Britt is on record as saying that he'd rather be a busted lamp-post on
Battery Street than the Waldorf-Astoria. I said once that I'd rather be
sick in California than well anywhere else. I'm prepared to go further.
I'd rather be in prison in California than free anywhere else. San
Quentin is without doubt the most delightfully situated prison in the
whole world. Besides I have a lot of friends - but I won't go into that
now. Anyway if I ever do get that severe jail-sentence which a
long-suffering family has always prophesied for me, I'm going to
petition for San Quentin. Moreover, I would rather talk about California
than any other spot on earth. I'd rather write about California than any
other spot on earth. Is it possible that any Californian Chamber of
Commerce has to pay a press agent? Incredible! Inexplicable! I wonder
that local millionaires don't bid their entire fortune for the
privilege. Now what has Willie Britt to say?

Yes, my idea of a pleasant occupation would be listing, cataloguing,
inventorying, describing and - oh joy! - visiting the wonders of
California. But that would be impossible for any one enthusiast to
accomplish in the mere three-score-and-ten of Scriptural allotment.
Methusalah might have attempted it. But in these short-lived days,
ridiculous to make a start. And so, perforce, I must share this joyous
task with other and more able chroniclers. I am willing to leave the
beauty of the scenery to Mary Austin, the wonder of the weather to Jesse
Williams, the frenzy of its politics to Sam Blythe, the beauty of its
women to Julian Street, the glory of the old San Francisco to Will
Irwin, the splendor of the new San Francisco to Rufas Steele, its
care-free atmosphere to Allan Dunn, if I may place my laurel wreath at
the foot of the Native Son. Indeed, when it comes to the Native Son, I
yield the privilege of praise to no one.