With the amount ammunition available to comedians today, it is no wonder that political satirists continue to do brisk business. Although no longer on the air, personalities like Stephen Colbert used the art of satire to make plain the sometimes inane peculiarities of modern life in an always hilarious way. The faux newspaper The Onion continues in this vein and shows no hint of letting up any time soon. Of course, satire is nothing new and for centuries it has proven an effective means of not merely making light of, but seriously critiquing the world around us.
Believe it or not, Lake County had its own Stephen Colbert once.
Actually, between 1889 and 1892 Lake County boasted an entire group of social critics who wrote op. ed. pieces for the Sacramento Daily Union. Taking on the persona of ditzy southern debutants and writing in an exaggerated southern dialect, these satirists became known as the “Backwoods Belles” of Lake County. Full of hilarious commentary on life in an area other Californians apparently thought of as hick, these belles addressed topics ranging from politics to the downright absurd commentary of “who wore it best” at the local ball.
The first on the scene was “Laura,” a woman whose writing belies an interest in serious literature. After Laura took a brief break from her column, another woman — simply identified as “B.B.” — took the reins. Right off the bat B.B. poked fun at both herself and Laura, apologizing to the reader saying:
“I can’t tell you as many nice things as she [Laura] does, because she’s been abroad in the world. Why, she’s been to San Francisco and to Marysville and to Bartlett Springs, and I have been only to Kelseyville once with pa when he went to trade horses with Bill Rogers.”
It wasn’t long after B.B.’s debut that more women from Lakeport appeared in the newspaper, sharing their “stories” about rural life in our area. One of the most prolific was “C.C.” who wrote more than a dozen articles in a little over a year’s time. Taking an even more “country bumpkin” tone than the previous women, C.C. wrote in an April 1890 article about how her beau Jack called her a genius after reading one of her articles in the Sacramento Daily Union. C.C. was overjoyed about the praise, but was confused about the word “genius.” She says:
“Don’t tell anybody, but I hunted for that word in the dictionary, that Mrs. Jones lent me, for three whole days. Jack says some day if I keep on improving my mind, he’ll buy me a Webster’s dictionary under the bridge, and then I can learn all the big words I choose.”
It appears that the women weren’t just playing into people’s opinion of Lake County as an isolated and rural locale — there was a deeper prejudice about our area than that. You see, many of the Americans who immigrated to the Clear Lake basin in the 1850s and ‘60s came from the south — particularly Missouri. By the 1890s the children and grandchildren of these southerners, although now living in California, adhered to their Missourian roots. Apparently they had become notorious for this outside of the county. In the same article in which she breathlessly admitted to not knowing the word genius, C.C. leans into this other prejudice towards Lake County, noting:
“You know that in Lake county we are nearly all Missourians (there are some few Americans), and we are thinking very seriously of changing the name of our county to that of New Missouri.”
If there was any doubt at the comedic intention of the backwoods belles, the newest arrival on the literary scene put that to rest. Signing her name as “’Manda Higgins,” this belle wrote in such a convoluted southern dialect that deciphering her column is an exercise in itself. Writing in October 1891, ‘Manda relates a conversation she had with a local judge about the backwoods belles:
“Es I tole the Jedge las’ nite when me an’ him were a discussin’ about Backwoods Belles that yude hey to go dean to Grravly Vally ‘fore yude tine any backwoods ‘bout heah. An’ he spoke rite up fur Gravly Vally quick like, an’ sed he knode uv his own knowlidge plenty of peopul thiar that’d be fit fur tho moast select bullarks of society in any city. But I kno’ how ‘tis with him, his allus in pollerticks an’ hes to prase ev’rybody.”
Get all that? Yeah, me neither.
Although clearly exaggerated (some more so than others), these articles nevertheless provide unique insights into life in 1890s Lake County — particularly Lakeport, where most of the stories take place. After all, satire is just exaggeration wrapped around a kernel of truth. Through exaggeration, the truly expert satirist is able to reveal the truth of the matter more effectively than the most eloquent exposé. Some of the belles do just that. In between the absurd and inane, we get glimpses of days boating on Clear Lake, nights out at local dances put on by the Odd Fellows and even the entertainment derived from watching trials in the local courthouse.
The eager historian devours these columns, mining for little nuggets of insight. In one letter to the editor in November 1890, C.C. breaks character from her normal low-brow feigned-ignorance and relates in undiminished comical tones the results of the recent county elections:
“We had an election here a week or two ago, and poor Jack is way down in the mouth, and pa, who is a Democrat, is way up in the mouth. Every old Democratic moss-back got back into office, and the poor, unsuspecting Republicans are taking a trip up Salt river to recuperate. I made a slight error, the Republicans managed to “scrouge” out two old fossils, and elected the County Superintendent and Auditor.”
Local elections were more closely-watched affairs than they have since become, but the emotions surrounding politics in general remains much the same.
Some things never change.
Tony Pierucci is Curator of Lake County Museums
