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The wheezing Smith Brothers may have had their beards to cough into, William Randolph Hearst may have had his yellow newspapers and Heinz his cans of baked beans, but not one of these men could have been as proud of his possessions as San Diegans were of the star in their city's crown, the Hon. J. Fortescue.
Physician, attorney, psychologist, author, Fortescue undoubtedly emerges from the annals of San Diego as a true genius. Had he been alive today, we predict he would have walked away with many major scientific prizes, possibly even the Nobel, thereby bringing reflected glory on his beloved San Diego.
According to his faithful Boswell and biographer, Dr. Clifford Graves of La Jolla, the Hon. J. (for John) Fortescue was "a kindhearted man with lofty ideals, but there were times when he could lash out with a chilling sarcasm that left his audience speechless."
"Who's Who in San Diego" and many scientific directories listed the achievements of this 20th-century da Vinci: founder of the International Board of Hygiene, affiliated with the League of Nations; member of the California Mycological Society, the American Eugenics Society — the list is endless.
There never was an Hon. J. Fortescue.
Well, there was one once. He was an English legal writer and jurist who turned in his torts about 20 years before Chris Columbus hit the ocean blue.
The Hon. J. was born in the Turf Bar in Tijuana in 1923. Here, leading San Diego professional men were in the habit of repairing when the racking thirst engendered by Prohibition became too much to bear. After they had all heard one another’s stories for the fifth time, they sought more original ideas for entertainment while imbibing.
"If we invented a phony organization with an impressive title, I wonder if we could get it recognized by the League of Nations?" a Dr. Pickard said through his glass. Immediately, he was appointed to get the project going.
So he did. It wasn’t long before a missive bearing the impressive engraved letterhead of the International Board of Hygiene was dispatched to the League of Nations in Geneva, Switzerland. Written in impeccable French, the letter was signed by the Hon. J. Fortescue, who asked that the society be formally recognized. Soon, a return message gave the international accolade to the bogus board.
Pickard released the news to local papers, who crowed out the details to the public. And over the years, he made regular pronouncements to the press in the name of the Hon. J., who unfortunately always was in India, in Yucatan, in Tibet, or some place where he couldn’t be reached by local newsmen. Every word was solemnly printed.
Local clergymen were alarmed when he made pronouncements on the sex life of the American male, before Kinsey started digging in that fertile field. He orated on vitamins, on polio, on dozens of subjects, and members of the Turf Club drinking society roared over the accounts in the papers until tears rolled down their cheeks.
In the 1935 edition (the only one) of Who's Who in San Diego, the Hon. J. Fortescue is listed as the "winner of the Fleischmann Prize." This was true. The yeast company had a contest that offered $10,000 for the best letter on "Why I eat Fleischmann's Yeast." The stuff was supposed to be good for pimples. It must have been great, because this writer's grew just fine after he started taking it.
The contest intrigued Dr. Pickard, and he wrote the following letter:
"I have taken Fleischmann's yeast for the past three years, one cake mashed with Roquefort cheese and butter, spread thin on a sandwich with a leaf of lettuce. I eat this for lunch, dinner and bedtime. I enjoy perfect bodily regularity, good appetite, and physical vigor. The whites of my eyes are as clear as a boy's and at 65, I am the envy of my younger friends. The Hon. J. Fortescue."
The Hon. J. won the 10 grand.
In the years following Prohibition, it was the habit of the ABC Brewery in San Diego to advertise its product by inviting in social and fraternal groups for evenings of gratis suds-drinking. The manager was delighted to receive a request for a beer session from the International Board of Hygiene.
Members arrived in their tasseled caps and academic gowns; lofty sentiments were expressed; and scientific papers were read. Too, a lot of ABC beer went down the gullets of members of the board. To cap the evening, a resolution was passed graciously thanking the manager for his courtesy and pronouncing ABC beer the best yet.
A free shipment of ABC went to Dr. Pickard, who, in reply, sent a letter signed by the Hon. J. stating that the beer had been laboratory tested and found to be absolutely non-fattening.
Soon, billboards popped up all over town featuring a beer-swilling blonde endowed with interesting proportions. Next to the curvaceous lady was the message: "International Board of Hygiene pronounces ABC Beer absolutely non-fattening — The Hon. J. Fortescue."
Over the years, Dr. Pickard got the Hon J. listed in numerous scientific directories, whose editors never even checked his dizzingly impressive academic degrees and credentials. Each year the local press was gladdened by reports of new discoveries by the Hon. J. Fortescue, but none came in 1963. Dr. Pickard was dead.
And so, for the second time, was the Hon. J. Fortescue.
(Copyright by Bailey & Associates)
Longtime newspaperman Herbert W. "Woody" Lockwood has forgotten more about San Diego history than most historians remember. Retired from daily newspaper work, he might be researching a book on military food.
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