In Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 of this series, we’ve done a deep dive into the history and architectural style of 1031 San Antonio Avenue, the Tilden Mansion. As with every house, once you start looking into it, more and more information starts to come to light. Some of these discoveries are surprising in a good way, such as a previously unknown (to me, anyway) owner of the house contacting me via the Alameda Post to share her memories of the mansion dating back to the early 1970s. And some of it can be sad, or even tragic, like learning about a murder-suicide committed in Alameda by a brother-in-law of Major Charles Tilden, the longtime owner of the house. That event was once the talk of the town, but now is almost completely forgotten. More on that later.
Owner emerges from the past
Just when I thought I understood the ownership history of the Tilden Mansion, a previous owner from over 50 years ago contacted me after reading these articles in the Alameda Post. Prior to this contact, this is the ownership chain, as I understood it:
- Howard Havens, 1896-1902.
- Charles Tilden, 1902-1950.
- Marion Mitchell, 1950-1968.
- Joan and Preston Short, 1968-1978.
- Sam and Ray Lee Thompson, 1978-present.
But when I got an email recently from Janet Friedman, wondering why she and her then-husband John Guthrie’s names didn’t come up as past owners of the house, I was thrilled to be getting new information that would make the historical record more accurate. Janet Alcorn (her name at the time) and John Guthrie owned the Tilden Mansion from 1972 to 1978, so they need to be added to the ownership chain between the Shorts and the Thompsons.
A fixer-upper
According to Janet, who is a professional interior designer, the house was something of a fixer-upper when they purchased it in 1972. They bought it as an investment property and restoration project, and only lived in it for about two of the six years they owned it. The rest of the time it was being restored to its former glory and updated with necessary upgrades such as electrical, plumbing, and roofing. In addition, there was a problem with rats and pigeons infesting the roof and palm trees, which had to be dealt with. While all this work was being done, Janet and her family lived just a few blocks away at 901 Paru Street. The project turned out to be much bigger than they had anticipated, and they didn’t end up making much on their investment when they sold the house in 1978. But it was a labor of love for them, since they both got great satisfaction from restoring old houses in those days. John was Comptroller for the City of Oakland at the time.
Benefit Guild
At the conclusion of the restoration project, Janet and her family lived in the home for a couple of years before turning it over to the Benefit Guild of the East Bay, who proceeded to restore the gardens and decorate each room under the direction of a different designer. This had the dual benefit of serving as a fundraiser for the Guild—they held their 1978 Decorators’ Showcase there—and as a staging of the house for homesellers Janet and John. In fact, Janet herself participated in decorating three rooms of the mansion for the showcase. It later sold for $279,000 to San Francisco small business owner Sam Thompson and his partner Ray Phibulsavasdi. They have maintained and kept this grand home in splendid condition ever since, including tending the lovely gardens and landscaping that give it such curb appeal.
The Home Desolate
An article in the Alameda Times Star dated December 22, 1898, headlined “The Home Desolate,” described the divorce proceedings between Captain Edward A. von Schmidt and his wife Isabella, who had packed up and left their home at 2221 Central Avenue with their children. Edward von Schmidt was the brother of Major Charles L. Tilden’s wife Lily. In Part 3 of this story, we learned about another one of Lily’s troubled brothers, Alfred W. von Schmidt, who had been confined to an asylum for making threats against his father Alexis von Schmidt and brother Edward von Schmidt, and who later challenged Charles Tilden to a duel and threatened to stab him. It seemed that the brothers were always feuding with someone, whether it was with themselves, their father, their brother-in-law, and now, a wife.
He said
After his wife Isabella left and served him with divorce papers, Edward von Schmidt retained an attorney for his defense and vowed, “I will never pay alimony.” According to von Schmidt, his wife “…has a bohemian streak in her nature, and her association with old theatrical friends has coddled this tendency, making her careless in financial matters, extravagant in her tastes, and to a large degree indifferent in regard to her domestic duties. It has been a common occurrence for her to go across the bay and spend the evening with her friends at the old Tivoli stage, and come home very late with the general tousled appearance indicative of a night of hilarity.” Edward added, “At the same time, she loves the children and has been an affectionate mother.”
She said
An article in the Daily Encinal, dated December 21, 1898, headlined “Divorce Proceedings,” added more detail to the case. According to the article, Isabella von Schmidt took her five children and left her home at 2221 Central Avenue the day before, headed to an unknown destination. Her complaint charged her husband with numerous acts of cruelty, and said that she was forced to flee out of fear for her life and was keeping her present location secret. For example, the article reports, “On October 15, 1893, he attempted to kill her and did discharge a pistol at her in their home, with the bullet barely missing her and lodging in a door frame. On another occasion – July 15, 1897—she claims he threatened to kill her while they were visiting Leona Heights and he went to the extent of drawing his pistol, but did not use it. Many other alleged acts of cruelty are specified.”
A day of violence
About four months after the divorce papers were served, Edward von Schmidt apparently snapped, and his violent tendencies manifested themselves in the most horrific way possible. An article in the Alameda Times Star, dated April 12, 1899, described the verdict of the jury in this tragic case as follows: “We, the jury, do find that the name of the deceased was Isabella von Schmidt, a native of Australia, aged 32 years, and that she came to her death at 2232 San Jose Avenue at about 12:30 p.m., April 9, 1899, and that death was caused by a knife wound in the heart inflicted by Edward von Schmidt with murderous intent.”
The jury foreman continued, “We, the jury, do find that the name of the deceased was Edward A. von Schmidt, a native of California, aged about 43 years, and that he came to his death at 2232 San Jose Avenue on April 9, 1899, at about 12:30 p.m., and that his death was caused by a knife wound in the heart inflicted with suicidal intent.”
This precise, brief, and legalistic language was due to the judge’s instructions to the jury: “A murder has been committed, but there is no one to be punished, and all you have to do is ascertain the identity of the parties and the manner of their death.” And yet, that anodyne language doesn’t begin to fully describe the tragedy of a young woman of 32 years losing her life in such a violent manner, nor of the couple’s five children witnessing the crime and being orphaned. Nor does it speak to the tragedy of a man waking up one day and making a horrific decision to murder the woman he supposedly loved, end his own life, and change the lives of his children forever. It brings up the age-old question, “Why did this happen, and could anything have been done to prevent it?” In that sense, looking into these stories of the past connect us directly to the present day, where we are grappling with the same questions on an almost daily basis.
If these walls could talk
The story of Isabella and Edward von Schmidt is a tale of a 14-year marriage that produced five children and then ended in tragedy in 1899. In a more perfect world they would have gotten the help they needed, Edward would not have resorted to violence, and everyone would have lived happily ever after. As is so often the case, however, things don’t work out that way. Meanwhile, there can be a tendency to idealize the past as the “good old days,” a time when the problems we suffer from today were largely absent. But when you study the past, as we do here in these articles on our Alameda Treasures, it’s not uncommon to find a lot of the same problems we have today, just on a different scale.
Looking into these old houses, then, is not just about the architecture, the design, the materials, and the style. While those aspects are interesting and noteworthy, ultimately it is the people who have lived in those houses that are the more fascinating story. Houses are, after all, designed for people to live in. That is their only purpose, and while the houses themselves may be stately, grand, and impassive in their countenance, the lives that have been lived in them are often more complicated, and even messy.
The peaceful Tilden Mansion
It is not known how Lily von Schmidt Tilden, wife of Major Charles Tilden, dealt with all of the troubles and tragedies among her brothers, but we do know that she and her husband Charles always opened their home to help and house their abandoned or orphaned nephews in any way they could. It’s important to note, though, that none of the violence and trouble described above happened at the Tilden Mansion itself, and in the words of Tilden stepdaughter Marion Mitchell, “Our home was quiet, orderly, and I never remember any bickering. I can still see us all gathered around the dining room table even now.”
An enriching journey
Over the course of these four articles on the Tilden Mansion, we learned that it was built in 1896 by noted local builder A. R. Denke, and designed by his son Edward Denke. The first owner was banker Howard Havens, who sold it just six years later to Major Charles L. Tilden in 1902. Perhaps the most noteworthy and long-lasting effect Tilden had on the Bay Area was his championing and early funding of the East Bay Regional Parks system, a legacy that later resulted in one of those parks being named after him—the Charles Lee Tilden Regional Park. Today, the system that Tilden started comprises 73 parks spanning across 126,809 acres, 1,330 miles of trails, and 55 miles of shoreline. In his later years, when he wasn’t able to get around as easily, the park’s board of directors even held their meetings inside the Tilden Mansion, so that Charles could still attend.
After 48 years in the house, and after having outlived his wife Lily by four years, Charles Tilden died of a heart attack at 93 years old, at home in the quiet mansion on San Antonio Avenue that he loved so much. After that, a series of owners, including his stepdaughter Marion Mitchell, have lived there and done an enormous amount of work to keep the grand home in the condition it’s in today. It’s something of a miracle when a house like this survives the ravages of time and economics, and the fact that it’s still here for us to enjoy is something to celebrate.
Seeing with new eyes
The wonderful thing about these deep dives into our Alameda Treasures is that once you get to know them like this, you never look at them the same way again. Now, when I pass by a house I’ve profiled in this series, it’s almost like passing the home of a good friend or family member. There’s an appreciation of the home’s history, and of the lives that have been lived in it. It’s no longer just a house, but rather, a part of the story of the community, of those who came before us, those who are with us now, and those who will take our place in the future. It’s part of an ongoing story that we’re all playing a small part in, and one day, we too will be just a part of history.
Special thanks to Ray Lee Thompson for opening his home and historical archives, in order to share this history with Alameda Post readers.
Contributing writer Steve Gorman has been a resident of Alameda since 2000, when he fell in love with the history and architecture of this unique town. Contact him via [email protected]. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Steve-Gorman.
