Church
April 16, 1974 | Tuesday
Michael
Marshall and Mitch speed to the rendezvous spot in Piedmont's business district on Piedmont Avenue where Genevieve is found waiting outside an ice cream shop, payphone close by. She gets into Marshall's "new" convertible, and says, "Into the hills, boys. There's something there still nagging at me."
The Oakland Hills up in Piedmont are really reminiscent of the Hollywood Hills; the residences are a bit less luxurious but the topography is similar. When Marshall, Mitch, and Viv get to the peaks on Alta and Scenic Avenues, they take in a gorgeous view of the Bay in between the eucalyptus-shrouded homes, most of which look like they were originally designed as holiday bungalows and cottages from the early part of the century.
Viv gives Marshall driving directions like her Detect Connections was a tracking device, easing Marshall slowly on the winding streets until the car finds itself on one of the bends of Scenic Avenue outside an old rambling redwood cottage-style home (number 324), with some more recent additions tacked on. The house is by no means abandoned—there's a sedan parked in the driveway and the garden looks well-kept—but many of the features look run-down, original to the house and apparently haven't been touched since they were built, and the age has to be pushing 60, 70 years just by the style of it. As Marshall does a discreet drive-by, the three of you in the car can see outside the wooden front gate is a large, prominent wooden sign with the legend "Tecolote Pec" carved on it and a carved-wooden spotted owl totem perched on top of it.
Viv says, "So this is the terminus of one of the threads I was tracing from the Mansa site and from Patricia. The flavor of the connection I'm getting here is more Patricia than SLA; but it's old, old in the sense that something of importance happened here a long time ago but has been reawakened as of late. Maybe... by Patricia? It's hazy, indistinct; but the thread, thin as it might be, is there."
Brant
Marshall parks around the block from the house and tosses his "I BELONG HERE" glyph on the dashboard, ensuring it's visible to anyone who approaches from the front (like a meter maid, nosy neighbor, or beat cop). Then, to Mitch, he says: "What's the vibe?"
Jeff
Any History-B?
>> ACTIVATE … SUCCESS by 4
>> DETECT … SUCCESS by 4
>> ANALYZE … SUCCESS by 4
Michael
No History B!
Jeff
Mitch holds up one finger in a 'wait' gesture, closes his eyes, and listens as hard as he can, trying to pick pattern out of the literal noise.
Marshall
"Got anything?" Marshall asks, quietly.
Marshall's also looking around the neighborhood. How busy or active is the area? What time of day is it? Does it seem like most people are home or away (i.e., lights on, cars in driveways, etc.)?
Michael
So it's around 3:30 in the afternoon at this point and the neighborhood is at the level of busyness that a upper-middle class neighborhood might have on an April Tuesday; kids coming home from school, etc. So you've probably got homemakers and retirees and the otherwise non-employed at home right now. The Piedmont Hills used to be a getaway area for the well-heeled in San Francisco and these days it's a redoubt of same, but the residents are permanent rather than holidaying. Very white, some old money, some new: and most importantly a destination for white flight when Oakland became majority-Black during the postwar Great Migration.
Brant
OK, so the convertible won't stand out too much. Anyway, Marshall has his service weapon concealed in a shoulder holster, and he's waiting for Mitch to either give the all clear or light everything on fire.
Michael
Mitch holds up one finger in a 'wait' gesture, closes his eyes, and listens as hard as he can, trying to pick pattern out of the literal noise.
Mitch doesn't necessarily hear anything as the three Sandmen sit in Marshall's parked car. The house that Viv pointed out definitely does give off a different kind of vibe to the other houses in the neighborhood, which have tried to keep up with their neighbors as far as the fashions of the time are concerned. With no History B energy to speak of, Mitch doesn't have much else to go on without spending some time expressly looking for oracular inspiration. "Tecolote Pec," Genevieve says. "Sounds indigenous Mexican, maybe. And the owl... given the involvement of the Bohemians, that is, let's say, somewhat suggestive."
Jeff
Oracular information, yes.
Michael
Once the conversation and Marshall and Genevieve trying to helpfully put information and queries out there subsides, Mitch gets back into the zone and really listens. Some kids playing down the street, sure. Some work being done in a nearby backyard, hammering, a drill. The neighborhood's vibes are alive and healthy. Mitch listens in the direction of 324 Scenic, the House Eerily Referred To As Tecolote Pec, trying to see more clearly what the nearby matrix of aural information occludes. The grounds of 324 are quiet. There's a sense of peace there. Is it being watched? Watched by URIEL right now, sure. But Mitch feels on an instinctive level that the house is not watched by the Enemy. Nor, importantly, by the Bohemians, despite that red herring of an owl statue outside. Birds. Huh, birds. The birds are singing there, in the backyard of 324. They like it there. The energy of the person who lives there is intense, powerful, Mitch can somehow sense. But whoever it is, they're also good to the birds, which seems like a good omen to Mitch.
Jeff
"The owl is not what it seems."
Brant
"Well," Marshall says, finally, slapping the steering wheel gently with the palm of his hand, "it's not Huế, I guess. No need to overthink it, right? Right." Marshall gets out of the car, adjusts his outfit, and walks up to the front gate. If he doesn't die or explode upon opening it, he'll go knock on the front door.
Michael
After about 10 seconds, the door opens and Marshall sees an older woman standing there, evidently having just bustled to answer the door from elsewhere in the rambling house. She looks to be in her mid-to-late 50s, with short grey hair, a broad, squarish face and strikingly dark brown eyes. She's wearing a paint-spattered smock over a bright orange dress, she smooths it by wiping her paint-stained hands on it. "Good afternoon, may I help you?" she says in a pleasant, upper-class register. She doesn't seem to recognize who Marshall is.
Mitch can see the older lady's aura from the car. It's clean, normal, no apparent physical or mental or spiritual health problems. She's happy, her aura tinged with the silvery sparkles that indicate creativity or imagination. Maybe she's a little put out at having been interrupted while painting but she's cheery enough in her interaction with this unexpected visitor.
Jeff
"Well," Marshall says, finally, slapping the steering wheel gently with the palm of his hand, "it's not Huế, I guess. No need to overthink it, right? Right." Marshall gets out of the car, adjusts his outfit, and walks up to the front gate. If he doesn't die or explode upon opening it, he'll go knock on the front door.
Either just before or simultaneous with this, let's say Mitch elaborates slightly. "It's not part of the Bohemian Club's whole deal. The owl, you know, it's just an owl? That's what I meant. No Enemy spoor, either." He doesn't add his wild speculation that this place might have a connection to the Morgan memeplex, some History-Bohemian version of her, because that's wild speculation.
When Marshall glances back at the car, as he surely will in the next few seconds, Mitch gives a prearranged ASL sign indicating "all clear, no Enemy detected."
"church" | American Sign Language (ASL)
(We totally prearranged this, we're SANDMAN, c'mon.)
Brant
After about 10 seconds, the door opens and Marshall sees an older woman standing there, evidently having just bustled to answer the door from elsewhere in the rambling house. She looks to be in her mid-to-late 50s, with short grey hair, a broad, squarish face and strikingly dark brown eyes. She's wearing a paint-spattered smock over a bright orange dress, she smooths it by wiping her paint-stained hands on it. "Good afternoon, may I help you?" she says in a pleasant, upper-class register. She doesn't seem to recognize who Marshall is.
Marshall shifts into a different cadence and accent to match the woman's. "Hello," he says with a broad smile, "very sorry to bother you, but my friends and I were passing by and noticed your ... owl. And sign." He gestures over his shoulder at the sign-totem. He turns back to her smiling, saying nothing more.
Michael
"Oh... oh, yes! My father's doing, of course," she says, extending her hand and introducing herself. "Kai Martínez DuCasse. Are you familiar with my father's work?" [Can leave a pause here, but she'll say the next bit unbidden regardless; Marshall's Reaction roll ended up a 23, so she's incredibly eager to share her joy at someone "recognizing" her father's handiwork and Marshall can tell she is.] "Yes, he was quite taken with the iconography of the owl—all that Bohemian stuff, you understand—and took the house's name from the spotted owl in Nahuatl and Spanish: tecolote pecoso."
Brant
Marshall shakes her hand. "You know, I'm not familiar with him," he says, his smile never wavering. "Invite me and my friends in for tea so that we can talk." He's gonna NLP her.
Michael
Coooool. Okay, so that seems to me like it'll be an Enthrallment attempt, we'll start with Public Speaking-24 (I'm giving you a +2 from the Excellent Reaction roll) and then Enthrallment (Suggest)-18. And that will cost you the usual 1d6-2 Corruption.
Brant
>> SUCCESS by 14
>> SUCCESS by 6
>> 2d6-2 … 0
Michael
Mrs. DuCasse readily and eagerly invites all three of you in for a cup of tea. The description of the inside of Tecolote Pec is probably best described in the introduction to this series of oral history interviews with Kai's mother, Elsie Whitaker Martínez, so I'll paste this in as old-school "boxed text":
All of the interviews were held at 324 Scenic Avenue, Piedmont, now the home of Mrs. Martinez's daughter, Mrs. Micaela Martinez Du Casse, but originally the studio of Xavier Martinez which and his friends built from the architectural plans of Frederick Meyer in 1908. The interviewer's first impressions were of much warm redwood; a large living room with a high ceiling in the middle contrasted by low, cozy, built-in places to sit and work around the edges of the room, paintings and art work everywhere; a breathtaking view of Oakland and the Estuary from the dining room table (carved by Herman Whitaker over sixty years ago); a whirl of life as three generations of a very active family bustled about the fairly small house. On the street level the house consists of one large room and a small kitchen, then down some steep stairs are the sleeping rooms on the second level, and then down farther (the house is built on a hill-side) to the quieter art studio rooms, originally built to isolate Marty from the hubbub after his daughter was born in 1913.
I can add to this description that as Marshall, Mitch, and Genevieve walk into the main floor's main room, they can see lots of yellowed Martínez family photos on the walls, mantelpieces, and bookshelves, including ones of the whole "Crowd" from back in the 1900s: Martínez with, among many others, Jack London, George Sterling, Ambrose Bierce, Gelett Burgess, Anna Strunsky, Joaquin Miller, and so on and so forth. Also in the room are a few of Kai's own works: pencil sketches and studies for strongly, boldly Catholic-coded portraits and scenes of Jesus, the saints, the Stations of the Cross, and other biblical themes that look fit for installation in churches as murals. Genevieve's eyes are wide as she takes all of this in.
"Thank you so much for inviting us into your home, Mrs. DuCasse," she says after introductions are done. Kai is still overwhelmingly welcoming as she prepares tea for the four of you, and under Marshall's Enthrallment as well. "It's no trouble at all! It's always nice to see visitors who are interested in the history of this place and the illustrious folks who have spent time here."
Brant
Marshall has his hands glasped behind his back like he's idly walking through a museum gallery. He checks out the photographs and art, and generally looks around. (Pausing here for Mitch to catch up).
Jeff
"So what happened here in 1906?"
Michael
"Well, it's funny you mention that. I wouldn't likely be here if it weren't for the big earthquake! Father himself only barely escaped being killed in his bed by having been out on a huge drunk the night before... at the Bohemian Club, in fact! At least that's what Mother always said." "So all the members of The Crowd fled wherever they could—Jack to Sonoma, Ambrose Bierce back to Washington, D.C., and Father up here to Piedmont, where he was taken in by my grandfather. And naturally it was there and then that my parents' love affair blossomed in full. They'd been flirting with each other right before the 'quake, but I'm sure the close quarters at Grandfather's house down the road only helped. And not too long after, Father hired Frederick Meyer to design a house around his little studio by the reservoir, Father and his friends all pitched in, and the Spotted Owl was born! But yes, if it weren't for the Great Earthquake of 1906, there's every chance I wouldn't exist!"
"Oh! And the anniversary is coming up in a couple of days, isn't it?"
Brant
"Oh, your grandfather's place is down the road? Where, exactly?" Marshall has taken a seat and crossed his legs.
Michael
"My mother's home growing up—it sounds fanciful, but it's all true—was the old Silk Culture Experimental Station right down Scenic Avenue here. The state government had been doing experiments to introduce sericulture to California. Mulberry trees, silkworm pods, the whole lot. But the experiment was tossed out when the silk trade opened back up with China. The state sold the land and the lab buildings for a song to the YWCA, who sold it to my grandparents who moved in in... '02, I think. Nothing left of all that now, but my uncle Laurie still lives across the street from the old lot. Historically this has been a very tight-knit little neighborhood. The Londons ended up here after Jack died, the Sutros had their summer homes here... so much rich history."
Brant
“And what is it that you do, Mrs. DuCasse? Artistically inclined like your forebears? I couldn’t help but notice your property seems to attract a fair number of birds. Are you a birder?”
Michael
"Oh yes, I'm an artist like my father before me. And I teach—Liturgical Art—at Lone Mountain College," she says, shrugging her shoulders as if to point out the pietistic pieces on the walls. "I got sent away to a nunnery when I was a little girl and, well, the art simply spoke to me. Not sure what Father ever made of my little turn to the Church, he was quite the pagan." Kai smiles and shares a nervous chuckle. "As for the birds, well, they do seem to like it here, don't they? It's all the eucalyptus they planted back after the Gold Rush felled and ate up all the native cover, I suppose." Now Mitch recognizes Lone Mountain College from his sidewalk-pounding before encountering the Soulless Man yesterday; it's a small, Catholic college just a block north of USF, run by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. It used to basically be the women's campus for USF but since both schools have gone co-ed, its original purpose of educating women and aspirant nuns is a little bit muddied. Seems like a likely merger might be in the works for both schools.
Brant
When the tea kettle whistles and Mrs. DuCasse steps out to get it, Marshall signs to Mitch and Viv: “Another thread. Not sure it leads anywhere new. Should we investigate the other residence?”
Michael
Viv signs back quickly in ASL, "Not feeling it. The key is her father. And the Crowd."
Brant
I can’t think of anything else to do here, unless Mitch has something. So barring that I guess we’re done; Marshall will thank their host for her time and the tea and then head out to the car.
Michael
(NB: This next bit is going on the assumption that Genevieve is up to date and privy to the whole "the artist-Bohemians in 1906 engineered a reality shift that was retro-ante-subsequently undone and rewound" theory we're working off of. Even if not, the gist of what she gathered from her Detect Connections still holds true.)
Viv says, once we're free to talk in the car, "Two things: one, the Patricia Hearst connection I felt that led through Oakland to here is still strong; given we just met the daughter of one of the Crowd's most prominent members, I have to assume that Kai's family legacy and Patricia's are intertwined, and so is the fact that the SLA attended the Mansa show and was close to a possible reality shift. How they fit together exactly, I don't know." "Two: given all the themes we saw in that house regarding Xavier Martínez's obsessions—Mexican Indigenous tradition, pagan vs. Christian iconography, hell, even their last name!—I think it's imperative that we get Roger to speak with Kai, and possibly Kai's mother Elsie as well. I saw a photo in there of Kai with her mother; it looked fairly recent. She could very well still be alive." "Oh, and two-point-five: let's call all this in to Sophie when we get back to Kearny. She'll be able to get us a full workup on the Martínezes. Sadly I'm not as up on visual art as I am literature."
Brant
“Hm. Well. Roger’s availability remains to be seen — he’s been absent with some degree of leave for a while now. Honestly,” Marshall says, as if realizing something, “I’m not even sure how we can get ahold of him.”
Michael
Okay, as promised, here is the dossier on Xavier Martínez that Sophie has put together from her original Montgomery Block work and after hearing back from the folks who just interviewed his daughter. (Feel free to refer to the Wikipedia page, that's the core biography. Sophie will highlight stuff that seems suggestive for our current set of working theories on the Bohemian Crowd.)
So yes, Martínez was born in Guadalajara in 1869, very conscious of his indigenous heritage from an early age but from family records only documented 1/8th Native; his mother was Spanish. He received tutoring in art, mixing indigenous and Mexican contemporary motifs in his early work. He was adopted and made the protégé after his mother's death of a diplomatic family and followed them to San Francisco in his mid-20s. He soon fell in with the Bohemians, taught and exhibited in San Francisco, spent a year in Paris at the famed École des Beaux-Arts, hotbed of Decadent symbolism in the late 1890s, and returned to San Francisco with a reinvigorated Californian Tonalism heavily inspired by native Mesoamerican themes. And then the earthquake. The story Kai told about her father barely escaping death because he had been out drinking is true, as far as it goes; it's confirmed in Elsie Whitaker's extensive 1969 oral history, which Sophie sends along from the Berkeley ILL, and recommends the group reviews for more information on Sterling, London, Bierce, et al. (Sophie maybe doesn't expect her fellow URIEL members to read it but luckily for all you "higher selves," you can use Ctrl-F to search it )
The oral history, Sophie summarizes, shows that after the earthquake, the "courtship" between the 35-year-old Martínez and the 16-year-old Elsie Whitaker did indeed blossom under Elsie's father Herman's roof in Piedmont. Elsie says in the oral history she wanted to choose one of the four men intensely courting her: "I decided to pick out the one who would give me the most interesting life. So, Marty was the most picturesque, so I picked him." Their marriage wasn't "happy" as these things go—Martínez, a "Latin lover," was apparently violently jealous of men who approached his young, classically beautiful blonde wife, and the two of them slowly drifted into living separate lives, even after Kai was born in 1913. Eventually Elsie moved out to live with her "companion" Harriet Dean in Carmel-by-the-Sea, where George Sterling had moved with the core of his following after the '06 quake, and that's where Elsie lives to this day. Martínez fell even further into drink after Elsie left, growing more and more obsessed with Mexican pre-Columbian culture, art, and architecture, struggling to find meaning in his ancestry despite his formal distance from it. Health issues followed, of course, and he passed away in 1943; Elsie and Kai welcomed him back into their lives near the end and took care of him at Carmel-by-the-Sea.
And of course Sophie will pass along the contents of the phone call from Jo regarding Roger not being at home.