William Lewis Manly and Early Los Angeles Crime

The Death Valley '49ers were among the best-known migrants to California of the masses of gold seekers and others who came to the Pacific coast in the early stages of Gold Rush.  Among their number was William Lewis Manly, whose memoir, Death Valley in '49, first appeared in print in 1894.

The horrors of the trip across Death Valley are the focus of the work, but, for the purposes of this blog, the interest is more related to Manly's arrival in Los Angeles in early 1850, after surviving the ordeal in the desert and then a return visit a little more than two years later.

It was March 1850, when he straggled into town, noting that

the houses were only one story high and seemed built of mud of a gray color, the roofs flat, and the streets almost deserted . . . we could not see any way to make a living here.  There was no land cultivated and not a fence, nothing to require labor of any kind . . . in our walk about this city of mud we saw many things that seemed strange to us.  There were more women than men, and more children than grown-up people, while the dogs were plenty.

There was an explanation, of course, for the demographic oddities that Manly discerned, as "the majority of the male inhabitants of this town had gone to the mines, and this accounted for the unusual proportion of women."  Then, before winter set in, he continued, "we learned that they would return in November, and then the gambling houses would start up in full blast . . ."

Evidently Manly did not stay around long enough on his first visit to Los Angeles to find out what "full blast" in the gambling dens of town could often lead to, but on his return to the City of Angeles in summer 1852, he did.

First, though, he discovered that one of the members of his expedition had arrived in Los Angeles a couple of months ahead of him.  In January 1850, Lewis Granger came to the town and quickly disavowed any idea of heading for the mines.  Instead, he became part-owner of a boarding house, before deciding to follow the occupation he had before coming to California—being an attorney.

In fact, when Manly returned to Los Angeles, he stated: "[Jonathan R.] Scott and Granger were lawyers.  Granger was the same man who read the preamble and resolutions that were to govern our big train as we were about to start from Utah Lake [Salt Lake City].  Scott was quite a noted member of the bar . . ."

What attracted Manly's attention more, though, was the fact that

the country was overstocked with desperate and lawless renegades in Los Angeles, and from one to four dead men was about the number picked uyp in the streets each morning.  They were low class, and there was no investigation, simply a burial at public expense.

As discussed in this blog previously, the statement that there was about a murder a day in Los Angeles during the time Manly was talking about, or slightly afterward, was expressed in print by other memorists, including merchant Harris Newmark and Horace Bell, whose colorful and embellished recollections have been recounted here at some length.

Other sources indicate that, while the homicide rate was astronomically high by modern or even contemporary standards, there was nowhere near the level of violence recorded by these writers, who may have inflated their figures to further dramatize their recollections.

This 1843 drawing purports to show what "Mexican Gentlemen" looked like.  William Lewis Manly, in his 1894 memoir, lauded the honesty, benevolence, and charity of Californios.

In any case, it is interesting to read how Manly saw the ethnic mixture in Los Angeles, writing, "the permanent Spanish [that is, Californio] population seemed honest and benevolent, but there were many bad ones from Chile, Sonora, Mexico, Texas, Utah, and Europe, who seemed always on an errand of mischief, a murder, thieving, or robbery."

Manly also had kind words to say about the Californios because of the assistance he was given by them after his travails during his trip to the region, stating

I became well acquainted with many of these old California natives, and found them honest in their dealings, good to the needy, and in all my travels never found more willing hands to bestow upon relatives, friends, or strangers ready relief than I saw among these simple natives.

Many American and European writers of the era expressed outright hostility and racism towards Spanish-speakers in California, so it is notable to see Manly's views, even if "simple" could be construed as paternalistic, or merely as "salt of the earth".

Several months before the murder of Joshua Bean, a former Indian-fighting militia general turned saloon owner, in the mission town of San Gabriel, Manly related a different event related to popular justice in that community.

Evidently, there were four men observed near the mission and acting suspiciously, so based 

on this information the Vigilance Committee arrested the man [the other three apparently having escaped] in camp and brought him to a private room, where he was tried by twelve men, who found him guilty of horse stealing and sentenced [him] to be hung at once, for horse stealing was a capital offense in those days

It was true that, for a time, grand larceny could be punishable by death after a trial, but there was no such example found in Los Angeles County during the brief time the statute was in effect.  More likely, the Vigilance Committee [where a standing or an ad hoc one] was applying its own stautory standards.

Manly continued,

To carry out the sentence they procured a car, put a box on it for a seat, and with a rope around his neck and seated on the box, the condemned man was dragged off by hand to an oak tree not far away, whither he was followed by all the men, women, and children of the place, who were nearly all natives [Californios, probably].

After some of the unnamed man's friends were alerted to the situation, they arrived

to try to save his life.  They talked and inquired around a little and then proposed the question whether to hang him or to turn him over to the lawful authorities for regular trial.  This was put to a vote and it was decided to spare him now.  So the rope was taken off his neck, and he was turned over to Mr. [J.S.] Mallard, the mission justice of the peace, much to the relief of the fellow who saw death staring him in the face.

Manly's description of this narrowly-averted lynching is not found elsewhere and, obviously, cannot be corroborated.  If true, however, it is a rare example of a popular tribunal electing to rescind its own verdict and death sentence.

Also rare is to find first-person sources of life in early American-era Los Angeles and particularly that dealing with crime, violence and the administration of justice.  Manly's memoir is an interesting one on many grounds and well-worth including and considering in any accounting of these issues.

L.A. Times "Eternity Street" Review

Yesterday's Los Angeles Times has a nearly full-page review (click here) of John Mack Faragher's Eternity Street: Violence and Justice in Frontier Los Angeles.  The reviewer is Jill Leovy, a Times reporter whose book, Ghettoside, examines the modern crisis of black male homicide and the abysmal rate at which these crimes are solved.

It helps to know this (this blogger had to look up this information) before reading the review, because so often, book reviews are revealing about the reviewer as well as the reviewed.  Leovy's main point of analysis is that Faragher asks the right question relating to why people were, in frontier Los Angeles 140 and more years ago, murdered with impunity and protection.

This question of justice denied is crucial for Leovy as she eloquently and passionately discusses why Faragher's excellent book does so many things well--to the point where she repeats at the beginning and end the positive affirmation: "Now we're talking."

What is interesting to this blogger in Leovy's review is what might be termed a variation on a common theme; that is, the attempt to directly, concretely and specifically link violence and criminal justice issues from frontier Los Angeles to later periods and events.

This has been done, for example, by historians in comparing the Chinese Massacre of 1871 to mob violence in Los Angeles in 1943 (Zoot Suit Riots), 1965 (Watts Riots) and 1992 (the civil unrest in the aftermath of the trial involving officers from the Rodney King beating).

In Leovy's review, she links frontier Los Angeles to the modern Gaza Strip, South Africa and Compton and suggests Faragher's analysis might help "dissect" such issues as gang and drug violence, honor and witch killings, and counter-insurgency and state-building.

Without trying to review a review, a core question is: how readily can we compare and contrast types of violence in modern places to those of frontier Los Angeles?

This blogger has, in the twenty years studying and writing on this topic, been very wary of making ready connections between that era and later ones, except in broad brush with broadly-sweeping strokes.

If you've read Faragher's book and Leovy's very interesting review, leave a comment here about what you think!

The Big House III: San Quentin State Prison and Los Angeles County Inmates

The third and fourth convicts from Los Angeles County sent up to San Quentin State Prison were Firman Valdez (July 1853) and Jose A. Rodriguez (March 1854).

Valdez was tried before the county judge and two associate justices at the Court of Sessions on 2 June 1853 on the charge of assault with the intent to kill in the stabbing of Jesus Parada.  The Los Angeles Star of the 8th only noted that, "the Court of Sessions met on Monday, and passed sentence upon Firman Valdez, convicted of assault with intent to kill; one year in the State prison.

The "Register and Descriptive List of Convicts Under Sentence of Imprisoment in the State Prison of California" lists Valdez as prisoner number 233.  Arriving on 10 July, Valdez was described as 5'7" with a dark complexion and black hair and eyes.  He had a scar across his left cheek and nose, a stiff  left hand, and a "scar from a bullet on left arm and left side."  Clearly, Valdez had been in a number of fights in this lifetime!

The "Register and Descriptive List of Convicts Under Sentence of Imprisonment in the State Prison of California" at San Quentin lists prisoner 233, Firman Valdez, sentenced to a year for an assault with the intent to kill (incorrectly listed as "murder") in a case from Los Angeles County.  Click on either image to see them enlarged in a separate window.

The 40-year old laborer, a native of Mexico, was listed as being convicted of murder, though this clearly was an error.  For one thing, a murder conviction would have brought a death sentence and a hanging back in Los Angeles, instead of the one-year term for the assault to commit murder.  He evidently served his full term, because the comments section on the list merely reads "Discharged" with no date given.

On 22 February 1854, Jose A. Rodriguez, charged with an assault with the intent to kill Francisco Machado, was convicted in case 161 om the District Court, presided over the Judge Benjamin Hayes, with the lesser charge of assault with the intent to commit bodily harm and sentenced to a term of one year in prison.

However, on the complaint of county jailer George Whitehorne, Rodriguez and Manuel Garcia were defendants in the next case, number 162, held on 24 February at the Court of Sessions, with the charge of setting fire to the county jail.  Notably, the jury found both men not guilty of this crime.

Legal proceedings having ended, Rodriguez was sent up to San Quentin, arriving on 15 March.  Recorded as prisoner 347, he was identified as a 23-year old vaquero, a California native, and as 5'4 and 3/4" with a dark complextion and dark (presumably black) hair and eyes.

This is the San Quentin register listing for prisoner 347, Jose A. Rodriguez, committed for an assault to commit bodily harm (incorrectly listed as "assault to murder") in a case from Los Angeles County.

Again, the listing of his crime was in error, because he was shown as being convicted of "Assault with attempt to commit murder," rather than the "intent to commit bodily harm" which was reflected on his District Court case envelope.

The physical description of Rodriguez included scars on the right side of his nose, on his left ear and on the right waist, but also "an indentation on right side of head," which leads to the question of how that physical feature was created.

The next two convicts sent up to San Quentin from Los Angeles County oin 1854 were notable figures for very different reasons, so check back for the next installment of "The Big House."

Barton Massacre Podcast from KUCI Radio, Part Two

The second and final part of an interview on the Barton Massacre of 1857 conducted with Ellen Bell of the KUCI radio program, "Irvine History Today" is up on her blog: http://irvinehistorytoday.blogspot.com/.

The Barton Massacre of 1857, Part Nine: The Trial and Lynching of Pancho Daniel

The final major event in the aftermath of the Barton Massacre of 1857 was the capture and trial of co-leader of the gang who committed the depredations: Pancho Daniel.

Daniel was said to have been wounded in the ambush that slaughtered Barton and three members of his posse searching for what was called the Flores-Daniel Gang.  The injury was, evidently, serious enough to put Daniel out of action and he quietly slipped out of the Los Angeles region and headed north.

It was not until just after the new year dawned in 1858 that Daniel was captured by Sheriff John E. Murphy of Santa Clara County.  As reported in the 23 January edition of El Clamor Público, Murphy had received word that Daniel was hiding nearby.  Going to the location that was identified, Murphy found "a Californio or Mexican that was there, but this person said he knew nothing of Daniel's whereabouts, and even that he knew him."

At that, Murphy called out for his companions and, when they walked up, "ordered the hanging of the Mexican, who, at the moment of suffocation, confesed that Pancho Daniel was hiding within a pile of straw very close to where they were."  The sheriff called out to Daniel to surrender "when he [Daniel] stuck his head out of the straw and seeing that there was no way to escape, he surrendered."

It was said that Daniel had three pistols with him when seized and then he was taken to the jail at San Jose and held there until Murphy could bring him down on the next steamer to Los Angeles, where the prisoner arrived on the 19th.  The article concluded that "he was accused of having committed many crimes, and, among these, of having taken part in the deal of Sheriff Barton."

Reporting on the capture of Francisco "Pancho" Daniel, El Clamor Público, 23 January 1858.  Thanks to Paul Bryan Gray for making copies of this paper available.  Click on any image to see enlarged views in a new window.

Daniel was indicted on 10 February before the county's Court of Sessions, headed by County Judge William G. Dryden, easily the most colorful judicial figure of the era, on the charge of murder in the deaths of Barton and his three posse members.  The district attorney representing the state was Ezra Drown, who had been an attorney since his arrival in Los Angeles in 1853, and Daniel's counsel was E.J.C. Kewen, a noted lawyer, orator and Southern firebrand.  Because this was a murder case, it was transferred to the District Court, presided over by Judge Benjamin Hayes, who was nearing the end of his six-year term, assigned number 498, and then continued to the March term.

Daniel was being held in the Los Angeles County jail when, on 15 February, his fellow bandit, Luciano Tapia (a.k.a., Leonardo Lopez) was executed after his conviction for his role in the killing of George Pflugardt.  

On 15 March, Daniel was arraigned and then pled not guilty in the murders of San Juan Capistrano merchant George Pflugardt, for which there was one indictment, and of Charles Baker and Charles Daly, two of Barton's posse members, which were reflected in the second indictment.  A trial date was set for the 22nd.  Kewen then stepped down from his representation of Daniel, for reasons unknown, and Kimball H. Dimmick, stepped in.  Dimmick, who came to California in the Mexican-American War, was alcalde (mayor) of San Jose, a judge and a signer of the California constitution of 1849, before migrating to Los Angeles, where he was a member of the Assembly, a district attorney, and attorney.

When the case came up for trial, Dimmick was "discharged by consent of defendant" and a new attorney, Columbus Sims, a resident and lawyer in town since 1852, took on the defense of Daniel.  A venire (call) for ninety-six jurors had been made, but Sims quickly moved for a change of venue, which Hayes denied.  As the hearing proceeded, twenty-eight jurors were excused and the rest ordered to return the following day.

But, as reported in El Clamor on 27 March, "the accused submitted a petition that the matter be continued until the next sesion of the court, so that there would be time to bring certain witnesses from Santa Clara County who would testify that he was not in Los Angeles County at the time of the crime of which he is accused."  Judge Hayes ruled that "the defendant had given sufficient evidence to grant the time requested, and consequently, continued the matter until the next session on the third week of July."

The next District Court term arrived and the Daniel case came up.  On 19 July, the case was called up, evidently late in the day, and was continued the following day.  Sims was out ill, and Cameron E. Thom, long-time district attorney, was appointed associate counsel and Hayes assigned the case to be heard on the 28th, with a new venire of ninety-six jurors also ordered.

The account of the lynching of Daniel, Los Angeles Star, 4 December 1858.

On the 28th, the case came up, twenty-four jurors were excused for cause and a new twist emerged, as reported in the Los Angeles Star, in its edition of 31 July.  A group of jurors had been called by the sheriff, as required by law, but Sims challenged the selection "on the ground of alleged bias on the part of the sheriff."  A panel of three triers, composed of former county judge Agustín Olvera, merchant Francis Mellus, and merchant John Schumacher, were appointed by Judge Hayes to hear evidence of bias on the part of Sheriff James Thompson, who had recently been voted in as sheriff after a special election, following the on-duty death (the second consecutive after Barton) of William Getman in January.  This was because Thompson was one of the captains of citizen cavalry members seeking the Flores-Daniel Gang after the massacre and was stationed at Simi Pass when Flores was captured and had publicly expounded on Daniel's guilt.

Upon an objection, though it is not known by whom, Olvera, Mellus and Schumacher were discharged "for cause shown" and another trio: ranchers Gerónimo Ybarra and Santiago Carrillo, and carriage maker Daniel McLaren [identified only as "McCleran" in the Star] were appointed by Hayes and accepted by the attorneys.

The triers heard the matter, with witnesses including Kewen, Thompson, jailer Francis Thompson, prominent doctor John S. Griffin  and two other men.  Even though the defense filed an exception to Hayes' charge to the triers, on unknown grounds, the trio were sent off to deliberate with the presence of county coroner J.C. Welsh and "agreed that vias existed—panel discharged."  Hayes then "ordered, that a venire [call] issue for ninety-six persons to serve as jurors, returnable by the Welsh on the 9th of August, at 10 o'clock."  The coroner had, in fact, already conducted court business on behalf of the sheriff, having conducted a "sheriff's sale" of the Rancho Palos Verdes by order from Hayes in March.

Yet, when the court reconvened on 9 August, Sims was ready with another maneuver.  After Welsh  returned a list of ninety-six jurors he summoned to the court, Sims challenged the coroner on what the Star described as "implied bias" of some unstated type.  Unknown triers heard this latest accusation with witnesses including Drown, Kewen, Welsh and a fourth man, upon which "the Court finds that said bias does exist," as reported by the Star.  This finding disqualified Welch from performing the role of selecting jurors, the group he summoned were discharged and the case continued to the 10th.  At that time, on a motion from Sims and an order by Hayes, the case, once more, was continued until the next term in November.

Meantime, Hayes ran for a second six-year term as county judge and his competitor was none other than Sims.  The election results, published on 4 September, showed Hayes trouncing Sims 1229-209, but whether the Daniel case and any public anger at Sims for his creative defense strategy were factors cannot be known.

On 15 November, reported the Star twelve days later, the case was called and Hayes set it for trial on the 22nd.  Drown motioned that Welsh be ordered to call another ninety-six jurors to appear the next day, but then, the paper noted, "coroner resigned, and Court appointed an Elisor," this being a term for someone who acted in lieu of the sheriff or coroner.  This was Manuel F. Coronel, whose father Ygnacio was a former common (city) council member and whose brother Antonio was an assesor, council member, and mayor of Los Angeles and later treasurer of California.  Manuel went on, from 1869-71, to represent Los Angeles in the state Assembly.

A portion of El Clamor Publico's coverage and editorial of the Daniel lynching, 4 December 1858.

Sims returned to his playbook and ran the same attack: accusing Coronel of bias.  Hayes then called Kewen, attorney and future council member and District Court Judge Murray Morrison, and prominent Californio Juan Padilla, to be triers.  This time, fifteen witnesses were called, and after a two full days, "the Elisor was declared, on Friday morning, free from bias."

Then, another tack was taken by Sis who filed a motion for a change of venue.  From two o'clock until the closing of court for the day, arguments were made, after which "te Court granted the motion, and the trial of Daniel is transferred to Santa Barbara county."  Notably, the Star, while praising Drown for his "energy, fidelity and perseverence" while he "ably sustained the cause of the prosecution" avoided crediting Sims for his handiwork, instead noting that Cameron Thom "projected a novel and skilful course, which has proved successful."  Years later, as district attorney, Thom was on the other side of the bar, prosecuting the cases of nine men accused of involvement in the Chinese Massacre of October 1871.

With the knowledge that the Daniel trial was being moved to Santa Barbara and fueled by the frustration felt after the many delays in the case, a group of citizens acted.  According to the 4 December edition of El Clamor, the jailer, Francis Carpenter, stated that, as he was leaving early in the morning to do his usual shopping for supplies, he was confronted by a mob and forced to yield his keys.  After he ran to find Judge Hayes, he returned to find Daniel hung from the crossbeam of the jailyard gate.

The paper said that a witness "declared that the death of this unfortunate was one of the most brutal examples that could be."  It was said the rope used was too thick and the gate not high enough to allow for a drop that would break Daniel's neck so that "he suffocated in the midst of the most horrifying despair."  The witness said that when he arrived the body was still twitching, but that he could not identify the ringleaders.

El Clamor went out of its way to say that it was not defending Daniel, calling him "one of the worse evildoers who has existed as a shame of humanity."  But, it went on, "if we have a duly constituted government and laws to obey and respect, why do we avail ourselves of violence and brutal force?"  Moreover, it went on to note that Daniel was a miserable and defenseless victim of those looking to "destroy public tranquility."

To the ringleaders, the paper stated, "Daniel was an assassin . . . and justice was too tardy with its rulings--so then, there is no sense of guilt to take him and hang him!"  Asking, "what is the result of these rationalizations?" El Clamor answered that it was "for them, in place of one type of crime, there was committed one larger."  Observing that "the death of Pancho Daniel does not merit the word 'lynching'," the paper claimed that, rather than represent the larger community, the killing of Daniel was the result of "a few men gathered for the sole purpose of perpetrating an unprecedented act of violence and cruelty."

Rising in its indignation, El Clamor went on:

Town of Los Angeles!  Bow your head in humiliation, and confess that in your time is here sacrificed prisoners without a word of defense!  There is no sensitivity, no emotion, on the homicidal breast, which hears the tearful appeal of an unfortunate who will expire on an ignominious gallows, asking for the consolations of religion, or wanting to see his wife or his young children!

Noting that Los Angeles was a place favored by nature and material progress, here was another instance in which "it is hoped that the reputation of the country is not tarnished by such a dark blot."  Moreover, the paper claimed, "We are among the first to say to the town: patience and hope!"  It asked "if a criminal of another nationalty falls into the hands of justice, will those who carried off Pancho Daniel give evidence that they are impartial with criminals?"

Observing that "almost all of the citizens of this county regarded Daniel as a criminal and this makes it less horrifying that revenge has been taken on him," the paper concluded by aserting that "we thought that they had seen the pernicious effects of lynchings."  Without equality of the law, the community becomes "governed by the will of a few individuals."  In such a circumstance, El Clamor exclaimed, "raise high the banner of anarchy and treason."

By contrast, as usual, the Star was far more sanguine in its reports, also on 4 December.  It professed that, on the day of Daniel's lynching, "the good people of our city were somewhat astonished on waking up from their peaceful slumbers, by the rumor that Pancho Daniel was then hanging by the neck from the cross beam of the gate of the county jail yard."

Stating that it was "probably a committee acting on behalf of a larger body of citizens" that perpetrated the hanging while Sheriff Thompson was out of town, the paper matter of factly reported the confrontation with Carpenter and his yielding of the keys and the fact that Daniel was led "to mount an office stool" which was knocked from underneath him.  For the Star, the shock was that, "as the morning cleared, it revealed the terrible spectacle of a human body hanging dead."

It claimed the citizens who had gathered to see "the body executed in so quiet and mysterious a manner" dispersed and that, only a half hour later, one would not have thought that "so fearful a tragedy had been enacted in our midst."  There was a vague allusion to "some feeling [that] was exhibited during the day, but nothing to indicate that the respectable portion of the Californians were dissatisfied with the result."

While tame in comparison to the expostulations of El Clamor, this editorial in the Star marked a turning point in the English-language press's views on popular justice, 4 December 1858.

However, an editorial in the same edition did mark a noted, if somewhat muted, change in attitude by the Star about lynching.  Writing that the event was something "which we cannot permit to pas without notice," the paper stated that "it was the execution without the sanction or form of law, of a fellow being; one who—even admitting his guilt—was entitled, by the constitution, to the benefit of a fair and impartial trial.

While the paper maligned that "technicalities of law" which "may have been taken advantage of, to defeat the ends of justice," it was asserted that the evidence was such that "we have no doubt that justice would have eventually been meted out to him, and the majesty of the law vindicated."

The editorial continued:

We cannot express too strongly our disapprobation of this act.  At the same time, we have no desire to give expression to harsh or exciting language on this occasion.  The deed has been done.  It has, we admit, met with the general approval of the people; but we must nevertheless, give expression to our utter disapproval of mob law . . . if we are to have anarchy and confusion prevail, let the announcement be made, so that all may take warning . . . We had hoped that the good sense of the people had long since discovered the pernicious effects of such exhibitions.   We had hoped that all looked to the laws for the punishment of evil doers; and that the day of mob law had passed away.  But we were mistaken.

The lynching of Daniel, the piece went on. "will reflect disgrace upon the community, which years will not obliterate.  Our reputation abroad was none of the brightest, as a law-abiding community; there will now be a foundation for such charges."  Noting that it had no sympathy whatever for Daniel and certain that justice would have resulted from his trial, the Star concluded:

We had no right to turn executioner and no desire to soil ourselves with the blood of our fellow [being.]

It was hardly the righteous indignation of El Clamor, but the feelings of the Star did reveal a market change from attitudes expressed by the English-language press in the nearly eight years since the first issue of the Star made its debut in May 1851.  This also reflected a growing change in sentiment more broadly in the United States during the 1850s, which was the apogee of popular justice in the nation.  A slow, but growing confidence in policing, the courts, and the general administration of justice, along with what might be called "the civilizing process" (Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of Our Nature is now being read in this context), were part of the transformation.  Vigilantism and lynching were still to be resorted to on occasions in Los Angeles County until the mid-1870s, but they were less frequent and the administration of justice did improve.

But, at the end of 1858, that transition was still very much in its early stages, as evidenced by a statement written in the first book of the Register of Actions for the District Court as he ended the listing for the Pancho Daniel case:

The Gentleman who was defendant in this case, was accidentally hung, through the carelessness of some American citizens on Tuesday morning, November 30th A.D. 1858.

Barton Massacre Podcast from KUCI Radio, Part One

Last Wednesday afternoon, I sat down with Ellen Bell, host of KUCI's Irvine History Today to talk about the Barton Massacre of 1857.  The first of two parts aired yesterday from 4 to 4:30 p.m., though the public station's signal strength is pretty much localized to the Irvine area.

However, a podcast of that first segment is available through Ellen's blog of the same name and can be accessed here.

The discussion ranged from the specifics of the incident, in which county sheriff James Barton and three member of his posse were gunned down by the Flores-Daniel Gang, to what the Irvine area was like 150 years ago, to the racial tension, fear, and revenge that drove those who responded to the killings as they hunted down gang members, and more.

Ellen had attended my presentation on the Barton massacre to the Orange County Historical Society about a month ago involving a lecture and group discussion with over 60 participants and invited me for the interview.

The second part will air next Wednesday the 9th at 4 p.m., if you happen to be close enough to the campus at UC Irvine to pick up that signal.

Otherwise, head over to Ellen's blog to hear the podcast!

Meanwhile, we're nearing the end of the series on this blog about the massacre with the next post concerning the trial and lynching of Francisco "Pancho" Daniel, so check back for that!