July?
Lord of Alaska: Baranov and the Russian Adventure, Hector Chevigny (1942)

One of the few singing jobs I've gotten here in Seattle is that I occasionally get a call from the regular tenor at a nearby church asking if I can sub for him, for the Sunday service or the Thursday rehearsal or both. The church is a Unitarian-Universalist one. When I was a kid, we didn't go to church much, but to the extent that we belonged to any church, it was the U-U. As far as I can tell, "U.U." stands for only three things: Ugueth Urbina, Uncle Ubs (which is what my niece calls me), and Unitarian-Universalist. The Unitarians and Universalists were two different churches that merged in 1961. When I got to be old enough to learn a bit more about them, I found that I liked the Universalist half a lot more, though my own family's background was definitely Unitarian.

I particularly like this Universalist credo, adopted in 1935:

In theory, Unitarians believe in the Christian God and faith in general but reject a few very significant specifics ― in particular, they don't believe in the divinity of Christ. From the point of view of other Christians, this means that Unitarians aren't truly Christian at all, but that's nothing unusual: the orthodox always brand the minority as heretics. In practice, Unitarians are liberal intellectuals who don't really believe in God but want to go to church anyway.

It says something about Unitarians that one day when I was subbing in the choir, the church event for the day was a big used book sale. Unitarians love books. That day, the big open room with the long cafeteria tables ― one thing that churches of all faiths have in common ― was covered with donated books for sale at prices almost as low as at those annual library surplus sales that I love so much.

The singing gig includes two services, at 9:30 and 11:00, with about a half hour between. I have no great desire to socialize, but there isn't enough time to get away and go somewhere else either. (The branch of the Seattle Public Library which is conveniently just across the street doesn't open till noon on Sundays.) So I was happy to browse the books that day. My records tell me that I spent $1.50 for two books.

When I was a kid growing up in Anchorage, the local world that we would explore on foot or on bikes slowly expanded as we grew older. On the far edge of our horizon was a street named "Chevigny", more familiar from driving past it on the way into town than from actually venturing that far afield outside of the car. The distance from home and the seemingly unpronounceable name weren't the only things that made Chevigny Street seem exotic. What I remember most about it is that it had an extraordinarily steep hill, which I wouldn't have wanted to take a bicycle on up or down. (I've never liked going fast.) And even as a kid I think I was vaguely aware that it must have been nearly impossible to drive on in winter when it ices up. A couple years ago when my ex and I went back to visit Alaska, we drove by Chevigny Street and I remember noticing it wasn't nearly as steep as I had remembered. I'm not sure if the difference is that it was leveled out some time in the intervening years ― I noticed it is paved now, which it wasn't when I was a kid ― or if it just seemed steep because I was littler.

On that same trip, we stayed at my mother's house for about a week. Among the books on the shelf in Mom's guest room were two by Hector Chevigny, the man for whom the street is named. I may be mixing him up with someone else, but I think he was one of the many Alaska authors with whom my grandmother (a one-time president of the Unitarian Church in Anchorage) was acquainted. Chevigny writes narrative histories about Russian America, and I think that's all he writes. I know of at least three of his books. Mom had two of them: a general history of Russian America, and a biography of Alexander Baranov. I remember seeing these books on the shelf when I was a kid, but I never read them. During my recent visit, I did pick up one of them (I forget which) and started it, but I hadn't gotten far when it was time to leave. I put Chevigny's name on my list of books to read some day, but it's a long list and he was buried deep down.

You can see where this is going now. At the book sale at the Unitarian Church, I happened to spot a copy of Chevigny's Lord of Alaska for less than a dollar. Of course I bought it, and of course I read it soon after.

If I took any notes on the book, I can't find them now. What I recall most is reading with interest the way in which the Russian-American venture in Hawaii came about. I had encountered that episode in my readings about early Hawaiian history but without any detail. Chevigny's book told a bit more, though still not as much as I'd like. It happened later in Baranov's life when political competition with the military leaders moving into the area with the Russian Navy's expansion into the Pacific made it harder for Baranov to control everything that went on in his region. The Hawaiian venture was bungled due to the self-interest and lesser competence of certain participants, and one can't help wondering how it might have gone had Baranov still been in his prime. Although they never met, Baranov and Kamehameha I maintained friendly correspondence for many years and each respected the other deeply.

The third Chevigny book I'm aware of is a biography of Nikolai Rezanov. Rezanov was the Russian politician and adventurer whose influence in Catherine II's court saved the Russian American company in the early years when it was in desperate straits due to lack of support from the capital. Rezanov himself later traveled westward and eventually ended up scheming with a Spanish governor in California whose daughter he married. Or something like that. I'm fuzzy on the details. I'd read Chevigny's book, but my usual library doesn't carry that one.

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