1850s Vigilantism in Los Angeles via Comedy Central's "Drunk History"

Click here for a pretty funny spoof from Comedy Central's "Drunk History" on violence and vigilantism in 1850s Los Angeles, complete with a naive, law-abiding Benjamin Hayes and a shoot-first, ask-questions-later Andrés Pico on polar opposites of the spectrum.

There are references to actual history, including the county and city jail that had a log across the room with staples attached for securing prisoners (though the log was probably slightly more finished than the rough example in the skit) and what appears to be a loosely-based reenactment of a February 1853 Washington's Birthday celebration at Abel Stearns' El Palacio adobe house, at which party crashers were shot and killed--though not by Don Andrés as shown.

The clip on the link is about 3 1/2 minutes after the obligatory ad, but is worth a look for anyone who has an interest in early Los Angeles and its struggles with crime and violence.

The Los Angeles County Courthouse, 1860-1861

After some seven years in the Rocha Adobe, during which the editorials of 1856 and 1859 decrying the condition of the building were penned, the Los Angeles County Courthouse became the subject of further criticism in 1860.

An article in the 25 February edition of the Los Angeles Star, for example, pointed out that

at the assembling of the County Court yesterday, it was moved by J.R. Scott, Esq. and concurred in by the District Attorney (Edward J.C. Kewen) and other members of the bar, that the Court adjourn, for the reason that the building occupied as the court room is so wholly out of repairs to render it not only unsafe, but exceedingly dangerous, to continue the session therein.

The county Board of Supervisors had, at its meeting on the 9th, appointed a committee of Gabriel Allen, Antonio Franco Coronel and Casildo Aguilar to work with Sheriff Tomás Sánchez to find other quarters.  The urgency became more market, however, when the Star observed that

a part of the roof has fallen in, and the timbers the support the balance of the roof are so worm-eaten that Judge Scott [who was 6 feet 4 inches tall, making him, like Abraham Lincoln, who was the same height, a veritable giant at the time], in illustration of the insecurity of the room, crushed a large handful of them as if they were straw.

Given this, the paper sanguinely suggested that, "it is high time that something was done to secure a decent place for the meeting of the Courts."

The 25 February 1860 issue of the Los Angeles Star contained this short article noting the deplorable condition of the Rocha Adobe as the county court house, including the fact that attorney Jonathan R. Scott, who was a toweing 6'4", could crush ceiling timbers with his hand because of termite damage!

A few weeks later, on 10 March, the latest report of the county Grand Jury was published in the Star, including the admonition that the court house and offices for the sheriff and county clerk

is wholly unsuitable for that purpose.  In fact, the old adobe walls, almost roofless . . . are so completely dilapidated as to render them not only insecure for such purposes, but exceedingly dangerous.

Consequently, by court order, the paper went on

the Sheriff has fitted up a brick building on Main street, which promises to answer the temporary purposes of a court room and offices of the Court.  This arrangement, however, can only be temporary, and is necessarily attended with considerable expense, and inasumuch as a Court House is essential to the administration of the law and the requirements of justice . . . the construction of a suitable building for the purpose would be in accordance with the true principle of economy.

The Grand Jury suggested yet another statute from the state legislature authorizing a ballot measure for a tax levy for $25-30,000 for the building of a new courthouse.  Of course, the previous attempts in 1858 and 1859 for voter approval led to defeats--the latter was particularly overwhelming in the negative with the Board of Supervisors reporting a different result than the papers: 1,766 against and only 162 in favor.

Still, the new home was deemed superior than the Rocha Adobe as the Star observed: "the new court house prepared by the Sheriff, in the Nichols building, has been used since the middle of the week by the Court of Sessions, and gives much satisfaction."  The paper lamented the fact the "the county has not had these improvements placed upon its own property" at the Rocha Adobe.

In fact, the next session of the Grand Jury in early July, according to the 14 July issue of the Star "would strenuously recommend that some means be devised to repair the same, so that it can again be occupied, and thereby save the county the burden of paying rent on other property."

The new quarters consisted of a one-story brick structure erected by former mayor John G. Nichols, who was the subject of a criminal case earlier in the 1850s concerning his alleged profiteering from the use of prisoners for public labor.  Nichols' structure was on the west side of Main Street between Temple and First.  In August 1860, the Board of Supervisors authorized payment to Nichols of $750 for six months' rent on the building.

This excerpt of a Los Angeles County Grand Jury report, printed in the Star's 24 November 1860 edition, called for the building of a new courthouse or "judicious repairs upon the old one" at the Rocha Adobe, which was still owned by the county and being used as a police station house.

In November, however, the Grand Jury had more criticism concerning the leasing of court house facilities in its latest report.  In the 24 November issue of the Star, the jury reported, "the large amount now paid as rent for bulidings for county purposes is suggestive of the necesity of preventing, as soon as possible, this heavy outlay and demand upon our already exhausted treasury."  Deeming the Nichols Building to be "indifferently suited for the purposes required," the jury suggested "the propriety of taking proper steps for the building of a new Court House or the making of judicious repairs upon the old one."  It also stated that it was "urgently necessary for the proper preservation . . . of the county files and records" to secure new furniture for the county clerk.

However, the arrangement to rent the Nichols Building continued until May 1861 when another location, virtually next door, was found for lease.  This will be the subject of the next post.

The Los Angeles County Courthouse, December 1859

Within a few months of the 1856 article in the Los Angeles Star comically lambasting the state of the county courthouse, located in the Rocha Adobe, the California legislature approved the concept of a tax levy on county property holders amounting to 1/2 of 1% of taxable property for the purpose of building a dedicated facility for court operations.  This announcement in April 1857, however, was subject to approval by voters at the county elections and was not followed by any action by local officials to place the issue on the ballot.

The 13 February 1858 edition of the Spanish-language newspaper El Clamor Público disucssed the situation regarding the inadequate building serving as the Los Angeles County Courthouse.

Nearly another year went by before the Spanish-language newspaper, El Clamor Publico, put out an editorial on the existing structure.  In its 13 February 1858 edition, the paper observed the structure's "worm-eaten ceiling: and general deterioration.  Its poor proportions in terms of interior layout and appearance on the exterior warranted the opinion that "the jail is a much better building than this."

Nothing that there was a movement to find a way to build a new court house, the paper criticized the fact the county Board of Supervisors had not acted to put the tax levy proposal to voters and reminded readers that "a notice we published in our previous number, we recommended that they try to secure a new law from the legislature authorizing a loan with this object."

El Clamor Publico concluded that "it is therefore evident that a building for the diverse offices of the county is an indispensable need and we expect our representatives to do everything possible to obtain the approval of a law as we recommended to them."

A portion of an article from the Los Angeles Star, 31 December 1859, discussing an order of District Court  Judge Benjamin I. Hayes to Sheriff Tomás Sánchez to locate new quarters for the Los Angeles County Courthouse.

Sure enough, this was achieved, as the legislature passed another statute in Aujgust 1858 permitting county officials to seek a $25,000 loan, in the form of a bond, rather than a tax levy, for the funds to build a courthouse.  At the county elections held a few weeks later, however, the proposal was narrowly defeated 236-194.

Undaunted, county officials pressed for another attempt in 1859 and the legislature duly followed up with a new statute authorizing voter approval for the courthouse levy.  The sour economy, stung by the national depression that broke out in 1857 as well as the lingering effects of the decline of the Gold Rush during the last few years, brought out a very different mentality from voters.  The September elections saw the court house bond vote deafeated by a resounding 953-32!

Another tack was then taken.  District Court Judge Benjamin Hayes issued an order at the end of the year, as reported in the 31 December 1859 edition of the Star.  Hayes noted that the courtroom in which he presided "is altogether unfit . . . by reason of its want of the proper accomodations for its officers and juries, and the general dilapidation of the house" and observed that the Sheriff had "failed to procue a suitable room, under the previous oder of this Court, for want of sufficient time," 

Consequently, Hayes went on, "it is therefore ordered by the Court, that the Sheriff of Los Angeles county do procure a suitable room in which to hold the session of this Court, and that he also procure a proper jury room, and a room for the Judge's chambers" with the furnishings, fuel, lights and stationery needed for court operations.

In an accompanying editorial, the Star reported that, "the Court house, it is true, is in a dilapidated condition, and when the order was made a stream of water was pouring down each side of the Judge of the Bench."  The paper stated that finding another existing structure for the courthouse "will cost the county probably five or six thousand dollars, and in the present embarrased state of the county finances, this is a very heavy addition to the already overburdened tax-payers."  Clearly, though, it was vital that a new location be found.

The conclusion of the Star article discussing how to deal with Los Angeles County's fiscal doldrums, including the great expense of dealing with criminal cases in the courts.

The Star then offered its views on why the county was in so much debt and led voters to overwhelmingly reject a bond issue to build a new courthouse:  "the answer is to be found in the heavy criminal business of the county . . .  crime must be punished, and that punishment entails enormous expense on the county."

Specifically at issue, according to the paper, was that "it is needless to say that the fees of officers swallow up the income of the county."  Salaries, as set by state statute, were generally pretty low for officeholders, but there was a fee system, in which these officers were paid piecemeal for the filing of various process of service, from arrest warrants to subpoenas to the clerk's writing (by hand, of course) the many documents that were part of court operations.

The Star felt that many of these fees were legitimate, such as in the case of the Sheriff who, for "all extra exertions he may make for the capture of ciminals must be paid out of his own pocket" and then reimbursed by submission to the county for his fees.  The county clerk, too, "is often in attendance on the court a week at a time, besides the labor of making up papers in office hours and after office hours."

The paper reserved particular scorn for the District Attorney, though, noting that this official was allotted an extraordinary salary of $10,000 a year, but "has no duties which . . . should entitle him to a recompnese greater than that of the highest Cabinet officer of the Union."  It was observed that the D.A. was not allowed by state law to charge fees."

Another major factor simply was "from the decrease of the property of the county" during the current economic downturn, "where . . . there were droves of cattle taxable for county purposes there are now but waste and unproductive laws."  Given that revnue was derived from taxable property, but the county was in a seriously depressed state of affairs, the only perceivable result, according to the Star was "a general bankruptcy, or repudiation must ensue."

Cutting back on expenses was one approach to consider, but, "with our criminal docket, and the present system of conducting trials, we see no probability of improvement" other than to "let criminal cases be at once disposed of, and the county be relieved from the enormous burden of officers, witnesses, jurors being required to be in attendance time and again fruitlessly."  To the paper, "this alone would prove a considerable saving to the county."

Obviously, this was not going to happen and, even though the economy continue to worsen in the early years of the 1860s in ways the Star and others in Los Angeles could not imagine at the onset of that decade, there was a solution to the matter of the courthouse.

This will be discussed in the next post.

The Los Angeles County Courthouse, November 1856

There were several Los Angeles County courthouses in the first dozen years or so of the American era.  For a few months after the formation of the county in 1850, the adobe house of longtime merchant Abel Stearns, called El Palacio, was used.  The large one-story structure sat on the east side of Main Street and later was razed by Stearns' widow, Arcadia Bandini, and her second husband Robert Baker for the construction of the ornate Arcadia Block.  The site is now where Main crosses the 101 Freeway.

Then, the county contracted with another prominent American, Benjamin D. Wilson and his partner Albert Packard, to use a portion of the Bella Union Hotel, also on Main Street, but a bit south of El Palacio, for court uses.  The hotel served in this function from Summer 1850 to early in 1852.

From there, the courthouse relocated to the adobe house of Benjamin Hayes, who was a city attorney and, for a dozen years, the District Court judge.  From early January 1852 to November 1853, the courthouse actually functioned in the former home of one of its own judges.

The county had explored the idea of building its own courthouse and would do so for years to come, but the only feasible financial option was to acquire another adobe building.  The Rocha Adobe was acquired from yet another prominent American, merchant Jonathan Temple, in August 1853 for just over $3,000.

The Rocha Adobe, situated on the west side of Spring Street, between Temple and First streets, needed some work, so the county budgeted $1,000 for repairs and renovations.  It was also decided to construct a new county and city jail in the courtyard of the adobe, but more on that in a subsequent post.

Despite the moderate improvements to the adobe, the deplorable condition of the building sometimes elicited comment in the press.  None of these was more pungent and potent than an editorial in the Los Angeles Star, dated 29 November 1856.  Likely the piece was penned by the paper's colorful editor, Henry Hamilton, though there is no way to know for sure.  In any case, this jeremiad is worth some attention.

The article began by asking "who was the architect . . . or in what age it was built."  After mockingly observing that the structure bore "marks of genius," he went on to say that "no other man than the projector could have succeeded in placing his victims in positions ensuring them such torture, as the judges, jurors, lawyers and officers must endure, condemned to long sessions in this terrestrial purgatory."

The first paragraph of a Los Angeles Star editorial concerning the decrepit condition of the county courthouse, 29 November 1856.

The court room was denoted as a "hog-pen" in the form of a "compressed parallelogram . . . with the smallest possible modicum of breadth."  In the northern portion, there was "a crib . . . in which the Judge is condemned to ruminate, chewing the cud of bitter fancy."  It was suggested that a judge would be so bitter to toil from that locale that "God help the poor sufferer who is condemned from that box—the verdict of a jury is bad enough, but when it comes, double-distilled, from that judgment-seat, the acrimony of misanthropy must, unwittingly, mix itself up with the gall of defeat."

After expressing the hope that a judge may someday have quarters befitting the name of a true courthouse, instead of an "augean stable," the piece continued that the bench was so cramped that "if he shifts his position, his heels must go up and his head down" and that "set him right side up . . . [and] nothing can be seen but the tip of his nose, or two keen eyes."

In sympathy, the editorial lamented, "Alas, poor judge, often have we silently sympathized with you, in your solitary cell."

Yet, it appears the judge had it fairly easy compared to the gentlement of the jury, according to the piece.

But the jury box, Gracious powers!  The man who constructed the "iron cage," was tender-hearted as a woman, in comparison with the projector of this device of Satan.  The builder must have been fresh from the culprit's doom—a verdict of guilty,  That's certain.

In fact, the article went on, those who concocted the concept of the jury box "should be, in the first place, convicted under the statute against cruelty to animals" and then sentenced to "occupy the same position for double the length of time [as jury service]—if they survive that, they should be excused from jury duty for the remainder of their natural lives."

As for the clerk, his space was "in a cage just big enough for one side of his record book—the other half has to trespass on his neighbor's grounds."  There was no discernible means of entering and exiting, evidently, and the author asked "why a clerk of a court, who is supposed to require, and usually has ceded to him, considerable space for his books and papers, should be thus cooped up, no one but the renowned architect of this building could conceive."

The end of the mocking jeremiad about the deplorable state of the Rocha Adobe.

All paled, however, in comprison to "the accomodations for the Bar—the caps the climax."  The space for attorneys "is an immense four-by-nine area.  It can accomodate one man and a chair at a time. If you put in a second man, you must take out the chair."  A table was considered a luxurious item, so an attorney "may write on the crown of his hat, if it be a stovepipe—if not, he must borrow one or do without writing."  Consultations between clients and their counsel had to take place outside the structure.

Finally, there was the matter of cleanliness, or the lack thereof, according to the writer of the tirade.  Aside from the "cribbed, cabined and confined dimensions of the room, is to be considered the quantity of dust and filth . . . which no amount of sweeping or cleansing can keep away."  With all of this in mind, the editorial concluded

we cannot sufficiently admire the ingenuity of the builder in the construction of such a house for such a purpose, nor the patience of the public—judges, jurors, and lawyers, who quietly submit to the infliction.

Whether there was a good deal of exaggeration or not in this piece, the Rocha Adobe continued as the courthouse for a few more years and this will be the subject of the next post.

Insurrection in Los Angeles County, July 1853!

Gold Rush-era Los Angeles was, by any standard, a hotbed of crime and violence.  An underfunded and understaffed criminal justice administration system was hardly equipped to deal with the spasms of criminal activity that frequently rocked the small frontier town.

Exasperation by the press and, presumably, many of the community's citizens, boiled over in an editorial in the 16 July 1853 edition of the Los Angeles Star.  The piece began with a simple observation, "This county is in a state of insurrection, clearly and plainly so."

This was, the article went on, because, "A large gang of outlaws, many of them expelled for crime from the mines are daily committing the most daring murders and robberies."  Obviously showing displeasure with the local legal system, the writer advised that, "Good citizens should devise plans to defend themselves."

This 16 July 1853 editorial in the Los Angeles Star claimed that Los Angeles County was "in a state of insurrenction" because of increased criminal activity.  Whether or not there was an actual revolt against the authorities, as opposed to a plethora of robberies and killings, is questionable, but the sentiment of concern over crime was palpable.

There were only two alternatives the editorialist could see.  One was that "orderly and industrious inhabitants must drive out this worthless scum of humanity."  The other was that citizens "must give way before the pirates [an interesting word choice there] and be driven out themselves."

A notable and rare reference to pre-American times was then invoked:

In the times of Micheltoreno [Governor Manuel Micheltorena, who presided over Alta California from 1842-45], when the country was infested by a horde of Cholos, thieves and murderers, the citizens mustered and drove the scamps to the seaboard, and then shipped them off to Mexico, where they belonged. 

To the author, "This was revolution, and just such another revolution is needed now."  Otherwise, the piece prophesied, it "will be too late when the assassin's knife has deprived the county of half her best citizens."

Consequently, the only real action was to "Let good citizens combine and drive the rascals headlong into the sea."

Now, there was almost certainly no little exaggeration, overrreaction and a faulty sense of history at work in this exercise in exasperation.  The overthrow of Micheltorena by rebels led by Pío Pico took place at Caheunga Pass in early 1845 and was about far more than just Micheltorena's notorious "guard" composed, it was claimed, of recently-released convicts (Cholos) from Mexican jails.

As to the claim that these "Cholos" were "thieves and murderers," that is not clear at all.  The one in-depth study of criminal justice in Mexican California, David Langum's 1987 study Law and Community on the Mexican California Frontier does not make any reference to increased crime during the Micheltorena years.  He did state that "Crime tended to be localized in the rural society of Mexican California."

There is also in the book a table of cases, compiled by Abel Stearns in the main Los Angeles court, that of the "First Instance," for the years from 1830-1846.  Of the 100 cases listed, 14 were for murder and 24 for theft and robbery.  On a percentage basis, these are not that far removed from statistics for the American era, other than the general scale for crime was much lower in the Mexican period.

The same issue of the Star included this account of the killing of Mexican-born Dolores Martinez in "the upper part of the city," an area commonly known as "Sonoratown."  The piece noted that an inquest of Justice of the Peace (later County Judge) William G. Dryden led to a verdict of Martinez being shot "by a person or persons unknown."

The same day as the "insurrection" editorial were short articles about a homicide and the capture of a horse thief by the Los Angeles Rangers para-military organization.  1853 was also when legendary bandit Joaquin Murieta was spotted throughout California, sometimes in several places at one, before his supposed capture and killing.

In general, there were many crimes and acts of violence plaguing Los Angeles and its outlying areas, so the sentiment expressed in the editorial is understandable.  Whether there was an "insurrection," defined in The American Heritage College Dictionary as "an open revolt against civil authority or a government in power, or not is debatable.

However, this wouldn't be the last time that kind of language was used.  In July 1856, after a deputized constable, William W. Jenkins, killed  Antonio Ruiz, who was being served with a writ of attachment for a $50 deby, and after the January 1857 murder of Sheriff James R. Barton and members of a posse riding to capture bandits near San Juan Capistrano, the fears of a revolt against authorities and "whites" generally were bandied about considerably in the press and elsewhere.

Certainly, in times of higher criminal activity, in an area often brimming with ethnic tension, the tendency to react with more emotion and fear is common.  Whether these impressions are based on real or imagined conditions is another matter.

Native Indian Forced Labor in the Los Angeles Criminal Justice System

The situation among the native Indians of the Los Angeles region is, as with so many parallels around the world, a sad tale of destruction and loss mingled with resiliency and determination for those indigenous people who have survived.

From the arrival of the Spaniards by land in 1769 onward, the Indians, called Gabrieleños by the conquerors, and such names as Tongva and Kizh by varying factions of descendants today, faced the onslaught of disease, forced labor, abject living conditions, destruction of native plant and animal resources, alcoholism, violence and other forces.  Despite this, there are many thousands of people today who claim some portion of native blood, even if the last of the pureblooded Gabrieleño passed on decades ago.

The situation continued to worsen in the American period, particularly as the Gold Rush and general western migration brought Americans and Europeans to the area in greater numbers.  Constituting the main labor force on the region's ranches and farms, the largest of which were roughly similar to the plantations of the South (and, not coincidentally, many of the new migrants to the Los Angeles area were from that part of the U.S.), natives were often paid in liquor, which they then consumed and, when drunk, were arrested and confined in jail.

Unable to pay the fines accuring on their convictions, Indians then found themselves subjected to being "hired out" as laborers to work off their sentences.  This was, in effect, a forced labor system that some have likened to slavery.

The system of contracted labor of Indian convicts in the Los Angeles city jail was managed by the mayor, whose court heard the cases of public intoxication that led to convictions and sentences, and the city marshal, who was responsible for managing the jail.

In late Winter 1853, charges were brought by the county Grand Jury against Mayor John G. Nichols and Marshal George Batchelder for misconduct in office.  The two were alleged to have financially profited directly from the labor system.  The matter went before the Los Angeles district court, presided over by recently-elected Judge Benjamin Hayes.

As reported in the 26 February edition of the Los Angeles Star, however, "the court decided that the statutes on this subject applied expressly and exclusively to county, township and district officers" and "that in such a case as the present, the party, injured might have resorted to certioari, habeus corpus, and other adequate remedies."

A summary of the case of People v. John G. Nichols, mayor of Los Angeles, in the Los Angeles Star, 26 February 1853.

The concept of certioari, or legal review, involves having a higher court, such as the Los Angeles District Court, reviewing the rulings of a lower tribunal, like the Mayor's Court.  The issue of habeus corpus deals with unlawful imprisonment.

Essentially, Judge Hayes ruled that, because there were no specific state laws covering the question of misconduct in improper jailing (and, then, farming off Indian convicts for labor in lieu of paying fines) by a mayor and marshal, the only legal resort was to seek review of Nichols' rulings on Indian cases and Batchelder's imprisonment of natives.

Consequently, the notice in the paper simply observed: "Defendant was discharged."  The case file for the District Court proceeding, dated 20 February 1853, and now deposited with The Huntington Library, noted that the charges were dismissed.

Hayes' ruling and dismissal, of course, does not mean that Nichols and Batchelder were innocent of manipulation of Indian convicts in the matter of labor to "pay off" their fines.  It was, rather, a technical matter, something that, in other types of criminal cases, generally infuriated the press and many of the local populace.

In light of the statutes then in effect, though, it was the correct legal ruling.  Clearly, state law and practice did not, in this example, serve to protect native Indians from the predatory nature of forced labor.  As their numbers declined precipitously during the 1850s, from about 3,800 enumerated Indians in the 1852 state census to about 2,000 by 1860, natives suffered legal, as well as social, political and economic abuses, by omission as well as commission.

The practice of sending Indian convicts into forced labor on the area's ranches and farms in lieu of fines for intoxication convictions (brought about largely because of the practice of payment for that same labor with alcohol) is the ultimate example of the "vicious cycle" and a black mark on society in early American-era Los Angeles.

The Big House: San Quentin State Prison and the first Los Angeles inmate

Due to inertia in Congress , the status of California, seized from Mexico in 1847, was in limbo for two years before citizens, most of them new Gold Rush arrivals, clamored for the creation of a government.  This led to the 1849 constitution and the seating of the legislature, which met at the end of that year and into 1850.

Notably, however, there was no provision for a state prison during that first legislative session, despite the fact that Gold Rush California was experiencing levels of violence that were far above and beyond anything else experienced in the United States and, perhaps, the world.

California's second governor, John McDougall, who took office on 9 January 1851, succeeding Peter Burnett who had resigned the seat, was briefly the superintendent of the Indiana state prison in 1846 before he served in the Mexican-American War and then headed to California for the Gold Rush.  McDougall evidently encouraged the legislature to do something for the state's convicts.

On 25 April, "An Act providing for securing the State Prison Convicts" was passed along with a slew of legislation to revamp the incomplete criminal laws passed in the first session.  The problem, however, was money, because the state was not collecting much in the way of tax revenue, so the governor was said to have encouraged a private lease arrangement.

Consequently, Mariano G. Vallejo, a prominent Californio, and James M. Estell were given the contract to manage the prison, which was to be built by the state, and then to utilize the convicts for labor.  Vallejo and Estell agreed to manage the housing and feeding of prisoners, subject to review from a board of inspectors of three men selected by the governor and who would file an annual report.

By 1852, McDougall was not nominated by his party for election to the governor's chair (he had succeeded to the position as lieutenant governor) and Vallejo bowed out of the prison deal, so Estell recruited the former governor and others as partners.

Estell was the controlling interest and formed the "San Francisco Manufacturing Company" to operate prison labor from the existing county jails before the state prison opened.  As the legislature worked out details for the construction of a prison, Estell subcontracted with two men to keep the state's convicts, from December 1851 onward, aboard their ship, the Waban, anchored at first at Angel Island in San Francisco Bay and then off Point San Quentin at the north end of the bay.  Although the Waban had a capacity of some fifty persons, there were something like three times that many imprisoned there.

Meantime, the prison commission, including McDougall's brother, George, James Graham and chhair Horace Carpentier, a former Oakland mayor, chose San Quentin, off which the prison ship was anchored as the site for the new prison, deciding this location over another near Martinez, further east.  The state paid $10,000 for 20 acres.

Architect Reuben Clark was hired to draw up the plans for the structure, but estimated a more than half million dollar cost, which was clearly not practical.  This paled in comparison, however, to the sole complete proposal from a contractor, which totaled $725,000 (lowered from an initial $1 million estimate.)  To add to the comedy, it appeared that the legislature's intent was to spend no more than $100,000!

This page from the San Quentin prison register includes the listing of inmate 113, Juan Moran from Los Angeles, admitted on 16 October 1852 for a three-year sentence of manslaughteer (even though the listed crime on the register is "Murder.").  Moran first served his sentence aboard the bark Waban anchored off the shore at San Quentin until the first cell block, "the Stones," was completed at San Quentin in 1854 and Moran was released in October 1855.

Meantime, an 1853 report on state prisoners noted there were 157 men crammed aboard the Waban.  The first Los Angeles County prisoner sent up north was Juan Moran, convicted in the Los Angeles District Court on 6 October 1852 for the manslaughter (the original charge was first-degree murder) of Jose Dolores, an Indian.

Ten days later, Moran was transferred north.  A post on the Trembling on the Brink Facebook page noted that Moran was admitted to San Quentin, but this was an error.  Moran was actually housed aboard the Waban when he registered on 16 October to begin his three-year sentence.  The 30-year old native of Mexico, who worked as a saddler, was described as 5'5 1/2" tall with a dark complextion, dark eyes and black hair.  Moreover, he was said to have a "wound on left under jaw" as well as three scars on his face.

Two days before his arrival, the contract for building the first structure at the prison was let.  Moran and his fellow inmates slept on the ship at night and worked to build the prison by day.

In 1854, the first cell block, called "the Stones," opened and the prisoners, including Moran, transferred from the ship to the new facility.  There were 48 cells on the second floor of the structure, measuring 54 square feet, which was standard for a solitary confinement.  Naturally, no prisoners were held in solitary because of the number of men needed to be housed in the new building.  In fact, there were as many as four prisoners per cell.

Moran did not long stay in "the Stones," having been released after serving his term in October 1855.  Yet, his confinement in the hold of a ship anchored in San Francisco Bay and then in a cramped cell at San Quentin could have been nothing but miserable.

Not surprisingly, escapes were frequent in those early years of the state prison system.  Estell reported in 1855 that there had been about a hundred men who tried to break out, with about 40% successful in doing so.  Many of the 60% who did not make it were killed; notably, Estell did not provide a number of those who died in their efforts to escape.

Future posts will discuss more early Los Angeles convicts at San Quentin and about the prison.

Information for this post came mainly from a California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation newsletter article, which can be accessed here, and from the 1991 book, A Germ of Goodnes: The California State Prison System, 1851-1944, by Shelley Bookspan.