President Jordan continued to work on Turner. In March he obtained an agreement from the Stanford trustees to give Turner an annual two months’ leave of absence to enable his research in other libraries “until such time as our library becomes adequate.”24 In early April Jordan went to Madison and made Stanford's best offer to Turner: $5,000 per year, plus two months’ annual leave for research until a library suitable for Turner's purposes had been gathered at Stanford. On April 17 the Wisconsin regents countered Stanford's offer. They did not advance Turner's salary, but freed him from teaching for one semester per year to carry on his research and writing.25
Had the world continued to turn on its axis as usual, Turner might have waited to hear something from Cal before giving an answer to Wisconsin or Stanford, but the earth quaked. Early in the morning of April 18 the San Andreas Fault gave way, causing catastrophic damage in San Francisco and the surrounding area. Jordan was in bed at his Stanford home. “We were all awakened by tremendous jolts, after which the house was shaken with great violence as a rat might be shaken by a dog, and objects began to fly through the air.”26 Devastation from the quake was terrific. Ceilings collapsed, buildings toppled, roads buckled, and the earth yawned. Fire soon added to the destruction in San Francisco, which burned for three days. Perhaps three thousand people died during the cataclysm.27
Stanford University, whose impressive stone buildings had only recently been completed, was in ruins. On the day of the quake President Jordan found a typewriter and someone who could work it. He sent a heartbreaking letter to Turner. “All of the beautiful buildings are gone, the loss being about $2,800,000.” Who could even imagine such stupendous losses, much less their replacement? He asked Turner to “let our matter rest in abeyance for the present until we can know just where we are.”28 Jordan's letter to Farrand in Ithaca was more specific: the losses included the new library.29 Still, two days later Jordan wrote encouragingly to Turner, “Better come to us in 1907 as you have [previously] suggested.”30 It was too late. As soon as Stanford toppled and San Francisco burned, the game was over. In April it was impossible to know the long-term impact of the earthquake on the California economy. Jordan had told Turner that the damage to San Francisco alone was more than a billion dollars. It was reasonable to assume that the disaster would adversely affect the University of California's future as well as Stanford's. Turner folded his hand, accepted Wisconsin's counteroffer, and informed his Stanford friends. He claimed that he had made up his mind the day before the earthquake, but this was probably a white lie intended to make Farrand and Jordan feel better.31
Quite by chance, when the San Andreas Fault gave way, President Wheeler was in Austin for the inauguration of University of Texas president Houston. Bolton had heard about Cal's acquisition of the Bancroft and asked Wheeler about it, probably before news of the earthquake reached Austin. “We mean to exploit it ourselves,” Wheeler said, a response that seemed to indicate that it might be closed to outsiders.32 Whatever restrictions Wheeler might place on the use of the library, Bolton had his eye on it and the man who would control its fate.
But there might not be a library to exploit. While Bolton and Wheeler spoke, the fire raced through the streets of San Francisco. Two great libraries stood in the path of catastrophe, California's Bancroft and the Sutro. In Berkeley Stephens anxiously wondered if California's newly acquired library would be lost. After three days of fire the Bancroft was unscathed, though the building “was a little racked by the earthquake,” as Stephens said.33 Although legend has it that Stephens sent students to man bucket brigades to save the Bancroft, Cal was just lucky. Bancroft's building was outside the fire zone. Sutro's library was not so fortunate. More than half of it was lost in the flames, including nearly all of the priceless incunabula.34
Stephens was practically giddy with relief when he informed Turner that the library was safe. He hoped to move it to California Hall on the Berkeley campus as soon as possible.35 Summer school would go ahead as planned, Stephens explained. by the end of May the books were in California Hall, ready for Turner's inspection in the summer. Teggart oversaw the transfer of the collection and also managed to effect his own transfer to Berkeley as curator of the Bancroft and history instructor.36
Despite the earthquake and attendant damage, Stephens and Jordan still hoped to appoint Turner. In early August Turner joined President Jordan in a visit to the renowned botanist Luther Burbank in Santa Rosa, which was near the earthquake's epicenter.37 From Santa Rosa the Turners went to the bohemian grove campground, the famous resort of the bohemian Club, an important gathering of influential Californians.38 Jordan, Wheeler, and Stephens belonged to the club and were probably there. After seeing the Jinx, an annual play put on by the members, the Turners returned briefly to Berkeley and then went to Lake Tahoe for a month.39 The California competition for Turner was not over.
It is impossible to read about Turner's leisurely summer gambols without recalling Bolton, who meanwhile labored without surcease. Turner knew that he was on top of the world and could afford to take long vacations without fear of losing reputation. However, one must conclude that he did not advance his research and writing in the summer of 1906. Turner was a brilliant man who perhaps believed that there was time enough for him to do his work, and that it would be best if he did it under the most pleasant of circumstances. Bolton was driven to work from daylight to dark and into the night if he could find a candle.
Bolton regarded his year in Mexico funded by Carnegie as a unique, careermaking opportunity. He worked accordingly. “I was hunting materials, not pleasure,” he told Fred, “and found both.” In Mexico City Bolton rented a furnished two-story house for about $60 a month, which was more than he had ever paid anywhere. It was in the American quarter and had all the modern conveniences—electric lights and indoor plumbing. He hired a Mexican woman who cooked and cleaned. The large house and servant were necessary: the Boltons now had a fifth daughter, Gertrude. The family especially liked the cool summer weather in Mexico City. “So far,” he reported, “all are delighted.”40
The presence of Gertrude and the children must have been a great consolation for Bolton, who was in the libraries and archives six days a week. “I am over my ears in work,” he remarked. He arrived at the Archivo General at 7:30 each morning and worked there until 1:30, when it closed. Every other afternoon he went to the Museo Nacional, which was open until 6:00, or to the Biblioteca Nacional, which closed at 8:00. On the other afternoons he stayed home to arrange his notes. Nights and weekends he worked on the articles for the American Indian handbook and his own book on Texas Indians.41 “Besides, I have to keep preparing the way for future work in the archives.”42 He seemed able to keep up this pace indefinitely.
Hard work was nothing new to Bolton, but he had to learn how to apply his energy in a way consonant with Mexican social and political conditions. The short hours and unhelpful officials in the Archivo General aggravated him. The records custodians thought Bolton was a rude Yankee—worse, a Texan—who made demands on them. It was up to Bolton to adapt to local conditions. At first he did this grudgingly; it would take him many years to develop sincere appreciation for Mexican culture and gratitude for the assistance that many Mexicans had given to him and his students. Decades later Bolton reminisced that “there were numerous occasions on which the Mexicans concluded that the American [Bolton] didn't know good manners.”43 That sort of self-awareness did not exist in the Bolton of the first decade of the twentieth century.
Bolton was ethnocentric, but he was able to succeed in Mexico because he would not take no for an answer and because he did business with a smile on his face, his complaining letters notwithstanding. He also understood that letters of introduction from high U.S., Mexican, and church officials were needed to unlock doors. Accordingly, before going to Mexico, he asked Jameson to provide him with letters from a Roman Catholic cardinal, Secretary of State Elihu Root, and other important people.
He also contacted Father Zephyrin