooperative people who did not know what they had in their libraries. At Querêtaro Bolton searched the archive of the College of the Holy Cross for missionary records concerning Sonora and Pimería Alta. The friars were helpful, but the library contained only books that Bolton had seen before. Sensing that there might be more than met his eye, Bolton remained at the college admiring the library and browsing its contents. After two days he noticed a trap door in the ceiling. In the attic he found “a great trunk…packed nearly full with missing records,” plus a complete list of the documents that existed in 1772. Two-thirds of the records were there. Bolton spent two weeks putting them back in their original order.
Perseverance usually won the day for Bolton, but he sometimes had raw political power behind him, as in the case of his survey of the Secretaría de Gobernación, which was under the control of the vice president of Mexico, Ramon Corral, an unpopular man with a reputation for ruthlessness.54 Bolton described him as “one of those hard fisted soldier like men from Sonora.” “Everybody feared him,” he continued, “and because of that they hated him.” Bolton wanted to look at the Gobernación papers, so he asked to meet Vice President Corral in order to smooth the way. When Bolton made the request to see Corral, one official “pretty nearly turned pale at the mention of the ‘hombre terrible.’” Corral frowned at Bolton but gave him “all the privileges in the world” and a pleasant office off the main patio.55 The vice president held no terrors for Bolton, but as the Diaz regime began to collapse, the unpopular Corral would become one of the main targets of critics, reformers, and revolutionaries. The Mexican Revolution was only a few months in the future when Bolton got his room at the Gobernación.
Bolton's personal acquaintance with Mexican politicians, priests, librarians, clerks, archivists, diplomats, and scholars broadened and deepened his knowledge of Mexican culture and people. And they began to accept, like, and even to admire Bolton and his single-minded pursuit of the materials of Mexican history. Friars, who had at first been reluctant to cooperate, gave him bed and board in their monasteries. Those times “were very pleasant indeed,” he reminisced, but they would be interrupted by Mexican political events as well as Bolton's professional peregrinations.56
While in Mexico Bolton asked Turner for advice about getting a job at the University of California so that he could have access to the Bancroft Library. Now that Bolton had mastered the materials relating to Spanish colonial Texas, “the best of all points of attack, is California,” he reasoned. “Somebody is sure to fall heir to a professorship in California that will put him in control of the great mass of material that Bancroft collected.” He did not know if anyone else had “preempted” a position at California, but he wanted a shot at it. “I know that whenever such a position opens up in California you will be quite certain to know about it and to be consulted.”57 Turner promptly wrote to Stephens and suggested that Bolton contact the Berkeley department head. “I have not yet screwed up the nerve to write to Professor Stephens,” Bolton confessed, “but I may come to it soon.”58
Evidently Bolton was reluctant to write Stephens because his first meeting with him at the 1903 AHA meeting in New Orleans had not been encouraging. As they sat side by side on a round settee in a hotel lobby, Bolton said that he was using Stephens's Revolutionary Europe as a text.59 “'Tisn't worth a damn!” Stephens snorted, and that was the end of the conversation. Bolton felt that this was how the “great man” told a young professor that he did not know how to select a proper textbook.60 So Bolton hesitated to contact Stephens even after Turner had smoothed the way.
Then a reconfiguration of the California planets changed the orbits of Bolton and Turner. “You have probably heard that Farrand is going to Yale,” Eugene Barker gossiped from his desk in Cambridge. “Stanford would be right in your field, wouldn't it?”61 Perhaps it would, but Stanford now had another gardener in mind. Everything but the church had been restored to its pre-earthquake appearance, President Jordan told Turner. Could Turner suggest anyone to replace Farrand? The Jewel Fund had been established and was “devoted exclusively to buying books” at the rate of about $25,000 per year. A fine library was within reach. Perhaps Turner was too. “And are there any terms on which we could ‘do business’ with you?” Jordan asked?62
As usual, Turner left the question of his availability open while he considered his options, but he made some recommendations.63 Evidently Bolton was on Turner's list of candidates, because Stanford sent an offer of a temporary appointment that reached him in San Luis Potosi, probably in July. Bolton rejected a temporary job out of hand, but was willing to entertain a permanent position. Even so, Bolton was not certain about leaving Texas, where he expected “to hold the whip” himself soon, he told Fred. In August, Ephraim Adams, the new department chair, informed Bolton that there were two permanent positions to be filled, one in political and constitutional history (Farrand's courses) and the other covering “aspects of western history.” Adams invited Bolton to explain “the type and character of work in which you are interested.”64
In the minds of Jordan and Adams, the alluring Turner was still the leading candidate for the western position. Turner's semester on—semester off for research arrangement did not look good to some Wisconsin regents, and he feared they might raise the issue again.65 This was more than enough to convince Adams and Jordan that Turner could be had and that the time might be right. And if Stanford hired Turner, they surely would not hire Bolton. So, as Bolton composed his letter to Adams, he had no way of knowing that his chief competition was Frederick Jackson Turner.
One week after encouraging Bolton to apply for the western position, Adams made a strong appeal to Turner. After consulting with President Van Hise at Wisconsin, Turner once again turned down Stanford in the middle of October.66 Adams did not waste time mourning. “I want to get your opinion of Professor Bolton of Texas,” he asked Turner. Adams was already favorably impressed with him.67 “He seems to have cut out a rather new and important field in Spanish- Mexican-American history,” Adams thought. Evidently Turner thought so too.68
Adams immediately offered Bolton an associate professorship at $3,000. Perhaps as important as salary to Bolton was Adams's assurance that “each man in the Department above the rank of Instructor, is absolutely equal in all Departmental matters, and is absolutely independent.” The majority ruled in department meetings, but as far as each professor's work was concerned, he was “totally independent.” After years of working under the imperious garrison, Bolton could imagine the shackles falling from his ankles. At Stanford Bolton could teach and publish whatever he wanted. In addition to scholarly freedom, Adams promised financial support for Bolton's Mexican research. The Stanford library was “rather unusually equipped in the general field of Western History in the line originated by Professor Turner,” Adams explained, although not in Spanish-American history.69 Over time the proceeds from the Jewel Fund would ameliorate the deficiency. But Bolton was interested in a nearby library. Would “the Bancroft collection…be opened with good will to a Stanford man specializing in the Southwest and West?” he asked Adams.70 Adams assured him that it would be.71
Bolton was a rising star that Texas did not want to lose. President Sidney E. Mezes offered Bolton a full professorship at $3,000, freedom from teaching medieval and elementary history courses, and funds for his Mexican archives work.72 It was not enough. After further negotiation Bolton accepted a full professorship at Stanford with a salary of $3,500 and the understanding that the university would support his Mexican research. He would teach undergraduate courses on westward expansion and Spain in America. His graduate seminars would cover the Anglo- American West and Southwest.73
In June Bolton bid a fond farewell to President Mezes and the University of Texas. He was grateful for the opportunity to work in Texas, but the Stanford offer and the chance to research in the Bancroft was too good to pass up. “I believe that the University of Texas has a bright future,” h
e concluded, “which I shall watch with a warm personal interest and sympathy.”74
Turner congratulated Bolton on his Stanford appointment. “I think you are right in going to the coast,” Turner wrote. “You probably have a better opportunity, particularly if the Bancroft Library is accessible, to continue your studies of Spanish American relations, and Stanford is an exceedingly attractive place.”75 Turner's enthusiasm for the Bancroft was genuine. He surveyed the collections when he taught in the 1908 summer school. He promised to return to Cal and write a new book based on what he had learned.76
So, it would seem, the die was cast. Bolton would go to Stanford with the expectation that he could use the Bancroft Library across the bay. His desire to join the Berkeley faculty had to be put away because the two university presidents had an understanding that they would not recruit faculty from each other.77 Such were Bolton's expectations when he and his family arrived in Palo Alto in the fall of 1909, but unexpected shifts in the professional firmament would influence his placement once again.
As Bolton prepared to move to Stanford, Turner once again became the pivot around which Bolton's professional life rotated. “Here I am out in the redwoods,” Morse Stephens wrote Turner from his camp in bohemian grove, “and thinking of you.”78 Stephens had a serious heart problem and was planning a leave in the spring of 1910 in order to relieve the strain of university work while gathering documents for the Bancroft in Spain. Would Turner pinch-hit for Stephens in the spring? Stephens had thoughtfully delegated the administrative work to Frederick J. Teggart, so Turner would be relatively free to research in the Bancroft. The offer of a temporary appointment was only the leading edge of a much broader proposal. President Wheeler wanted to hire Turner permanently at $5,000 per year, $1,000 more than he was getting in Madison. “And the Bancroft Library!” Stephens exclaimed as he warmed to his task. “Here we give you a field to work on and materials to burn.” Stephens painted a dreamy scene for Turner: “Here in my tent among the redwoods, I think of you; I think of California, which needs you; I think of the u. of C. with its certainty of being a great historical school owing to its Dr. Turner and the Bancroft Library.” It was a hard sales pitch and Stephens left nothing out. “You and I could always work together, for we love each other.” Stephens's love was of the courtly variety, and he was ardently courting Turner. “Now I cannot argue well on rotten paper in a tent,” Stephens complained, but urged Turner to come to California in the spring to resolve all doubts.79
California had propositioned Turner at the right moment. Some Wisconsin regents had become unsympathetic to Turner's special teaching arrangement.80 So Turner, the reluctant (but experienced) maiden, responded with serious flirtation. The Bancroft was the chief dower that Stephens offered Turner. “The purchase of the Bancroft Library shows the trend of the University towards historical productions, and the Academy of Pacific Coast History will be our own publishing mechanism.”81 The regents had founded the academy in 1907 to fund acquisitions and publications.82 Its publishing function was important because the University of California did not yet have a scholarly press as such, but maintained a small printing plant for syllabi and other campus publications. The academy council included President Wheeler, Phoebe Apperson Hearst, James K. Moffitt, and other representatives of San Francisco fortunes. These well-heeled donors, Stephens hoped, would support the work of the Bancroft Library as well as scholarly publication.83 With a great library and a mechanism for publishing in place, Turner might as well face the facts and accept his fate. “Now, my dear boy,” Stephens proposed, “I wish you could see President Wheeler,” who would be in Chicago the following month.84
When Wheeler made his offer in writing, he insisted that Turner begin his permanent appointment in January 1910. “I think you know us pretty well already, and can estimate reasonably the factors to be considered in making a decision” without having to look over the university during the spring. “I should rather you would decide the matter at once,” Wheeler insisted.85 Turner agreed to meet Wheeler in Chicago on September 16.
News that Turner might be available spread quickly. Adams made another pitch from Palo Alto, which Turner quickly rejected.86 Bolton must have known about Stanford's approach to Turner and probably had heard of California's offer.
So Wheeler went to Chicago, and the world waited on Turner's decision. No one waited with more anticipation than Morse Stephens, who stewed in Berkeley on the day Turner and Wheeler met. “The result of that interview means so much to the Pacific Coast, to California, to the u. of C., and—oh! selfish that I am—to me. I think my cup of happiness would run over, if you were to be my colleague here.” Everything was in readiness for Turner if only he would come. If only. Perhaps Stephens's nervousness sprang from his intuitive understanding of Turner. Turner intended to leave Wisconsin, but this did not mean that the great prize was in California's hands; it meant that the great prize was truly up for grabs.
When Turner and Wheeler met in Chicago, Turner was almost certain that he would cast his lot with Berkeley, but he wanted to give his alma mater the courtesy of one more opportunity to hold him in Wisconsin. Wheeler gave Turner some time to think it over.87 Turner had a second reason for stalling Wheeler in Chicago. Haskins had learned of the meeting with Wheeler and sent a telegram directly to the meeting place. “Can't you delay decision?” it read. “If you leave should like to see what can be done elsewhere.”88 Elsewhere, of course, meant Harvard. Turner was an expert delayer, so he easily acceded to Haskins's wish. Luckily for Haskins's cause, Turner was slated to receive an honorary doctorate from Harvard on October 5 as part of the inauguration of President A. Lawrence Lowell. It was a grand occasion with many university presidents and prominent academics in attendance, including Wheeler and Stephens. In Cambridge Turner finally made up his mind. Seeing the sickly Stephens convinced Turner that he might soon die or retire. Then the responsibility for building the history department would fall entirely on Turner's shoulders, a prospect decidedly repugnant to him. Turner would go to Harvard.
When the announcement of Turner's move to Harvard finally came, congratulations flooded in to him. In acknowledging Bolton's letter, Turner responded: “Needless to say, I shall watch your conquest of the Pacific coast and southwestern history with keen interest. Let me know what you are doing.”89 Turner's decision to go to Harvard had left Morse Stephens in the lurch. “Poor Morse,” Turner wrote his wife, was “badly cut up. And it hurts me too.”90 Stephens's wounds stemmed from a practical problem as well as emotional distress. He had a great library and no one of great stature to work in it. The development of graduate studies in history was one of the reasons for the acquisition of the library, but there was no nationally recognized specialist in American history at Berkeley. He wanted a big name, but if not Turner, who? Bolton was a rising star. His experience in the Mexican archives, his spectacular discovery of the Pike papers, his publications, and his research interests made him the most obvious candidate for the Berkeley position, but now the gentlemen's agreement between Jordan and Wheeler prevented Stephens from directly approaching Bolton. With Turner finally out of reach and no plausible alternative in sight, Stephens departed for Europe.
When Stephens went to Spain in 1910, he made Teggart acting department head even though he did not have a regular appointment and only held a bachelor's degree. This proved to be a revealing mistake. Teggart took it upon himself to openly accuse his department brethren “of wholesale bad teaching.” At his urging, the department met weekly rather than monthly, a schedule that would carry into the summer too, if the interim chair had anything to say about it. Teggart was concerned that the doctoral program was not up to snuff. Consequently, the department named a committee of three to consider changes in the graduate program. When the committee presented its report, Teggart offered an alternative that the department adopted instead of the committee's. In short, Teggart's new rules required that students be examined in fields determined by the faculty before being advance
d to doctoral candidacy, which seemed reasonable enough. However, Teggart decided to apply the new regulations by requiring a student who was already advanced to candidacy to stand for a snap examination. The poor chap failed, as Teggart suspected he would. Teggart claimed that the man was studying for reexamination, “was entirely satisfied with the treatment accorded,” and regretted only that he had “not been held up last year,” a comment that must have been read as a rebuke of the student's unnamed advisor. The upshot of all of this meddling, Teggart claimed, was a “remarkable bond of unity.” The faculty were resolved to maintain “the new spirit that has been developed this year,” a remark that implicitly criticized Stephens's leadership of the department.91
Stephens must have gone slack-jawed when he read Teggart's letter. It was as if Teggart had set out to destroy departmental harmony while undermining Stephens's authority. His sheer effrontery was mind-boggling. A lecturer by annual appointment with comparatively little classroom experience had taken it upon himself to condemn the teaching of the entire department. Without a PhD himself, Teggart believed he should determine standards and procedures for the degree instead of professors who had earned the doctorate. Having never been a doctoral student, Teggart decided to terrorize graduate students in the name of standards he had never had to meet himself. The department went along with him, but that only speaks to the power that a department chair in those days had over his colleagues, if only temporarily in Teggart's case. They could wait for Stephens to return and put things right, but their docility may also speak to the considerable power of Teggart's personality and intellect. If Stephens had not recognized that Teggart was a loose cannon, he certainly knew it after reading the interim chair's letter.
Herbert Eugene Bolton_Historian of the American Borderlands Page 11
