Besides Peter Biggs, a number of colored people lived in Los Angeles at an early date—five of whom belonged to the Mexican Veterans—Bob Owens and his wife being among the most prominent. Owens—who came here from Texas in December, 1853—was known to his friends as Uncle Bob, while Mrs. Owens was called Aunt Winnie. The former at first did all kinds of odd jobs, later profiting through dealings with the Government; while his good wife washed clothes, in which capacity she worked from time to time for my family. They lived in San Pedro Street, and invested their savings in a lot extending from Spring to Fort streets, between Third and Fourth. Owens died in 1865. Their heirs are wealthy as a result of this investment; in fact, I should not be surprised if they are among the most prosperous negroes in America.
Another colored man of the sixties was named Berry, though he was popularly known as Uncle George. He was indeed a local character, a kind of popinjay; and when not busy with janitor or other all-around scrubwork, sported among the negroes as an ultra-fashionable.
Elsewhere I have spoken of the versatility of Dr. William B. Osburn, who showed no little commendable enterprise. In October, 1854, he shipped to an agricultural convention in Albany, New York, the first Los Angeles grapes ever sent to the East; and the next year he imported roses, shrubbery and fruit trees from Rochester.
On October 13th, 1854, a good-for-nothing gambler, Dave Brown—who had planned to rob John Temple on one of his business trips, but was thwarted because Temple changed his route—murdered a companion, Pinckney Clifford, in a livery stable at what was later to become the corner of Main and Court streets; and next day the lawless act created such general indignation that vengeance on Brown would undoubtedly then and there have been wreaked had not Stephen C. Foster, who was Mayor, met the crowd of citizens and persuaded them quietly to disperse. In order to mollify the would-be Vigilantes, Foster promised that, if the case miscarried in the courts and Brown was not given his due, he would resign his office and would himself lead those who favored taking the law into their own hands; and as Foster had been a Lieutenant in the Rangers under Dr. Hope, showing himself to be a man of nerve, the crowd had confidence in him and went its way.
On November 30th, Brown was tried in the District Court, and Judge Benjamin Hayes sentenced him to hang on January 12th, 1855—the same date on which Felipe Alvitre, a half-breed Indian, was to pay the penalty for killing James Ellington at El Monte. Brown's counsel were J. R. Scott, Cameron E. Thom and J. A. Watson; and these attorneys worked so hard and so effectively for their client that on January 10th, or two days before the date set for the execution, Judge Murray of the Supreme Court granted Brown a stay, although apparently no relief was provided for Alvitre. The latter was hanged in the calaboose or jail yard, in the presence of a vast number of people, at the time appointed. Alvitre having been strung up by Sheriff Barton and his assistants, the rope broke, letting the wretch fall to the ground, more dead than alive. This bungling so infuriated the crowd that cries of "Arriba! Arriba!" (Up with him! up with him!) rent the air. The executioners sprang forward, lifted the body, knotted the rope together and once more drew aloft the writhing form. Then the gallows was dismantled and the guards dismissed.
The news that one execution had taken place, while the Court, in the other case, had interfered, was speedily known by the crowds in the streets and proved too much for the patience of the populace; and only a leader or two were required to focus the indignation of the masses. That leader appeared in Foster who, true to his word, resigned from the office of Mayor and put himself at the head of the mob. Appeals, evoking loud applause, were made by one speaker after another, each in turn being lifted to the top of a barrel; and then the crowd began to surge toward the jail. Poles and crowbars were brought, and a blacksmith called for; and the prison doors, which had been locked, bolted and barred, were broken in, very soon convincing the Sheriff and his assistants—if any such conviction were needed—that it was useless to resist. In a few minutes, Brown was reached, dragged out and across Spring Street, and there hanged to the crossbeam of a corral gateway opposite the old jail, the noose being drawn tight while he was still attempting to address the crowd.
When Brown was about to be disposed of, he was asked if he had anything to say; to which he replied that he had no objection to paying the penalty of his crime, but that he did take exception to a "lot of Greasers" shuffling him off! Brown referred to the fact that Mexicans especially were conspicuous among those who had hold of the rope; and his coarsely-expressed objection striking a humorous vein among the auditors, the order was given to indulge his fancy and accommodate him—whereupon, Americans strung him up! One of those who had previously volunteered to act as hangman for Brown was Juan Gonzales; but within four months, that is, in May, 1855, Gonzales himself was sent to the penitentiary by Judge Myron Norton, convicted of horse-stealing.
A rather amusing feature of this hanging was the manner in which the report of it was served up to the public. The lynching-bee seemed likely to come off about three o'clock in the afternoon, while the steamer for San Francisco was to leave at ten o'clock on the same morning; so that the schedules did not agree. A closer connection was undoubtedly possible—at least so thought Billy Workman, then a typo on the Southern Californian, who planned to print a full account of the execution in time to reach the steamer. So Billy sat down and wrote out every detail, even to the confession of the murderer on the improvised gallows; and several hours before the tragic event actually took place, the wet news-sheet was aboard the vessel and on its way north. A few surplus copies gave the lynchers the unique opportunity, while watching the stringing-up, of comparing the written story with the affair as it actually occurred.
While upon the subject of lynching, I wish to observe that I have witnessed many such distressing affairs in Los Angeles; and that, though the penalty of hanging was sometimes too severe for the crime (and I have always deplored, as much as any of us ever did, the administration of mob-justice) yet the safety of the better classes in those troublous times often demanded quick and determined action, and stern necessity knew no law. And what is more, others besides myself who have also repeatedly faced dangers no longer common, agree with me in declaring, after half a century of observation and reflection, that milder courses than those of the vigilance committees of our young community could hardly have been followed with wisdom and safety.
Wood was the only regular fuel for many years, and people were accustomed to buy it in quantities and to pile it carefully in their yards. When it was more or less of a drug on the market, I paid as little as three dollars and a half a cord; in winter I had to pay more, but the price was never high. No tree was spared, and I have known magnificent oaks to be wantonly felled and used for fuel. Valuable timber was often destroyed by squatters guilty of a form of trespassing that gave much trouble, as I can testify from my own experience.