Ep 24 Bartholdi the Italian: 👞Cobbler ⛏️Miner 🍇Vintner🍷

The article snippet below is all I could find on the life of an Italian legend in the San Gabriel Canyon, by the name of Bartholdi. No full name is given, and i could not locate him on any census. His arrival is as mysterious as his death was tragic. 

“On the mesa above the hogan of Luisenna, an Italian shoemaker, Bartholdi, built a rude shelter of rocks and mud in 1872. Bartholdi had set up a boot and shoe repair shop at The Forks the year before, and had a good business but he, too, got the Gold Fever, and struck out for himself within a year. In later years this old Italian who was called "Bismark" by his friends, became more interested in his bees, to whom he gave the hut which still stands on the hill, and in the garden, vineyard and orchard which he had planted on the flat below. There he built a substantial house from the lumber of the abandoned hydraulic flumes, and developed an Old World atmosphere in his secluded self-sufficiency. He had a dozen varieties of grapes which he mixed to make a light red wine which had no name, but was of an unusual delicacy of bouquet. In the Fall of 1917 Bartholdi was riding his burro along the trail when the animal shied from the whizz of a rattlesnake, unseating the old man, whose foot stuck in the stirrup. The burro dragged him to safety but in trying to release the foot bit him, causing an infection from which he died. Although badly damaged by the March floods this vineyard is still held by Bartholdi's heirs and has been used in recent years as a picnic place for an Italian Club known as ‘Club Baton’”. (Trails Magazine, Summer 1938, Pg 11)

Transcript

"Bartholdi: The Cobbler of San Gabriel Canyon"

Opening Narration:  "Many years ago, from Italy’s land of rolling vineyards, ancient olive groves, cobbled streets, fragrant basil fields, mandolins, and fresh baked focaccia, CAME an ambitious man across the oceans, and into the rugged heart of California’s San Gabriel Canyon. A place where miners toiled and dreamers wandered. 

The year is 1870. The young man is simply known as…Bartholdi, the Italian. He was a cobbler by trade, a prospector by misadventure, and a vintner, orchardist, and beekeeper by passion. His friends called him Bismark, but history remembers him as a legend of the San Gabriel Canyon…not only for who he knew, or where he lived, but it was how he died that made him most famous. This is his story."

Scene 1: The Birth of Bismark

Blanche D Cole:  "Ain't no fixin’ this one, Bartholdi. That rockslide up near Coldwater chewed it up worse than a coyote with a chicken bone."

BARTHOLDI: "Pah! Dis boot Signora Blanche? Eh, it is just... how you say... a little tired. I fix. I make strong. Strong like Cancelliere di ferro! how you say…Iron Chancellor.

ONE-EYED MOUNTAIN CHARLIE:  "ya Hear that? Ol’ Bartholdi thinks he’s Otto Von Bismark now! You plannin’ to unify all the miners under one boot?"

BARTHOLDI: "Per favore Signor Charlie …Who is dis Beez-mark?"

Blanche D Cole: "Well, he’s some big-shot German fella. Tough as nails, mean as a mule, and stubborn as a dang rockslide. Kinda like you, now that I think on it."

ONE-EYED MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: "And heck-a-mighty, look at that mustache! Give ‘im one of them fancy hats and he’d be marchin’ straight into battle!"

Blanche D Cole: "Yeah, and that boot—ain't no boot tougher than a Bartholdi boot! This fella’s the Bismark of cobblers!"

ONE-EYED MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: here here. I’d bet all my nuggets on that.

BARTHOLDI: "Ahh, Pazzo. Pazzo. you all crazy. I am just Bartholdi."

ONE-EYED MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: "Not anymore. You’re Bismark now."

BARTHOLDI: Nessun problema. call me name you like, there is no discount for flattery.

Blanche D Cole: "To Bismark! The Iron Boot of the San Gabriel Canyon!"

M-CHARLIE: "To Bismark!"

N-BARTHOLDI: - Pazzo. Pazzesco. Ridicolo

As I sit at my cobbler's bench, the rhythmic tapping of my martello (hammer) on leather is a Familiare comfort. Yet, the tales that swirl around me are anything but Ordinario. Minatori (the miners), their faces etched with the harsh lines of toil and hope, regale me with stories of Fortuna wrested from the earth, of shiny dust, and gold pepitas (nuggets) that promise a life trasformata (transformed). Their eyes, alight with the fire of ambition, speak of a world far removed from the confines of my Modesto shop.

Scene 2: The Cobbler's Shop at The Forks 

WILLIAM: Good morning Bartholdi.

BARTHOLDI: "Ah, William, Vieni vieni Per favore, look at this fine work! The miners will pay well for boots like these, Sì?" 

WILLIAM TECUMSEH HEATON:  "They will wear them out in days, chasing gold that is not there." 

BARTHOLDI: "Perhaps Signore Heaton. But gold is a sickness, and men pay well to keep walking toward their cure." 

WILLIAM: "And you Bartholdi? Have you caught the sickness?" 

BARTHOLDI:  "Not yet. But the fever is Difficile to Resistere. You see their pockets, heavy with dust? Their eyes, burning with hope? The temptation is Impossibile to ignore." 

WILLIAM: "Hope is good. But it does not fill a belly. Stick to your boots, old man." 

BARTHOLDI:  "Old man? Vecchio? You’re ahead of me by 15 years. I’ll outlast you yet, Signore Heaton.

During the summer of 1871, as Bartholdi weighed his options, he grappled with the seductive allure of gold and the stark realities he witnessed daily.The promise of wealth was tempting, but he questioned whether the pursuit of such uncertain rewards was worth abandoning the steady, honest work of his trade. The contrast of both triumph and backbreaking tribulation from these seekers di fortuna (fortune seekers), served as a mirror, reflecting and gauging his own desires and fears, and ultimately guiding him toward a path that he felt balanced aspiration with the wisdom of observation.

In 1872, within a year of opening his cobbler shop at The Forks, Bartholdi had come down with a near terminal case of gold fever. And made a claim upstream the San Gabriel near the mouth of Cow Creek. 

Scene 3: Bartholdi’s Mining Attempt

BARTHOLDI: Macchie…your braying is not helping.

LUISENNA: it’s just me. Hello Bismark. Good afternoon. 

BARTHOLDI: "Ciao Luisenna”

LUISENNA That burro of yours is quite the watch dog. You having any luck with the gold?

BARTHOLDI: it is so much work, for very little result. This rock is stubborn. Perhaps it guards the gold well." 

LUISENNA: "You’re wasting your time, Bartholdi. The best claims are taken." 

BARTHOLDI: "You think? Somewhere, somehow, I will strike gold." 

LUISENNA: "You got the hands of a cobbler, not a miner." 

BARTHOLDI: "sí, LUISENNA. I try teach old dog new trick? Bah! Is like tell-a my burro to dance!

BARTHOLDI:"Fai silenzio Macchie! You eat like a king and work like a Turista!" 

BARTHOLDI: "Bah! I am done with this! (Ho chiuso con questo!) I was a fool to leave my cobbler’s bench. A boot, I can fix. 

LUISENNA: Yes Bismark, you have many talents. Gold requires mostly luck and very little ability. You could dig to the Indian Ocean and find no gold. Often misfortune is a gift from the creator…like a fallen tree across our pathway guiding us into a better direction.

BARTHOLDI: You speak wisdom Luisenna… maybe there is a different kind of gold for me? Something more Italiano.”

LUISENNA: For my sake I hope so. I enjoy you as my neighbor. I’d like to see you find a few reasons to stay. I do hope your “Italian gold” is safer, more plentiful, and better suited for your ability. 

Scene 4: The Vineyard and Bees

NARRATOR: There’s an old Italian saying, "La gatta frettolosa ha fatto i figli ciechi." Translation: "The hasty cat gave birth to blind kittens.” Sometimes the perils of committing to a task or decision with haste, can lead to poor outcomes.

Bartholdi ended his days of prospecting gold, and instead converted his crude shelter of rocks and mud on the mesa into a hive for his honeybees, he gathered a variety of hand selected grape vine starts, planted an orchard, and built a substantial house from the lumber of some abandoned hydraulic flumes…all this with the same patience he once gave to leather. Bartholdi had developed in his secluded self-sufficiency, an Old World atmosphere, reminiscent of his youth in Italy.

BARTHOLDI: Pazienza burro, we are almost to the Follows Ranch.

RALPH: Merry Christmas Bismark.

BARTHOLDI: Buon Natale signor Ralph e signora Jenny

JENNY: Merry Christmas Bartholdi, its so good to see you. We got your message about needing another donkey. Im so sorry to hear about Macchie passing.

BARTHOLDI: Aaah. Sí. He was such an ass. 

RALPH: Your English humor is spot on.

JENNY: We got a sturdy donkey for you, he’s just over there in the corrals, the one with the dark stripe down his back. 

BARTHOLDI: Grazie Jenny. The perfecto Christmas Donkey for an Italiano. Dominick will be his name…at least when he is obedient. I will gladly take him home with me. 

JENNY: Please come inside Bartholdi. Warm yourself by the fire.

BARTHOLDI: Grazie signora Jenny  

RALPH: There is no label on this bottle. Is this wine Bismark? 

BARTHOLDI: Sí. The finest San Gabriel Canyon has to offer. A dozen grapes, mixed together, make a Superiore Vino. Dolciume, eh sweet, but with depth. Like life.

JENNY HEATON: Poetic wine? My Bismark, that was quite the sales pitch.

BARTHOLDI : Grazie signora Jenny

RALPH FOLLOWS: "How are those bees we brought into the canyon for you Bismark?…Do they help with the grapes?" 

BARTHOLDI: "Ah, Signore Ralph, they help with everything! They are mia famiglia now. Hardworking, loyal, and demanding Rispetto.

BARTHOLDI:"Per favore, signora Jenny E il signor Ralph, Taste this." 

RALPH FOLLOWS:  "Mmm…How did you get such an unusual delicacy of bouquet?

BARTHOLDI: "Nella botte piccola c'è il vino buono." 

RALPH: My thoughts exactly…and what does that mean Bismark?

BARTHOLDI: "In small barrels, there's good wine. Meaning….um, valuable things come in tiny packages.

BARTHOLDI: eh, Signore Ralph, where you hear this word…”Bouquet”? You are a boss man of burros sí?… or is you a Grande man for the vino? 

RALPH FOLLOWS: Ummm….both? 

BARTHOLDI: Maybe you just make the vino Scomparire…eh…poof, gone?

JENNY HEATON: thats for sure with Ralph

BARTHOLDI: Il vino fa buon sangue…Good wine makes good blood. 

RALPH FOLLOWS: You might not believe this Bismark, but in 1891 I traveled from England to this canyon on a stretcher, weighing 90 pounds? Had an awful case of tuberculoses. Nearly died. The fresh mountain air in the San Gabriel Canyon healed me up quick.

BARTHOLDI : Tubercolosi? Impressionante Ralph. Lode a Dio, Praise be to God. 

RALPH: Yes indeed. Praise be to God.

JENNY HEATON: You ever gonna name it?" 

BARTHOLDI: "The wine? No need. It speaks for itself."

RALPH FOLLOWS: That it does Bismark. You have struck gold my friend. You have a batch of perfection here.

BARTHOLDI: Grazie Ralph. More Perfezione is $.50 a bottle. Please save the bottles upon my next return. Niente more free samples for you signore Follows.

JENNY HEATON: Our guests would love this Bismark. We will buy whatever honey and wine you can spare.

BARTHOLDI : Grazie signora Jenny, i can spare.

NARRATOR: "Like many in the late 1800’s of Southern California, Bartholdi likely grew Mission grapes—brought by Spanish missionaries and well-suited for the region. AND he experimented, adding Zinfandel, Grenache, and Sangiovese amongst others, blending them into a wine as bold as the canyon itself. Bartholdi’s wine was never world renowned. Or even labeled for that matter. But it was well known, loved, and trusted in San Gabriel Canyon. By some, it was a little too loved. 

Scene 5: Trouble with John Knox Portwood

BARTHOLDI: Chi nel Sasquatch sarebbe fuori a quest'ora? (who in the Sasquatch would be out at this hour?)

JOHNNY KNOX?!? What can…..

KNOX: "You got any of that wine, old man?"

BARTHOLDI: "For friends, yes. For you signore Portwood? Perhaps. If you pay."

KNOX: "I don’t pay for…are you cooking rainbow trout?

BARTHOLDI: Focus Johnny, what don’t you pay for?

KNOX: oh yeah, i dont pay for summ’in I can take."

BARTHOLDI: "Lascia la mia casa, Leave my home, Knox! I might be an old man, but I fight for what is mine."

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE : "Well now, if it ain’t Johnny Knox Portwood.

KNOX: "Stay outta this, One-eyed Charlie. Ain’t your fight."

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: "Oh, but it is. Y’see, Bartholdi here, he makes a fine…are you cooking rainbow trout?

BARTHOLDI: Am I the only one fishing in the canyon? Focus Charlie. You’re both interrupting my dinner. Now finish what you gotta say, “I make a fine what?”

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: huh? oh! Now see here Johnny Knox Portwood, Bismark makes a fine wine, and I don’t take kindly to someone spillin’ what oughta be sipped. You ever hear the story of how I wrestled a mountain lion with just one good eye?"

KNOX: "Aw hell, not this again."

I mean, gosh One-Eyed Charlie, i would love to hear your story.

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: "There I was, climbin’ Iron Mountain, when outta nowhere, this big ol’ cat—fangs like daggers, eyes glowin’ like hellfire—leaps right at me! Now most men? They’d be finished. But not me. I looked that beast dead in the eye—well, in the one eye I got left—and he froze, hypnotized by my stare!"

BARTHOLDI: Really?

KNOX: Dont encourage him Bismark.

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: "AND THEN?!? I grabbed that lion round the neck, held on tight, and we went tumblin’ down the mountain. Rolled near a hundred yards ‘til he was deader than last week’s campfire. I tell ya, Knox, if I can do that to a full-grown mountain lion, just imagine what I could do to a low-down, rock-throwin’ thief like you."

KNOX: "Well…that story keeps getting better. 

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: Unbelievable ain’t it.

KNOX: no its plenty believable, its you I don’t believe. I mean, the Charlie One Eye story hour is always riveting, but I must be going. Charlie?…Is that the same version you told them at the county farm?

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: Ok, thats enough you sorry sack of donkey biscuits. The show’s over, outcha go Johnny Knox. 

BARTHOLDI: "Pff! That man is like a bad grape—too sour for good wine."

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE: "Ain’t that the truth. Now, how ‘bout a drink for ol’ Charlie, for savin’ your hide?"

Animals played a vital role in the delivery of people and supplies up and down the San Gabriel Canyon. The Follows Camp had a four-horse stage that carried guests and goods from the Santa Fe station in Azusa to their resort in the East Fork. Ralph and Jenny’s hostelry was well known in the Los Angeles valley and the most popular retreat in the canyon. At many of these canyon retreats groups of tourists fraternized with grizzled miners, mighty hunters (like Charles “Tom” Vincent), and lying fishermen…and no one asked, or even cared, whether he was sharing his beans and coffee with a bank president, or a bank robber. 

The needed supplies were carried throughout the canyon on a pack train of burro’s (from the furthest points of Vincent Gap, to Devils Gulch, Shoemaker Canyon, Heaton Flat, and Bartholdi’s spread, amongst many others)

Over the years these burro pack strings were operated by a few rugged souls including the infamous John Knox Portwood, uncle Jimmy Grayson, and Ralph Follows. 

Miners, hunters, fishermen, and homesteaders alike relied on a burro or two as they traversed this rugged back country. Even vintners & apiculturists (grape grower, winemaker, and beekeeper) like Bartholdi, relied on these compact and surefooted creatures as an irreplaceable aspect of living in the wild beauty of the San Gabriel Canyon. 

Whether burro, or donkey or as you more edumicated folk might know them by their scientifical name of Equus Assinus, these sure footed burros could expertly maneuver the river rock bottoms & narrow jagged trails along the canyon walls. 

Over the 46 years that Bartholdi lived amongst these canyon walls, he also found himself riding a burros or two on these same jagged paths of slow speeds, yet minimal treachery. That is until, the Autumn of 1917.

Scene 6: The Burro Incident

BARTHOLDI: Quello che dici Dominick, is that George Trodgen & his burro Coalie? Whoa burro. George are you ok?

GEORGE: Drunk & stammering gibberish.

BARTHOLDI: Mio dio George, your breath smells like lamp oil. I would do better speaking to your burro…

Coalie, I never ceases to be amazed that you got the equilibrio of a weeble wobble, and the nimbleness of a Gatto. I know you have taken Signor Trodgen over this narrow trail before, and I trust you will do it again. Be on your way then…. And Good luck. 

Andiamo Dominick. Back to the house please.

BARTHOLDI: "oh, serpente…now Dominick! Easy, boy! Tranquillo, ragazzo. No No No…I cant stay on. 

Whoa. Whoa. Ferma. Ferma. Whoa Dominick. You have dragged me far enough. Ah! My foot—it’s twisted in the stirrup! Easy, Dominick, you saved me—let me release myself….Ow!(Bestia ingrata!) You bit me? Non sono un serpente, Dominick. Do i look like a snake? I yiy yiy. I bleed Dominick. Now let me get on, and take us home. 

Scene 7: Uncle Jimmy Finds Bartholdi 

UNCLE JIMMY GRAYSON: "Bismarck?! I haven’t heard from you in a while. Do you need any suppl…OMGosh! Are you sick? What happened?" 

BARTHOLDI: "Dominick… Serpente, rattlesnake scared him. He tried to save me. 

UNCLE JIMMY GRAYSON: You been snake bit?

BARTHOLDI: not exactly. Dominick jumped, i slid sideways, he dragged me…then I try to release my foot from stirrup, Dominick panico, he bite me.

JIMMY: the burro bit you? Dominick did this?

BARTHOLDI: Sì, like a lion… i fear him bite is more bad than serpente."

UNCLE JIMMY GRAYSON: "looks like it…I’ll get you help. Hold on." 

BARTHOLDI: "No, Uncle Jimmy… LUISENNA is gathering sweetgrass, he will Ritorno to care for me…Per favore Signore Grayson, mio vineyard and trees… mio bees… find someone to care for them. And Dominick… he did his best." 

UNCLE JIMMY GRAYSON: "Absolutely Bismarck. I’ll see to it, friend."

Scene 8: Bartholdi’s Death Scene 

LUISENNA: Bismark? Bartholdi? Can you hear me my friend? I have been to the red rock. I pray to the creator for you.

BARTHOLDI: Not too much longer for me Luisenna…Il mio fedele amico (my loyal friend).

Ah, the Profumo of the grapes… the hum of my bees. My work… will live on. 

…Dominick mio burro, Ti perdono, amico mio, I forgive you, my friend."

LUISENNA: Bartholdi, my Italian friend…The creator awaits you.

BARTHOLDI: "Dio mio… per favore… abbi pietà di questo vecchio uomo…My God... please... have mercy on this old man”

(The sounds of a morning in Italy and mandolin music playing)

Closing Narration:

In the autumn of 1917, as grapes hung heavy on the vine awaiting their beloved vintner, the San Gabriel Canyon, in hues of amber and flecks of gold, bid farewell to one of its most vibrant souls. While years have passed and floodwaters have reshaped this rugged gorge, echoes of Bartholdi's spirit persist in the gnarled vines he once nurtured, the bees he loved, and in the steadfast orchard he pruned. The old stone hut, is now only rubble, yet the soft whispers of the San Gabriel River continue to carry his memories of golden days gone by. Addio Bartholdi l'italiano, fino a quando non ci incontreremo di nuovo. Addio Bartholdi l'italiano, Feeno ă quando non chee incontreremo di nuovo. (Farewell Bartholdi the Italian, till we meet again.)