Guy Washington Rollins

Guy Washington Rollins was born March 27, 1870, in Minersville, Beaver County, Utah, to John Henry Rollins, Sr., and Nancy Malinda West Rollins. John and Nancy had been married 10 years, having wed in June of 1860 when Nancy was just 16 years old and John was 19. In the 1870 U.S. Federal Census John Henry, was working as a freighter, Nancy was keeping house, and in the home were their first 4 of 11 children: Ephraim Edward 9, Nancy Malinda, 7, John Henry Rollins, Jr., 4, (my great grandfather), and William Samuel, 2 years old. John Henry Rollins, Sr., was born in Iowa, Nancy was born in Illinois and all their children were born in Utah. The family listed the value of their real estate at $200 and their personal estate at $600.

By the 1880 census the Rollins family was living in Snowflake, Apache County, Arizona. They were listed as follows: John Henry Sr., 38, Nancy Malinda West Rollins, 36, Ephraim Edward, 18, Nancy Malinda, 17, John Henry Rollins, Jr., 14, William Samuel, 12, Guy Washington, 10, Jesse West, 8, Isles Marion 5, Porter Moses, 2, and living with them was Nancy Malinda West Rollins' mother, Margaret Cooper West, a 75-year old widow listed as a "doctress." Margaret's husband, Samuel Walker West, had passed away when the family was living in Utah in 1873. In this census, John Henry Sr., was listed as a farmer, and his sons Ephraim and John Jr., as laborers on the farm.

For some reason, Guy was living in Safford, Graham County, Arizona, in September of 1892. He was listed on the Arizona Voter Registration record on September 13th, and was 22 years old. By 1894 he was living in Pima, Arizona, and was listed on the Arizona Voter Registration record dated May 30th. His older brother, John Henry Rollins, Jr., had lived in Safford and married his wife, Dortha Roxana Madsen there in 1885. They had two children, my grandmother, Dortha Evelyn Rollins in 1886 and her brother, John Delbert Rollins, in 1888, then tragically, John Henry was killed in a wagon accident and died on Christmas Day in 1889. Maybe Guy had gone to Safford from Snowflake, Arizona, because his older brother had been living there with his wife. Or perhaps Guy went to Safford after the death of his brother to help out his sister-in-law, Dortha.

For some reason by 1898 Guy had gone to Alaska probably hoping to strike it rich in the Klondike Gold Rush. He must have met his future partner there, Peter Lowrie DeCot, who was from California, although it's possible they met in California and Guy had gone there before treking to Alaska.

Guy was listed in the 1901 Canadian census living in the Yukon Territory. He had arrived there January 1, 1898, and had lived there for 3-3/4 years. He was working as a placer miner. Perhaps he had stopped in Canada for a while after leaving the Klondike Gold Rush.

I found an article about Guy and his partner Peter Lowrie Decoto, who in one week took out $5,000 in gold dust from the leased claim they had on Canyon Creek, a branch of Six-Mile Creek in the Chilkoot Pass of Alaksa. Peter Decoto had been a packer over the historic trail during the Klondike gold stampede.

Although their claim was good, water could not be led to it. As a consequence, they soon gave up their lease and purchased a half interest in a claim on Mills Flat from a man named Gladhouse and his partner, Jack Frost of San Jose, California. That winter Rollins and Decoto stayed to whipsaw and to work the claim, while Decoto's other partners, Gladhouse and Kingsley Smith left for California to bring back their wives.

While at Mill Flat, Decoto bought an Alaskan sled and several Malamute puppies, paying $5 each for them. Decoto and Rollins worked the claim until fall using an improvised hydraulic apparatus, but being unable to get to bedrock, abandoned it. Commissioned by his partners, Decoto set out for Seattle, Washington, with the hope of selling their claim.

Following is a continuation of the story of Decoto and his friend Guy Rollins from an article written for a museum regarding local history for the area of Decoto, California, which was named for Peter Decoto's family:

Taking his outfit and dogs, Decoto engaged passage on a small schooner. After sailing for three weeks, during which time the craft ran into a blow which cracked her bowsprit and upset the galley stove, putting the cook to rout, the seafarers found themselves back in Cook’s Inlet, the point from which they had set sail. The captain swore long and heartily. A careless sailor had left an iron belaying pin beside the compass, and the ship, in effect, had been sailing around the belaying pin.

The schooner stood to sea again and Decoto landed safely at Sitka with enough money to pay for his passage to Juneau, point of departure for Seattle. He set foot on the Juneau beach with but 75 cents in his pocket. Hardly had he landed when he met two men he knew. They advised him to take a job at longshoring. He accepted their advice and worked for 42 hours straight, at 50 cents an hour. Then, with $21 to the good, he rented a cabin and got a job in the “Glory Hole” of the Treadwell, one of the richest mining properties of Alaska. The “Glory Hole” acquired its name from the fact that the miners were frequently killed in the “diggings” by falling rocks and thus transported to Glory.

After acquiring a “stake,” Decoto continued his journey to Seattle, where, unable to sell the claim at Mills Flat, he returned to draw what money he had left. He was now a full-fledged Alaskan. But he did not linger to enjoy that distinction. Gold in fabulous quantities had been struck in the Klondike and the greatest gold rush in history was on, with the storm-swept peaks of Alaska barring the converging thousands from the gold fields.

Decoto arrived in Juneau; the outfitting point for the upper Yukon, to find the rush had taken it inhabitants by surprise. The stores were short of clothing and other supplies, and those who had already outfitted at San Francisco, Seattle or Victoria were fortunate. Hundreds had already landed; hundreds more were pouring in. The beach was piled high with outfits and dotted with tents; boats plied back and forth between ship and shore in the task of landing freight. Activity was everywhere.

There were two chief routes to the Klondike. One was the Chilkoot trail, from Dyea to Chilkoot Pass, 27 miles to Lake Lindeman, the main tributary of the Yukon River and 575 miles to Dawson. The other route was the White Pass trail, later known as the Skagway trail. The trail started four miles from Dyea, ascending the Valley of Skagway River over a pass, 2,800 feet in elevation.

Of the two routes, the Chilkoot trail was the best known, though the White Pass trail was then being vigorously advertised as a good horse trail all the way. Some of the gold seeker elected Chilkoot; as many more White Pass. But for Decoto there was little choice. He had played the Alaskan “game” once, and had lost; now, with only a few dollars, his team and his experience in the Kenaipen peninsula, it was up to him to win his way to the Klondike by brain and brawn.

As usual, an opportunity presented itself. The services of freighters and packers were in great demand. On the Chilkoot trail the rate was 10 cents per pound to the top of the “hill,” and from there 10 cents a pound to Lake Lindeman, head of navigation to the Dawson. The average outfit of a Klondike weighed one ton. Many of the miners packed on their backs, moving their outfits forward at the rate of a few miles a day; others hired packers, Indians and whites. Horses were used. Dog sleds were common. A few miners used pushcarts, specially constructed for narrow trails.

Mushing to Dyea, Decoto freighted from there over Chilkoot Pass and to Lake Lindeman all winter. From Dyea to the summit of Chilkoot is about 19 miles. The method used was to move an outfit to the foot of the pass, and from there it was carried by pack to the summit, the 3,500-foot pass, a precipitous wall of rock, reaching into the sky, being scaled by means of steps cut in the snow and ice. Burdened by a 100-pound pack, it took a strong man two hours to make the ascent. Once on the summit, the packers threw aside their loads and sitting on them, slid to the bottom of the pass for another load. Six hours constituted a good day’s work at the pass.

The steps were kept open by a novel method. At the end of each day the miners took up a collection. This went to volunteers who during the night, with shovels and axes, cleared away the snow or further improved the trail, so it would be ready for the packers in the morning.

Despite the hardships and uncertainty ahead, most of the gold seekers were a cheerful lot. Here and there in the motley throng, however, could be readily picked out the men who were “getting cold feet,” Mr. Decoto said. That throng, which during the winter of ’97 and ’98 numbered thousands, ranged from young and sturdy men to the weak and aged. Frail women braved the Arctic cold. The streams of humanity which during that winter poured over the Chilkoot and White Pass trails formed a spectacle almost unparalleled in history.

But if suffering and tragedy were to be found on the trails, there were many odd sights. One man, Mr. Decoto related, packed a heavy grindstone on his back, and all wondered what he would do with it. Later he set it up at Dawson and charged miners for the privilege of using the stone to sharpen axes and picks. Another man drove an immense ox before him. Still another staggered under a load of glass windowpanes, which he sold in Dawson for $2 a piece.

Prices were “sky high.” At Sheep Camp, near the foot of Chilkoot, in a “hotel” of rough boards, a meal of bacon, beans and tea cost 75¢. Horses were worth from $150 to $200, poor ones at that. On the White Pass trail horses were valued at 20 cents once they had reached the summit. Oats sold at $16 a sack. Hay was $325 a ton. Horseshoe nails sold at a dollar a pound. A set of horseshoes cost $10. Packers were paid as high as $26 a day.

Many of the stampeders, instead of waiting until reaching Lake Lindeman to cut timber and build boats, carried boat building materials with them. Other were laden with collapsible canoes. A large number brought boats to Juneau, and there abandoned them. Enough boat building material was brought in, it was estimated, to pave from one end to the other both the White Pass and Chilkoot trails. One stampeder, who succeeded in getting a boat over the summit and to Lake Lindeman, loaded the craft and went to sleep, only to find on awakening that it had been stolen and was on its way to the Yukon.

During the winter that Decoto packed on the Chilkoot trail occurred the snow slide at Sheep Camp, in which 60 were smothered to death. The snow swirled down from the Scales side of the “steps” sweeping away 60 out of 80 who were on their way from the Scales to Sheep Camp for the night. Decoto, who was on the summit when word of the tragedy reached him, made haste to the scene of the disaster and helped dig the dead out.

The dead, numbering men and women, were taken to Dyea. There the frozen corpses were placed in a small room. To conserve space, Mr. Decoto related, the bodies were arranged in an upright position, shoulder to shoulder, along the walls.

The Klondike stampede of 1897-1898 will go down in history for all time. No less than 30,000 persons, representing the daring from all parts of the world, toiled over the White Pass and the Chilkoot trails that winter in the mad rush for gold.

Barrier after barrier they stormed. They adopted the skin and fur garb of the Eskimo and conquered the Arctic cold. They negotiated seemingly impossible trails, moving cumbersome outfits forward at the rate of but a few miles a day. Resorting to methods used by their forefathers, they whipsawed lumber for boats from green timber. The dared fearsome rapids; braved the ice floes of the Yukon, and those who survived reached Dawson, the objective, where even a greater test awaited them.

Social distinction did not take precedent on the Arctic trail. A college education might be of some benefit, but unless backed by courage and practicability meant nothing. Nor did Nature always favor the physically strong. Perhaps the greatest equality was moral courage.

Illustrating these points is the story of Peter Decoto and Guy Rollins, two California youths who were partners during the great stampede. Decoto had landed at Juneau, starting point for the Yukon, with even less capital; and both packed goods for others in order to win their way over Chilkoot. Yet, out of the 30,000 that stampeded that winter, they were the first to reach Dawson!

In accomplishing this feat, Decoto had a point to his advantage. He had spent a winter in Alaska. He had adopted the dress of the Eskimo. He had acquired a dog team and sled. He had worked in the mines and “mushed” over Artic trails. He was no “chechako.” He was as hard as nails. So was his partner, Guy Rollins.

Decoto’s dog team consisted of four “malamutes,” wolfish, fierce dogs, yet loyal and even affectionate if treated with kindness. On the Chilkoot trail the partners split the team, each taking two dogs, and Rollins acquired a sled. Six cents a pound they made in moving freight from Juneau to the Scales; from there they packed it up the “steps” for 10 cents a pound. And they made good wages, as high as $46 a day a piece.

Once an Alaskan reached the “summit” with his outfit, the worst part of the trail was over, though ahead were the rapids of Miles Canyon and White Horse, and beyond the grinding, crushing ice of the Yukon River.

Crater Lake, a small body of water, lies just on the other side of Chilkoot Pass. It was frozen. To reach it, many of the stampeders rode their outfits down, toboggan fashion. Decoto and Rollins, moving their combined outfits, totaling 3,500 pounds, skirted the lake shore. About two miles distant from Crater Lake is Long Lake. They sledded its length, three miles and reached the shores of Lake Lindeman, as miles distant from Chilkoot.

Lake Lindeman, on the shores of which the majority of the Klondikers assembled or built boats for the passage of the Yukon, is four and one-half miles long, narrow, and on one side walled in by a towering mountain. At the head of the lake, on the left hand, a river enters, where is timber for boats. Timber also was to be found two miles back from the lake. There were both spruce and fir.

When Decoto and Rollins sighted Lindeman, there were about 50 tents on its shores, though this number increased to 1,000 before they left. The wood rang with the strokes of axes. Dog teams labored in the traces, dragging sleds loaded with green logs. Men were busily engaged in erecting saw pits. Others were laboriously sawing, and others more fortunate were building boats, craft ranging from longs, slender-waisted bateau to clumsy skiffs and heavy skows. Smoke curled from the numerous Artic stoves. The savory odor of cooking was in the air. The sun was shining, but the air was bitterly cold.

Leaving Lindeman, and moving slowly, half a day forward, caching the goods, and then on with the camp outfit as far as they could, they freighted to Marsh Lake, 70 miles from Lindeman. Here they resolved to build their boat. Only two other outfits were camped at Lake Marsh.

They created a saw pit and whipsawed boards from spruce. When finished and seams caulked with oakum and tarred, the craft was clinker-built, 27 feet long, 9 foot beam, and when loaded with outfits, dogs, and sleds, drew 18 inches of water, with 12 inches free board. They fashioned two oars, 12 feet long, and a steering oar, and also installed a “mast,” using a tarpaulin for a sail.

It was still winter and they waited for the ice to break. But growing impatient, they moved the boat of sleds to the foot of the lake and continued from there to Sixty Mile, where they launched their craft, loaded it and floated down the stream to Lake Labarge.

At Labarge they found ice, and here, in transferring their outfits and boat to the ice, Rollins had a narrow escape. Stepping onto a patch of thin ice while engaged in unloading, down he went, with a heavy sack of beans on his shoulder. Under the ice the current from the river flowed swiftly. But Rollins bobbed up, with the sack of beans still on his shoulder! The day was saved, and so were the beans. Rollins was chilled to the bone, however, and after changing clothes behind the shelter of a tarpaulin, had to run up and down on the ice to get warm.

Malamute dogs, trained in Arctic way, refuse to venture on treacherous ice. In freighting across Labarge, Decoto’s team balked. Another Klondiker, sled and team passed him by. Decoto plied the lash. But a moment later he was sorry. Hardly had the Klondiker proceeded 100 yards, when he, sled and dogs, crashed though the ice. Catching up a board from the sled, carried for just such an emergency, Decoto rushed forward and managed to rescue the man and from the traces. But the Alaskan’s sled and outfit were gone, and so were his hopes of reaching Dawson.

Waiting overnight for the lake to freeze solidly, Decoto and Rollins freighted the length of Labarge to Thirty Mile and so came to Miles Canyon, the first of the rapids. There were 40 boats be behind them. There were one or two boats ahead and several big skows. Miles Canyon describes an “S” in its windings. On either side are walls of rock from 60 to 80 feet high. The current is so swift that the water flows with a “crown,” that is, it is higher in the center than on the sides.

The trick of shooting the rapids was to stay on the crown, avoid the rocks on the left and a dangerous eddy on the right. Without lightening the boat, and with Decoto at the oars and Rollins in the stern with the steering oar, the craft shot through at dizzy speed. Past the rocks they glided safely, past the eddy. In another moment the boat was riding in comparatively smooth water.

To see how some of the other boats had fared, Decoto rowed back a distance. A boat containing two lanky Swedes was held fast in the eddy. Around and around the craft circled. The two Vikings heaved on their oars. Surrendering to the eddy, they stood up and shouted and gesticulated for help. They ranted and uttered words not to be found in the dictionary. Finally after having been in the grip of the miniature maelstrom for more than an hour, and in despair of ever getting out, they dropped on their knees and prayed fervently. Just then the boat shot out in the stream.

The thrills of shooting White Horse rapids, one of the last natural barriers that intervened between the Alaskan stampeders and the gold fields during the famous Klondike stampede of 1897-1898, were vividly related by Peter Decoto, who was a pilot at the rapids during the gold rush. White Horse rapids, which during the stampede days claimed the lives of scores, is located the head of navigation to the Yukon River, about 124 miles from Dawson. The rapids are formed by the pouring of the whole body of the Lewes River through a gorge of basalt 20 to 30 feet high. For a quarter of a mile the river lashes itself into a perfect fury, and then, with a jumping and tossing, bursts though a gorge a span wide with banks level with the water and spreads out, once more a wide, serene river.

Decoto and Rollins had run the canyon rapids with their sturdy clinker-built boat fully loaded, and had shipped little or no water. But here, at the head of White Horse, they pulled to shore and unloaded enough tools and supplies so that, if they met disaster in the rapids, they could at least build another craft.

Then they sat on the bank of the Lewes and watched the others enter the white water. About every other boat came to grief. Then they studied the methods of a policeman of the Canadian Mounted Police, who took several boats through safely, and by this observation learned where the channel was. Their boat was heavy, with little if any free board to spare, and it was decided to shoot the rapids stern first, with Decoto at the oars and Rollins at the steering oar. They pushed into the stream. The current gripped the boat; they shot into the seething crest, with Decoto straining at the oars and Rollins doing his best to aid the rower in keeping bow pointed upstream.

At the first leap into the “soapsuds” the spray flew several feet outward from the flaring sides of the craft. After a dozen or two lunges into the crests of the waves they struck a submerged rock. For a split second the boat was perilously near capsizing; then they slid over and were again shooting downstream. In a few more seconds they were in smooth water. White Horse rapids was behind them!

Many of the more timid soon besieged the two daring young Californians, and they safely piloted more than 30 boats through, for which service they received $10 per boat. Soon, however, they gave up piloting in favor of the Canadian policeman who had been stationed at the rapids, inasmuch as their pay was only $20 monthly, and the extra money they could make as pilots came as a godsend. Resting from their strenuous labors, the two partners camped below White Horse.

While there they were eyewitness to an incident, which illustrated another, and humorous side of Alaskan life. Two partners had agreed to disagree, and the climax of a heated argument sawed their boat in two, each taking his half. Each then boarded over the end of his “boat,” took aboard his outfit, and they floated down the stream, one pretending indifference to the other. Disagreements of this kind were common, Mr. Decoto said.

He told of another incident wherein two partners, after a “fight,” smashed their boat to bits and then floated down the stream on rafts. Breaking camp after a few days, Decoto and Rollins embarked and floated down as far as the Hootalinqua River, where they encountered an ice floe so strong that they were forced to make their way to shore and camp. Here another boat and party of Klondikers joined them, and when the floe had passed the two boats floated down the river together.

Just above the Pelley River the voyagers sighted an ice jam and as the risk of being sucked under the ice, boats and all, were forced to make for shore in a hurry. The current was running swiftly. As Decoto’s boat nosed the bank, Rollins sprang to shore, painter in hand. Brace himself as he might, however, he could not hold the boat, and had had not Decoto managed to swerve the craft into a jutting point of land, the boat and rower doubtlessly would have been swept into the suck of the ice jam.

The other voyagers had succeeded in getting to shore, in the shelter of a little cove. Decoto and Rollins joined them, and to save their boats from being smashed to kindling, with oars “poled” the crowding, grinding ice cakes by, until the worst of the floe had passed. The two parties were ahead of the hundreds of Dawson-bent. When the ice jam broke up, Decoto and Rollins pushed out into the stream, but the other voyagers elected to wait for more favorable conditions. For two days and nights, unable to land because the ice was piled up 30 feet high on both shores of the river, the two Californians floated down stream.

Above the Stewart River they found a place to land and camped three days. The river was still filled with floating ice, they pushed on and the next day, on May 4th, sighted Dawson, the city of their dreams. A crowd of 20 or 40 men and women was waiting for them on the bank, eager for the first news.

“Dawson looked mighty good to us,” said Mr. Decoto. “The town then consisted of 20 or 40 cabins. Snow was still on the ground. We put up a tent, stored out outfits and slept in my uncle’s cabin until we could build a cabin of our own. Dawson was wide ‘wide open.’ Everyone had money or its equivalent, gold dust. A meal cost $8 and comprised coffee, bacon and dried eggs. Whiskey sold at 25¢ a glass. A quarter was the smallest piece of change in the Klondike. Old timers saw to it that nickels and dimes were gathered up as fast as the chechakos brought them in and thrown into the Yukon.”

At the time Decoto and Rollins landed at Dawson the “diggings” fortunes were being taken out were on Hunker, Bonanza, El Dorado, Bear and Dominion Creeks. Bear and Bonanza Creeks were located about three miles from Dawson; El Dorado, 20 miles; Hunker, 25 miles ; and Dominion, 40 miles.

Contrary to the pulp-magazine “thrillers” of northern life, though “six-guns” were prominently carried at that time, they were not intended for use against fellow miners, and every gun had to be registered with the Canadian government, Mr. Decoto said. “Bad” men were scarce in the Klondike, for Old Father Chilkoot was particular as to whom he admitted.

The above account was written and appeared as "The Adventures of Peter Decoto," and in January of 1938, the Hayward Daily Review, a local San Francisco Bay Area newspaper, published a series of five articles on Peter Decoto and his adventures with Guy Rollins during the Alaskan Gold Rush of 1898. These articles were digitized and presented in this paper, which was later published by the Museum of Local History in Fremont, California.

I don't know exactly when Decoto and Rollins made it back to California, and there was no census record found for Guy Rollins in 1900, but Peter Decoto was listed in the 1900 U.S. Federal Census, living in Washington Township, Alameda County, California, with his parents and some of his siblings, including father Ezra, 66, mother, Jeannette, 58, sons Peter, 31, Ezra, Jr., 24, Louis, 21, and daughter Almina, 26. Peter's occupation was listed as gold miner, his father was listed as a farmer and his sister was a school teacher.

Guy married Gilberta Webb in California in 1903, and by 1910, he was 40 years old and living in Los Angeles, with his wife Gilberta, 36, and Henry and Frank Webb, listed as Guy's brothers-in-law, who were 8 and 4 years old, but they were really his nephews. Also living with them was Guy's old friend from the Alaska Gold Rush days, Peter Lowrie DeCoto, who was 41 years old and was once again listed as Guy's "partner".

But at that time, both Guy and Peter were merchants in a retail grocery store, which must have been a much tamer adventure than gold mining in Alaska! They were living in a rental home located at 523-1/2 West Washington Boulevard. Henry and Frank Webb were the sons of Gilberta's brother, Leslie Gilbert Webb, and his third wife, Eufemia Miranda Webb. Gilberta's brother, Leslie Gilbert Webb, had four wives and children with each of his wives.

Peter Decoto was from a pretty wealthy family. He was the son of Ezra Decoto and Janet Lowrie, a native of Scotland. Ezra was a French-Canadian who started out as an Alameda truck farmer in 1854, and gave his name to the town of Decoto, which is in Alameda County, California, part of the San Francisco Bay Area. I found an article about Ezra Decoto which is shown at the bottom of this page.

By 1920 Peter Decoto was back in Washington Township, Alameda County, California, living with his elderly parents and an uncle and nephew. Ezra Decoto was 87, his wife Jeannette, 79, Peter, 51, and Robert Lowrie (Jeannette's brother), 72, and Peter was working as a farmer, the only one in the family who was working. A grandson by the name of Victor Palmer, 14, was also living with the family, probably one of Peter's sister's children.

Peter's mother, Janet, passed away in 1921 and his father Ezra in 1923. His brother Ezra William Decoto, died in 1948. Ezra was the Chief Probation Officer for Alameda County, and the District Attorney for Alameda County, who was later succeeded by Earl Warren, who later became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Ezra was also a California Public Utility Commissioner in 1925 and a Superior court Judge, appointed by Earl Warren.

It appears that Peter never married, and was found in the 1940 census still living in the family home on Second Street in Washington Township, a home he owned valued at $5,000 and was still farming. Ironically, Peter died on July 6, 1955, (just three months before his old friend, Guy Washington Rollins) in Hayward, California, and he was buried in the Chapel of the Chimes Memorial Park in Hayward.

By 1920, Guy, 49, Gilberta, 46, had a 6 year old daughter, Alberta, and they were listed as "lodgers" at 1828 Flower Street in Los Angeles, which may have been a hotel or a boarding house, because there were a lot of unrelated people listed as "lodgers" living at that address. There was no occupation listed for any of the Rollins family members. Their daughter Alberta was born October 14, 1913, in Los Angeles County according to a California Birth Index record. She had the same birthday as my mother who was born in 1911. I wonder if my mother ever knew Alberta who would have been her cousin. My mother's grandfather was John Henry Rollins, the older brother of Guy Washington Rollins.

A 1920 U.S. City Directory for Guy W. Rollins showed that he was working as a grocer, and his business was located at 1726 S. Flower Street, and he was living at 1828 S. Figueroa Street in Los Angeles.

Per a 1922 California Voter Registration record, Guy and Gilberta were living at 3503 Marmion Way in Los Angeles, and he was working as a machinist. They were both registered to vote as Republicans. In 1924 they were living at 4173 Arlington Avenue in Los Angeles, and they were still registered to vote as Republicans. Guy was working as a salesman.

Another Cailfornia Voter Registration Record for 1924 showed that Guy and Gilbert were living at 3503 Marmion Way, and was working in the rock business. He was registered to vote as a Republican and Gilberta was listed as being a member of another party, which was listed as "Pro" and probably meant the Progressive Party.

By 1926 Guy was living at 621 East 8th Street in Los Angeles, and was working as a salesman. In this voter registration record he "declined to state" his party affiliation. In 1928 he had moved again and was living at 444 E. 29th Street in Los Angeles, was still working as a salesman and was registered as a Republican. I wonder why they moved at least 4 times in the 6 year period from 1922 to 1928!

In the 1930 census, Guy, 59, was still living in Los Angeles with Gilberta, 56, daughter Alberta, 16, and mother-in-law, Georgiana Kate Cropper Webb, 80 years old. They were living at 5301 Baltimore Street, a home they owned valued at $6,500. Guy was working as an engineer for a rock crushing company. Gilberta's mother Kate passed away just 4 years later on March 13, 1934, in Los Angeles, California.

In a 1936 voter registration record they were living at 1561 S. Ridgeley Drive in Los Angeles, and Guy was working as a builder and he and Gilberta were still registered to vote as Republicans. By 1938 they were still at the same address and Guy was listed as a contractor.

In the 1940 census, Guy, 70, and Gilberta, 66, were living in a home at 1557 Ridgeley Drive, Los Angeles, which they owned and was valued at $5,500. They were living at the same location in 1935. Guy had an 8th grade education. He had his own business as a building contractor.

Just 15 years later, Guy passed away on October 4, 1955, in Los Angeles at the age of 85. His wife, Gilberta, born July 10, 1873, passed away at the age of 90 on November 10, 1963, in Los Angeles County, California. They were still living on Ridgeley Drive in 1954 and registered as Republicans.

Previously in the 1880 census, Gilberta's mother, Kate (Cropper) Webb, was listed a 31-year old widow living in Millard, Utah, and raising her five children on her own, Leslie S., 11, Milo W., 9, Gilberta, 6, George Percy, 3, and Kathleen Clementine, 1 year old. Her brother, Leigh R. Cropper, 35, was living next door with his wife, Fanny, 34, and their children, Alice S., 14, George W., 12, Kate, 10, (probably named after his sister Kathleen Clementine), Leigh R., 8, Edgar L., 5 and Fanny, 1. Kate's brother, Leigh, was working as a farmer. Gilberta must have had a tough childhood since she lost her father at such a young age, but she survived to be 90 years old!

However, in 1880 Gilberta's father, Chauncey Gilbert Webb, was not dead. He did not pass away until 1923, and Chauncey and Georgiana Kate had two more children, Ethel in 1885 and Nellie Blythe in 1892. He had also been married to another woman, Almira Sophia Taft, and they had 7 children between 1856 and 1872. Chauncey Gilbert and Georgiana Kate 7 children between 1869 and 1892. Chauncey Gilbert Webb was accused of a crime, and although acquitted during the trial, was exiled to Mexico, never to return to the United States.

From about 1917 until about August of 1919, Chauncey Gilbert had been working for the railroad and a lumber company in the vicinity of Madera and Pearson in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico. On his U.S. Passport application he was shown to be 83 years old, 5'-7" tall with blue eyes, gray hair and a beard, with a prominent nose and regular forehead, mouth, chin and face. He died in Colonia Juarez, Geurrero, Mexico on December 11, 1923.

By 1900 Kate Webb, 52, and her children, Gilberta or Bertha, 24, Kate W. Halloway, a 21-year old widow, and her 7 month-old son, Lee Halloway, and Kate's daughters Ethel M., 15, and Nellie B., 8 years old were living at 634 South Figueroa Street in Los Angeles, California. Kate was born in Texas, Gilberta and Kate W., in Utah, and Ethel and Nellie in Arizona. The baby Lee Halloway was born in California.

In the 1940 census, Guy and Gilberta's daughter, Alberta, 26, was married to Stanley Shanahan, 29, and they lived at 1335-1/2 North Alvarado in Los Angeles. She was listed as a coffee packer for a coffee company and had a high school diploma, and her income for the 52 weeks she worked at 40 hours per week in 1939 was $1,020. Her husband Stan was a spray painter for an aircraft company and his earnings for the 36 weeks he worked at 40 hours per week in 1939 were $850.00.

Stan and Alberta had a son, Guy William Shanahan, born September 13, 1944, in Los Angeles County. Guy W. Shanahan married Penelope J. White on February 14, 1970, in Los Angeles, when they were 25 and 24 years old, but they divorced the next year in June of 1971. U.S. Public Records indicate that Guy lived in Newport Beach, Laguna Beach, and Lake Forest, California, from about 1993 to 1995. His address in 1995 was 3355 Via Lido, # VI-205, Newport Beach, California, 92663-3959. The U.S. Social Security Death Index record for Guy showed that he died on April 26, 2003, while living in Laguna Hills, California.

His mother Alberta had passed away December 25, 1975, in Los Angeles County. Unfortunately, Alberta's husband, Stan, had passed away nearly 20 years earlier in 1956, so it appears she had to raise their son, Guy alone, and that Guy was only about 12 years old when his father died. A record on Ancestry.com showed that Guy may have had a brother, but that record was marked as "private" so I don't know his brother's name.

Sadly that is all I know about my second great uncle's family, and unfortunately, I never got to meet him. He died when I was just four years old.

Della Dale Smith-Pistelli

The following article is from the Tri-City Voice, serving Fremont, Hayward, Milpitas, Newark, Sunol and Union City, in the San Francisco Bay Area. It shows the history of Ezra Decoto, Peter Decoto's father, and the Decoto District which is now known as Union city. The article was written by Myrla Raymundo.

A French-Canadian who started out as an Alameda truck farmer in 1854 gave his name to Decoto. Within a few years Ezra Decoto and his family were represented in the school district, Alameda County judicial operations, the Fire Department, and the Decoto Land Company.

Ezra's parents, Charles and Mary, were from the Three Rivers area in Ontario Canada. Their original name was "de Coteau." Ezra was born in 1833 and was attracted to California by the gold rush. He bought land from the heirs of "Senor" Jose Joaquin Estudillo on Rancho San Leandro and had a prosperous truck farm.

During the Civil War in 1862 Decoto sold the farm and bought land near Mt. Eden from Barbara Soto. When they heard a railroad might come through Niles Canyon in 1867, Decoto and his brothers, Adolphus and John, purchased 334 acres on the old Mission road, three miles north of Vallejo's Mills. After the Central Pacific Railroad right-of-way was determined, some local land promoters formed the Decoto Land Company. They bought 234 of the original 334 acres from the Decoto Brothers (Ezra, Adolphus and John) to lay out the town of Decoto.

In 1860 Ezra married Miss Janet Lowrie, a native of Scotland. Their four daughters were Lizzie, Mary, Janet and Alvina. The three sons were Ezra, Jr., Lewis, and Peter. Ezra Sr. served 10 years on the School Board of the Cosmopolitan School District formed in 1867. Valle Vista and Decoto were the two district schools, with about 20 students. The principal was T.J. James.

Ezra, Jr., became a lawyer and was elected Alameda County District Attorney and Superior Court Judge. (Chief Justice Earl Warren was one of his proteges.) He died in l948. Janet (Jennie) married August May. Peter Decoto stayed on the farm and was active in the town and the volunteer fire department. He was president of the Decoto Chamber of Commerce. Alvina Decoto was in charge of a Sunday school in the early 1880's. It expanded and grew into the Congregational Church in 1893.

During that time, Decoto had a population of 910. It was situated midway between Oakland and San Jose at the foot of the hills on the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay and at the widest point of the fertile bay plain. Decoto's farms, orchards and factories offered an inviting field for profitable labor. Its situation was an inducement for the location of factories. An assured future as a population center made it profitable for almost any kind of investment.

The first houses in the town were built by the Decoto's in 1867 and the following year a school district was formed largely through the efforts of Ezra who by this time had a couple of school age youngsters and several more coming along. Ezra served 10 years as a trustee of the district.

Since 1898, Decoto has been the location of the Masonic Home, one of the largest of such residences for elderly members of the Masonic fraternity in the United States. The Masonic Home, standing majestically in the Decoto hills opened in March 1899; the first residents were 21 men and women. It is the home of residents ages 60 and up and licensed by the State Department as a continuing care facility.

Decoto is also the location of the Meyers sisters home, the Dry Creek Cottage. It is a small summer cottage with a large garden, sitting just off Mission Blvd. at the end of Whipple Road. The garden, along with a large parcel of 60 acres hidden in the Union City hills for nearly 100 years, was named after the stream with S-shaped curves throughout the four acres of landscaped grounds. The land on which the cottage now sits used to be owned by Jonas B. Clark and was used as picnic ground during the late 1800's. The gala event of the year during pioneer times was May Day, celebrated at the picnic grounds. In 1884, August May, Sr. bought the land and named it Dry Creek Ranch.

Pacific States Steel, equipped with four electric furnaces, a 265-inch rolling mill, and a $3 million open-hearth furnace department was founded in 1937. The plant, built in Decoto, was the largest employer at that time. It has been dismantled and homes now fill the area.

Up until January 1959, Decoto was a separate community. At that time, nearby Alvarado (first county seat of Alameda County) and Decoto voted to incorporate as Union City. The name "Union City" dates back to 1851 when John M. Horner, pioneer of 1846 founded a town of that name on Alameda Creek half a mile west of where Alvarado (originally called New Haven) was later located. Horner's town was named for the steamship "Union" which he owned.

If the three French-Canadian brothers had kept the old spelling of the family name, the name of Decoto would have been "de Coteau." Maybe they felt "de Coteau" posed problems in pronunciation or spelling.

Today the name belongs to a district of Union City and decorates signposts on the road angling across a section of Fremont and Union City.

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