Master of the Mission Inn

The senior Miller, returning to survey after five years as a hotelkeeper took a contract in Blythe on the Colorado River border of California. He’d come home to Riverside; stay a few days or longer then ride off to other sites left to the management of his knowledgeable foremen. After three or four summer months on the Colorado in 1881 in 110-degree heat he gladly returned to the ninety-degree days in Riverside. The desert sun and wind had tanned his face, bleached his beard and aged his clothes; a dusty battering during the long stagecoach and train trip back to Colton and Riverside did little for his appearance. He arrived in town unannounced.

He went looking for a jack knife in Roe’s store, unrecognized by the owner who eyed him suspiciously. I believe he sensed the irony of the situation so went next door to his son’s Blue Front grocery, asking credit for provisions needed for a prospecting tour. Frank promptly and firmly declined, not recognizing his father in the desert-worn customer.

So fully confirmed as unrecognized Pa continued around the village: to a physician for a prescription, to the Railroad Office seeking work, to the land office wanting to be shown land for purchase, always refused. His went next to the family hotel and to a room, discovered there by one of his daughters who called her sister for help in getting the tramp out of the house. The drama ended when Mother Mary Ann came to the recue with belated recognition.

The Press gleefully reported the whole story of course, drawing “a curtain of privacy” over details of the ensuing family scene.

People knew the older Miller an amiable gentleman of quiet dignity; his few surviving letters suggest a subtle and kindly wit. He likely enjoyed this small drama of anonymity as much as anyone reading or hearing about it. Yet like them, he would have wondered.

For all his willingness to move beyond the crowd in his ambitions for Riverside and the hotel Miller readily sought advice as he embarked on any of his imaginative and innovative projects. He’d been responsive to Ma and Pa as he grew up, unable in maturity to remember ever refusing their guidance. But obedient sons don’t always become advisable adults.

His habit in seeking advice led him to people regionally, even nationally distinguished and all notably successful. Young Frank sought advice from Albert S. White, a New York merchant retired in Riverside, as he launched his brief and profitable Blue Front grocery store then bought his father Miller’s interest in the hotel. Charles Loring, a prominent Minneapolis businessman accepted a mentor role that began with planning and finance for the Loring Opera House of which Miller became manager for years.

Miller sought out Collis P. Huntington for business and political advice; guidance and finance for street railways, hotel building and political strategies from Henry E. Huntington; guidance on his Spanish Art Gallery with its supporting Spanish Art Society from Archer Huntington of New York.

All the hotel additions for thirty years developed from careful and directive guidance sought from the superior architects Miller engaged – Arthur B. Benton, Myron Hunt, Peter Weber, G. Stanley Wilson, and John C. Austin,  known for his Griffith Observatory and Los Angeles City Hall.

He sought Stanford University president David Starr Jordan’s advice as a pacifist and for emotional sustenance in grief. Distinguished city planner Charles Cheney came when asked about a Civic Center for Riverside. Harry Chandler of the Los Angeles Times responded to requests about investments, politics and guests.

Miller was anything but passively dependent, far from it; he pushed his own ideas and weighed what he heard. What marked his habit of advisability was his canny recognition of where the expertise lay and his willingness to go after it.

The love Frank left behind in Tomah Wisconsin at seventeen, inscribed in his diary and etched in his heart, would never be forgotten. She was Mattie Weed, and he often spoke of her until they met again almost sixty years later, his warmth of first love still glowing; a familiar experience.

New infatuations sprang up in Riverside California — a Miss Anna Wooster, a Miss Ettie Brown — both becoming his walking and riding companions and conversationalists. All learned dancing together.

Both disappeared from his diary. Ascendant came Annie Eastman: sixteen, blue-eyed, blonde haired, and hugely unresponsive to his smitten advances. His desire surged deep: “Oh God, keep me Pure and Noble.”

Frank unsparingly tested his friends and himself by moral worth, what was then called being “clean” and “straight.” He didn’t gain his goal-directing, achievement-oriented persona by silencing that conscience; rather, by conscious effort he melted inner accusations and unworthy desires into workable ethical patterns to guide his life.

Annie Eastman remained a siren presence, admired at church, observed out riding, invading his dreams. He blamed his unrequited affection on lack of wealth and social polish but passion slowly turned to admiration for her nobility of character, only occasionally blurred in upwelling desire. Then her name disappeared suddenly and without comment.

Isabella Hardenberg, a local schoolteacher entered his life, first at Sunday school, then as a visitor, then a boarder in the Glenwood Cottage where friendship blossomed in new dimensions for Frank.

Isabella controlled her own employment and won public approval for her professionalism, both in contrast to his earlier infatuations and to his own work as a day laborer. She displayed the social maturity he yearned for. Beyond companionship on rides or walks, at dances or Sunday school she privately directed his intellectual life.

And perhaps best of all she lived in the house, admired by his parents. Their lives would entwine for over a quarter century.

Riverside’s first bid at county separation from San Bernardino died in Sacramento in 1890 amid “the dastardly insults of the greatest rogues in [San Bernardino] County.” Miller himself gave no evidence of finding this disagreeable, ready for the 1893 session of the legislature.

Before his return to Sacramento however Miller successfully and covertly squelched a threatened inquiry distasteful to the Southern Pacific railroad. The railroad immediately offered him favors “in a more appropriate manner [than written thanks]. Please request some favor at [our] hands.” Precious words indeed, their value to the cause of county formation not lost on Miller.

Ever eager, he left Riverside before the 1893 session began, endlessly pursuing senators, assemblymen and anyone likely to support the Riverside bill. Said one reporter: he “hasn’t taken his clothes off since arrival…never sleeps…[ever] doing a power of good.” He buttonholed and lobbied but did not speak in the legislative sessions, perhaps his choice but more likely the wisdom of the group. Belle his wife joined him, knowing that he’d be away until the session ended, successfully or not.

The Riverside group knew from experience that excessive caution even secrecy was needed, given “some tomfool technicality in the business,” political subterfuge at home or Miller’s distractibility. He did keep several irons in the fire, was often blunt and outspoken, lacking the smoothness of “the wily politicians tact,” as his colleagues knew. Spy tactics were needed and he took to covert operations with ease.

A telegram from Riverside to Miller in Sacramento read: “Do not be defeated we will act as you think best we have confidence in your personal judgment telegraph in cipher.” From then on coded notes passed north and south, all laboriously translated from text to code and back again. “Muffling monsoon luster modality”; “curator connubiate plus addicting few civilize replunged imprint frolicsome pilatism win moody. Dyer and McIntyre.”

The Southern Pacific executive who had promised a substantial favor made good through political influence in Sacramento on Riverside’s “most cherished measure.” “County division,” Miller said, “would have been absolutely impossible except for the goodwill of Mr. [Henry E.] Huntington” of the Southern Pacific.

The bill passed. Orange colored “Riverside County” badges, a Frank Miller touch, appeared on lapels all over the Capitol. Back home Belle appeared wearing one, loudly cheered by all who saw while in the town festivities surged unrestrained.