- ANTONE PIERUCCI
- Posted On
Traveling Northern California: The fascinating history of Old Sacramento
Above you the faint murmur and echoes of thousands of tourists fall through the chinks in the wood boardwalk, filter through the earth and emerge between cracks in the century-and-a-half old brick that keeps all the above – people and earth and brick – from crashing down on you.
Sheriff George “Tight Knot” Lee did promise to take me behind, or rather under, the scenes of Old Sacramento. He certainly didn’t disappoint.
Old Sacramento, a state historic park, sees millions of tourists each year. Between the restaurants, candy shops and museums, there’s certainly a lot to see.
After a while, though, local residents get burned out on the same ol’ same ol’ and soon Old Sacramento just becomes somewhere you take out of town relatives to when you get tired of entertaining them yourself.
The staff of the SHM’s “It’s Jacked Up!” tour intend to turn that notion upside down – literally.
With the amiable Sheriff Lee – whose real name is Steve Bralley, a local businessman/volunteer tour guide now outfitted in a historic costume – our group sets out from the museum and strolls across the green lawn to first row of squat brick buildings.
Stopping abruptly at the mouth of an alleyway, Sheriff Lee turns on his spurred heels and faces our group.
Behind the sheriff, the broad alleyway slopes down out of sight. A block away, the cobbled path reappears as it rises to the level of the next street before once more falling from view and reappearing another block away. Looking down the length of it, Firehouse Alley looks like a long rope strung loosely from L, K and J Streets.
His back to the alleyway, Sheriff Lee now says in a slight southern drawl, “The early settlers here, having built a home for themselves and invested capital in making this place a reality, were intent on staying here – even though “here” was a terrible place to build a city.”
Gesturing for us to follow him, the sheriff turns around and descends the gentle slope of Firehouse Alley. Once at the floor of the pathway – about 10 to 15 feet below the level of the street – we turn to the left and approach the back of the B.F. Hastings building, walking towards a black iron door.
With one hand on the door, Sheriff Lee begins again: “Where we’re now standing was the original level of Old Sacramento.”
The sheriff proceeds to explain to us that before the discovery of gold made the area a household name, the central valley of California was sparsely populated. Those who did dwell among the oak groves and tulle-skirted rivers understood that their existence rested on an uncertain foundation.
The low-lying land of the river valley perennially flooded. During particularly wet winters, you could stand on the foothills of the coastal range, look east to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, and see oak groves rising from a muddy morass of floodwaters.
Stretching from rim to rim would arise an inland sea, with the occasional knoll of high land peeking out as an island and refuge for the Native Americans and Californio ranchers.
It was right here in the marshy meadows that the new Euro-American immigrants chose to build their city. Within a few years, residents realized their mistake as flood after flood washed away their homes. Their stubborn determination to rebuild after each fresh disaster led one Nevada journalist to quip that Sacramento suffered a certain “dementia.”
If they were crazy, there was at least a method to their madness that time itself soon revealed. Eventually tiring of the flooding, these early Sacramentans devised a means to cheat nature and rise above the floodwaters one brick foot at a time.
“You see, with the levees they built barely helping at all, these stubborn, entrepreneurial people decided the best thing they could do was raise the level of the buildings,” with that Sheriff Lee pushes open the heavy iron door.
Gesturing for us to enter, he follows us as we all walk out of the summer sun and into the dim interior.
“Sacramento is just one of three cities in the United States that raised its buildings and street levels. The other two were Seattle and Chicago.” Rather than echoing in the rather spacious basement we now stand in, Sheriff Lee’s voice seems to absorb into the soft brick walls and archways that disappear into the darkness.

Actually, we aren’t in a basement at all, as we soon learn to our amazement. Or rather, it is now, but it wasn’t always so. In fact, we are standing in what was, for the first decade or more of its life, the street level of the B.F. Hastings building.
This, then, is the level where the Pony Express riders dropped their satchels full of letters from back east; where the State Supreme Court justices entered when they came to conduct their business in the courtroom on the second floor; where took place the rip-roaring good times of a Gold Rush town flush with too much fast cash and all the creature comforts it could buy.
“When the town leaders decided to raise the level of the streets in 1864, business owners had two choices,” Sheriff Lee explains to our group. “They could jack up their buildings to the new street level and build a basement or they could lose their first floor (which would then become their new basement and their second floor their new first). Benjamin Franklin Hastings of the B.F. Hastings building decided to jack his up.”
The process of raising tons of brick, wood and wrought iron wasn’t as complicated as you would think. All it took was manpower, long wood beams and railroad jacks.
The first step in the process required digging a number of tunnels running lengthwise and widthwise under the building. Tall enough for a man to crouch, each tunnel then had a long timber inserted through it like a thread through the eye of a needle.
Where the timbers crossed each other, a jack was placed. Back into the tunnels crawled the workers and with the cry of a whistle, each man twisted the jackscrew one full revolution. Another whistle call, another crank and so on inch by inch.
Sheriff Lee explains the mechanics of raising the building we now find ourselves under with the aid of a model. A scaled-down Hastings building sits on a tabletop, four small railroad jacks under each corner of the building. Our guide asks for volunteers and I take my place on one corner.
“Please turn the screw eight times and then step back,” he instructs. After some cranking, the model building groans and squeaks upwards with each twist of the screw. At the end, we step back and I peer over the dangerously-slanted building to an amused Sheriff Lee. The roofline slants downwards towards my corner, a clear indictment of my work.
Pointing to me, he says, “You probably wouldn’t last long on the jack line.” Thankfully, my mistake creates an opening for Sheriff Lee to explain the work a bit more.
“They used buckets of water on the roof as a level to make sure mistakes like this [pointing at my sad slope] were corrected. Once they had jacked the building up, they constructed wood cribs underneath and proceeded to build brick piers and arches for support. Along the perimeter of each building they also had to build a retaining wall of brick with buttresses to support the tons of dirt that was going to be filling in to raise the level of the streets.”
Over the next 13 years, close to 1,000 buildings were raised in this manner in Old Sacramento. The cost of raising each building was borne by the owner of the building, which is why some businessmen decided to simply lose their first floor to the rising street level rather than pay the cost of saving it.
At the end of the affair, when asked if they wanted to help pay for raising the level of the alleyways, the building owners answered with a resounding “no way!” That’s why to this day Firehouse Alley looks like an exhausted elastic band, running along the width of Old Sacramento in a bunched line of rolling slopes.
As we finish our exploration of the underground space, Sheriff Lee guides us towards the black iron door we first entered. Emerging from the underbelly of the building, it takes some time for our eyes to readjust to the rising mid-morning sun peaking over the crenellation of the Hastings building.
“If you will follow me,” the businessman-cum-living-history-actor beckons, “our next stop will take us to the foundations of some of the earliest buildings in Sacramento’s history, to a glimpse of the seedier side of this riverside gold rush town.”
Walking back up to the level of the modern street, passing tourists stare questioningly at our troupe. I can’t help but smile as we walk past them on to our next historical spelunking adventure.
Some people can’t imagine what mysteries lie hidden beneath their feet.
If you go
The underground tour is offered on the weekends year-round. Between the Memorial Day weekend and Labor Day weekend, however, the SHM runs it 7 days a week, several times a day. For times and availability (and to book a spot on the tour) visit http://sachistorymuseum.org/tours/underground-tours/. It only costs $15 for adults and $10 for youths age 6 to 17. Children 5 and under are free; however, the SHM does not recommend the tour for this age group.
The museum offers a more adult-focused tour that runs Thursday through Saturday starting at 6 P.M. According to Shawn Turner, manager of tour programs, “the after-hours tour explores more those first 10 years of Sacramento’s history and so touches on topics of houses of ill-repute and gambling halls and those sorts of things that happened at night.”
Both tours are ADA-accessible.
Antone Pierucci is a Sacramento-based public historian and a freelance writer whose work has been featured in such magazines as Archaeology and Wild West as well as regional California newspapers.
CORRECTION: An earlier version of this story incorrectly reported a different number of buildings raised in the city during a 13-year period. The correct amount is close to 1,000.
