A rare biography of a California Indian leader that weaves together the story of a legendary figure. It's a little known fact that the San Francisco Bay Area's Marin County is named after a Coast Miwok chief who achieved notoriety for defying Spanish authority over his people. Anthropologist and archaeologist Betty Goerke has pieced together a portrait of the life of this Native American leader, using mission records, ethnographies, explorers' and missionaries' diaries and correspondence, and other material.

The Coast Miwok and the early friars of Mission Dolores chose San Rafael both for its good weather and running streams, and the mission was named after the Archangel Raphael, the patron saint of bodily healing. When looking for a country estate, many wealthy San Franciscans sought the clean air and ideal weather here to escape the city's damp fog. San Rafael grew fast thereafter--it was the first city in Marin County to incorporate, the first to build a railroad, and the first to build a luxury hotel. San Rafael is the seat of county government, the center of commerce, and a cosmopolitan community in a natural setting. The dusty village of long ago was refined by fine schools and churches, the coming of the library, and by the ambitious efforts of the San Rafael Improvement Club. These early efforts made this a charming place to live, with Victorian homes, sylvan streets, and historic buildings in the business district. The pioneers would be pleased with the state of today's San Rafael.

Jim Holden's 10 stories describe the development and unique character of Marin County. He talks about the enchanted wilds of Mount Tam, the difficult birth of the Golden Gate Bridge, the Big Empty, the controversies around the County's oyster beds, its tule elk, and Marin's esteemed Buck Trust. The lifeblood of Jim's stories is his rich cast of characters, like Teddy Roosevelt, John Muir, Kit Carson, William Kent, William Coleman, and trailblazer Martha Buckelew. Holden also shares the drama of the Marin County courthouse shootout and hostage taking by San Quentin inmates, and the stunning campaign of violence and intimidation by the Synanon cult in West Marin.

Mount Tamalpais rose from the land that has become Marin County. As the crown jewel of the Marin Municipal Water District, the mountain and adjoining watersheds total 22,000 acres. These properties sit adjacent to county open space as well as holdings of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and Mount Tamalpais State Park. Together, the land provides an unparalleled world-class recreation and wilderness area only 30 minutes from the city of San Francisco. Amidst the upheaval of the Progressive Era, the Water District was chartered in 1912 by citizens of Marin County to create a public water system and to fulfill the promise of a park. Rich with possibility, the land had remained surprisingly undeveloped throughout the 19th century. Surviving the Gold Rush, a notorious period of wanton greed for natural resources, the mountain needed protection. Armed with the power of eminent domain, the Water District started the conversion of the vast watershed areas from private to community ownership, a process that ultimately saved the mountain and left in its formidable shadow the beloved and beautifully preserved natural land of the Mount Tamalpais Watershed.

An insider’s “indispensible” behind-the-scenes history of the transit system of San Francisco and surrounding counties (Houston Chronicle). In the first-ever history book about BART, longtime agency spokesman Michael C. Healy gives an insider’s account of the rapid transit system’s inception, hard-won approval, construction, and operations, warts and all. With a master storyteller’s wit and sharp attention to detail, Healy recreates the politically fraught venture to bring a new kind of public transit to the West Coast. What emerges is a sense of the individuals who made (and make) BART happen. From tales of staying up until 3:00 a.m. with BART pioneers Bill Stokes and Jack Everson to hear the election results for the rapid transit vote to stories of weathering scandals, strikes, and growing pains, this look behind the scenes of an iconic, seemingly monolithic structure reveals people at their most human—and determined to change the status quo. “The Metro. The T. The Tube. The world's most famous subway systems are known by simple monikers, and San Francisco's BART belongs in that class. Michael C. Healy delivers a tour-de-force telling of its roots, hard-fought approval, and challenging construction that will delight fans of American urban history.”—Doug Most, author of The Race Underground: Boston, New York, and the Incredible Rivalry That Built America's First Subway

As San Francisco recovered from the devastating earthquake and fire of 1906, dust and ash filled the city’s stuffy factories, stores, and classrooms. Dr. Philip King Brown noticed rising tuberculosis rates among the women who worked there, and he knew there were few places where they could get affordable treatment. In 1911, with the help of wealthy society women and his wife, Helen, a protégé of philanthropist Phoebe Apperson Hearst, Brown opened the Arequipa Sanatorium in Marin County. Together, Brown and his all-female staff gave new life to hundreds of working-class women suffering from tuberculosis in early-twentieth-century California. Until streptomycin was discovered in the 1940s, tubercular patients had few treatment options other than to take a rest cure at a sanatorium and endure its painful medical interventions. For the working class and minorities, especially women, the options were even fewer. Unlike most other medical facilities of the time, Arequipa treated primarily working-class women and provided the same treatment to all, including Asian American and African American women, despite the virulent racism of the time. Author Lynn Downey’s own grandmother was given a terminal tuberculosis diagnosis in 1927, but after treatment at Arequipa, she lived to be 102 years old. Arequipa gave female doctors a place to practice, female nurses and social workers a place to train, and white society women a noble philanthropic mission. Although Arequipa was founded by a male doctor and later administered by his son, the sanatorium’s mission was truly about the women who worked and recovered there, and it was they who kept it going. Based on sanatorium records Downey herself helped to preserve and interviews she conducted with former patients and others associated with Arequipa, Downey tells a vivid story of the sanatorium and its cure that Brown and his talented team of Progressive women made available and possible for hundreds of working-class patients.