The Centralia Conspiracy - Ralph Chaplin
In Centralia, Aberdeen and Montesano, in Grays Harbor County, the struggle
was more local but not less intense. No fewer than twenty-five loggers on
different occasions were taken from their beds at night and treated to tar
and feathers. A great number were jailed for indefinite periods on
indefinite charges. As an additional punishment these were frequently
locked in their cells and the fire hose played on their drenched and
shivering bodies. "Breech of jail discipline" was the reason given for
this "cruel and unusual" form of lumber trust punishment.
In Aberdeen and Montesano there were several raids and many deportations
of the tar and feather variety. In Aberdeen in the fall of 1917 during a
"patriotic" parade, the battered hall of the union loggers was again
forcibly entered in the absence of its owners. Furniture, office fixtures,
Victrola and books were dumped into the street and destroyed. In the town
of Centralia, about a year before the tragedy, the Union Secretary was
kidnapped and taken into the woods by a mob of well dressed business men.
He was made to "run the gauntlet" and severely beaten. There was a strong
sentiment in favor of lynching him on the spot, but one of the mob
objected saying it would be "too raw." The victim was then escorted to the
outskirts of the city and warned not to return under pain of usual
penalty. On more than one occasion loggers who had expressed themselves in
favor of the Industrial Workers of the World, were found in the morning
dangling from trees in the neighborhood. No explanation but that of
"suicide" was ever offered. The whole story of the atrocities perpetrated
during these days of the White Terror, in all probability, will never be
published. The criminals are all well known but their influence is too
powerful to ever make it expedient to expose their crimes. Besides, who
would care to get a gentleman in trouble for killing a mere "Wobbly"? The
few instances noted above will, however, give the reader some slight idea
of the gruesome events that were leading inevitably to that grim day in
Centralia in November, 1919.
Weathering the Storm
Through it all the industrialists clung to their Red Cards and to the One
Big Union for which they had sacrificed so much. Time after time, with
incomparable patience, they would refurnish and reopen their beleaguered
halls, heal up the wounds of rope, tar or "billy" and proceed with the
work of organization as though nothing had happened. With union cards or
credentials hidden in their heavy shoes they would meet secretly in the
woods at night. Here they would consult about members who had been mobbed,
jailed or killed, about caring for their families--if they had any--about
carrying on the work of propaganda and laying plans for the future
progress of their union. Perhaps they would take time to chant a rebel
song or two in low voices. Then, back on the job again to "line up the
slaves for the New Society!"
Through a veritable inferno of torment and persecution these men had
refused to be driven from the woods or to give up their union--the
Industrial Workers of the World. Between the two dreadful alternatives of
peonage or persecution they chose the latter--and the lesser. Can you
imagine what their peonage must have been like?
Sinister Centralia
But Centralia was destined to be the scene of the most dramatic portion of
the struggle between the entrenched interests and the union loggers. Here
the long persecuted industrialists made a stand for their lives and fought
to defend their own, thus giving the glib-tongued lawyers of the
prosecution the opportunity of accusing them of "wantonly murdering
unoffending paraders" on Armistice Day.
Centralia in appearance is a creditable small American city--the kind of
city smug people show their friends with pride from the rose-scented
tranquility of a super-six in passage. The streets are wide and clean, the
buildings comfortable, the lawns and shade trees attractive. Centralia is
somewhat of a coquette but she is as sinister and cowardly as she is
pretty. There is a shudder lurking in every corner and a nameless fear
sucks the sweetness out of every breeze. Song birds warble at the
outskirts of the town but one is always haunted by the cries of the human
beings who have been tortured and killed within her confines.
A red-faced business man motors leisurely down the wet street. He shouts a
laughing greeting to a well dressed group at the curb who respond in kind.
But the roughly dressed lumberworkers drop their glances in passing one
another. The Fear is always upon them. As these lines are written several
hundred discontented shingle-weavers are threatened with deportation if
they dare to strike. They will not strike, for they know too well the
consequences. The man-hunt of a few months ago is not forgotten and the
terror of it grips their hearts whenever they think of opposing the will
of the Moloch that dominates their every move.
Around Centralia are wooded hills; men have been beaten beneath them and
lynched from their limbs. The beautiful Chehalis River flows near by;
Wesley Everest was left dangling from one of its bridges. But Centralia is
provokingly pretty for all that. It is small wonder that the lumber trust
and its henchmen wish to keep it all for themselves.
Well tended roads lead in every direction, bordered with clearings of
worked out camps and studded with occasional tree stumps of great age and
truly prodigious size. At intervals are busy saw mills with thousands of
feet of odorous lumber piled up in orderly rows. In all directions
stretches the pillared immensity of the forests. The vistas through the
trees seen enchanted rather than real--unbelievable green and of form and
depth that remind one of painted settings for a Maeterlinck fable rather
than matter-of-fact timber land.
The High Priests of Labor Hatred
Practically all of this land is controlled by the trusts; much of it by
the Eastern Railway and Lumber Company, of which F.B. Hubbard is the head.
The strike of 1917 almost ruined this worthy gentleman. He has always been
a strong advocate of the open shop, but during the last few years he has
permitted his rabid labor-hatred to reach the point of fanaticism. This
Hubbard figures prominently in Centralia's business, social and mob
circles. He is one of the moving spirits in the Centralia conspiracy. The
Eastern Railway and Lumber Company, besides large tracts of land, owns
saw-mills, coal mines and a railway. The Centralia newspapers are its
mouthpieces while the Chamber of Commerce and the Elks' Club are its
general headquarters. The Farmers' & Merchants' Bank is its local
citadel of power. In charge of this bank is a sinister character, one
Uhlman, a German of the old school and a typical Prussian junker. At one
time he was an officer in the German army but at present is a "100%
American"--an easy metamorphosis for a Prussian in these days. His native
born "brother-at-arms" is George Dysart whose son led the posses in the
man-hunt that followed the shooting. In Centralia this bank and its Hun
dictator dominates the financial, political and social activities of the
community. Business men, lawyers, editors, doctors and local authorities
all kow-tow to the institution and its Prussian president. And woe be to
any who dare do otherwise! The power of the "interests" is a vengeful
power and will have no other power before it. Even the mighty arm of the
law becomes palsied in its presence.
[Illustration: Lumberworkers Union Hall, Raided in 1918
The first of the two halls to be wrecked by Centralia's terrorists. This
picture was not permitted to be introduced as evidence of the conspiracy
to raid the new hall. Judge Wilson didn't want the jury to know anything
about this event.]
The Farmers' & Merchants' Bank is the local instrumentality of the
invisible government that holds the nation in its clutch. Kaiser Uhlman
has more influence than the city mayor and more power than the police
force. The law has always been a little thing to him and his clique. The
inscription on the shield of this bank is said to read "To hell with the
Constitution; this is Lewis County." As events will show, this inspiring
maxim has been faithfully adhered to. One of the mandates of this
delectable nest of highbinders is that no headquarters of the Union of the
lumber workers shall ever be permitted within the sacred precincts of the
city of Centralia.
The Loved and Hated Union Hall
Now the loggers, being denied the luxury of home and family life, have but
three places they can call "home." The bunkhouse in the camp, the cheap
rooming house in town and the Union Hall. This latter is by far the best
loved of all. It is here the men can gather around a crackling wood fire,
smoke their pipes and warm their souls with the glow of comradeship. Here
they can, between jobs or after work, discuss the vicissitudes of their
daily lives, read their books and magazines and sing their songs of
solidarity, or merely listen to the "tinned" humor or harmony of the
much-prized Victrola. Also they here attend to affairs of their
Union--line up members, hold business and educational meetings and a
weekly "open forum." Once in awhile a rough and wholesome "smoker" is
given. The features of this great event are planned for weeks in advance
and sometimes talked about for months afterwards.
[Illustration: The Scene of the Armistice Day Tragedy
This is what was left of the Union hall the loggers tried to defend on
November 11th. Three of the raiders, Grimm, McElfresh and Cassagranda,
were killed in the immediate vicinity of the doorway. Several others were
wounded while attempting to rush the doors.]
These halls are at all times open to the public and inducements are made
to get workers to come in and read a thoughtful treatise on Industrial
questions. The latch-string is always out for people who care to listen to
a lecture on economics or similar subjects. Inside the hall there is
usually a long reading-table littered with books, magazines or papers. In
a rack or case at the wall are to be found copies of the "Seattle Union
Record," "The Butte Daily Bulletin," "The New Solidarity," "The Industrial
Worker," "The Liberator," "The New Republic" and "The Nation." Always
there is a shelf of thumb-worn books on history, science, economics and
socialism. On the walls are lithographs or engravings of noted champions
of the cause of Labor, a few photographs of local interest and the monthly
Bulletins and Statements of the Union. Invariably there is a blackboard
with jobs, wages and hours written in chalk for the benefit of men seeking
employment. There are always a number of chairs in the room and a roll top
desk for the secretary. Sometimes at the end of the hall is a plank
rostrum--a modest altar to the Goddess of Free Speech and open discussion.
This is what the loved and hated I.W.W. Halls are like--the halls that
have been raided and destroyed by the hundreds during the last three
years.
Remember, too, that in each of these raids the union men were not the
aggressors and that there was never any attempt at reprisal. In spite of
the fact that the lumber workers were within their legal right to keep
open their halls and to defend them from felonious attack, it had never
happened until November 11, that active resistance was offered the
marauders. This fact alone speaks volumes for the long-suffering patience
of the logger and for his desire to settle his problems by peaceable means
wherever possible. But the Centralia raid was the straw that broke the
camel's back. The lumber trust went a little too far on this occasion and
it got the surprise of its life. Four of its misguided dupes paid for
their lawlessness with their lives, and a number of others were wounded.
There has not since been a raid on a union hall in the Northwestern
District.
It is well that workingmen and women throughout the country should
understand the truth about the Armistice Day tragedy in Centralia and the
circumstances that led up to it. But in order to know why the hall was
raided it is necessary first to understand why this, and all similar
halls, are hated by the oligarchies of the woods.
The issue contested is whether the loggers have the right to organize
themselves into a union, or whether they must remain chattels--mere hewers
of wood and helpless in the face of the rapacity of their industrial
overlords--or whether they have the right to keep open their halls and
peacefully to conduct the affairs of their union. The lumber workers
contend that they are entitled by law to do these things and the employers
assert that, law or no law, they shall not do so. In other words, it is a
question of whether labor organization shall retain its foothold in the
lumber industry or be "driven from the woods."
Pioneers of Unionism
It is hard for workers in most of the other industries--especially in the
East--to understand the problems, struggles and aspirations of the husky
and unconquerable lumber workers of the Northwest. The reason is that the
average union man takes his union for granted. He goes to his union
meetings, discusses the affairs of his craft, industry or class, and he
carries his card--all as a matter of course. It seldom enters his mind
that the privileges and benefits that surround him and the protection he
enjoys are the result of the efforts and sacrifices of the nameless
thousands of pioneers that cleared the way. But these unknown heroes of
the great struggle of the classes did precede him with their loyal hearts
and strong hands; otherwise workers now organized would have to start the
long hard battle at the beginning and count their gains a step at a time,
just as did the early champions of industrial organization, or as the
loggers of the West Coast are now doing.
The working class owes all honor and respect to the first men who planted
the standard of labor solidarity on the hostile frontier of unorganized
industry. They were the men who made possible all things that came after
and all things that are still to come. They were the trail blazers. It is
easier to follow them than to have gone before them--or with them. They
established the outposts of unionism in the wilderness of Industrial
autocracy. Their voices were the first to proclaim the burning message of
Labor's power, of Labor's mission and of Labor's ultimate emancipation.
Their breasts were the first to receive the blows of the enemy; their
unprotected bodies were shielding the countless thousands to follow. They
were the forerunners of the solidarity of Toil. They fought in a good and
great cause; for without solidarity, Labor would have attained nothing
yesterday, gained nothing today nor dare to hope for anything tomorrow.
[Illustration: Seminary Hall
The Union hall looks out on this hill, with Tower avenue and an alley
between. It is claimed that loggers, among others Loren Roberts, Bert
Bland and the missing Ole Hanson, fired at the attacking mob from this
position.]
The Block House and the Union Hall
In the Northwest today the rebel lumberjack is a pioneer. Just as our
fathers had to face the enmity of the Indians, so are these men called
upon to face the fury of the predatory interests that have usurped the
richest timber resources of the richest nation in the world. Just outside
Centralia stands a weatherbeaten landmark. It is an old, brown dilapidated
block house of early days. In many ways it reminds one of the battered and
wrecked union halls to be found in the heart of the city.
The evolution of industry has replaced the block house with the union hall
as the embattled center of assault and defense. The weapons are no longer
the rifle and the tomahawk but the boycott and the strike. The frontier is
no longer territorial but industrial. The new struggle is as portentous as
the old. The stakes are larger and the warfare even more bitter.
The painted and be-feathered scalp-hunter of the Sioux or Iroquois were
not more heartless in maiming, mutilating and killing their victims than
the "respectable" profit-hunters of today--the type of men who conceived
the raid on the Union Hall in Centralia on Armistice Day--and who
fiendishly tortured and hanged Wesley Everest for the crime of defending
himself from their inhuman rage. It seems incredible that such deeds could
be possible in the twentieth century. It is incredible to those who have
not followed in the bloody trail of the lumber trust and who are not
familiar with its ruthlessness, its greed and its lust for power.
As might be expected the I.W.W. Halls in Washington were hated by the
lumber barons with a deep and undying hatred. Union halls were a standing
challenge to their hitherto undisputed right to the complete domination of
the forests. Like the blockhouses of early days, these humble meeting
places were the outposts of a new and better order planted in the
stronghold of the old. And they were hated accordingly. The thieves who
had invaded the resources of the nation had long ago seized the woods and
still held them in a grip of steel. They were not going to tolerate the
encroachments of the One Big Union of the lumber workers. Events will
prove that they did not hesitate at anything to achieve their purposes.
The First Centralia Hall
In the year 1918 a union hall stood on one of the side streets in
Centralia. It was similar to the halls that have just been described. This
was not, however, the hall in which the Armistice Day tragedy took place.
You must always remember that there were two halls raided in Centralia;
one in 1918 and another in 1919. The loggers did not defend the first hall
and many of them were manhandled by the mob that wrecked it. The loggers
did defend the second and were given as reward a hanging, a speedy, fair
and impartial conviction and sentences of from 25 to 40 years. No member
of the mob has ever been punished or even taken to task for this misdeed.
Their names are known to everybody. They kiss their wives and babies at
night and go to church on Sundays. People tip their hats to them on the
street. Yet they are a greater menace to the institutions of this country
than all the "reds" in the land. In a world where Mammon is king the king
can do no wrong. But the question of "right" or "wrong" did not concern
the lumber interests when they raided the Union hall in 1918. "Yes, we
raided the hall, what are you going to do about it," is the position they
take in the matter.
During the 1917 strike the two lumber trust papers in Centralia, the "Hub"
and the "Chronicle" were bitter in their denunciation of the strikers.
Repeatedly they urged that most drastic and violent measures be taken by
the authorities and "citizens" to break the strike, smash the union and
punish the strikers. The war-frenzy was at its height and these miserable
sheets went about their work like Czarist papers inciting a pogrom. The
lumber workers were accused of "disloyalty," "treason,"
"anarchy"--anything that would tend to make their cause unpopular. The
Abolitionists were spoken about in identical terms before the civil war.
As soon as the right atmosphere for their crime had been created the
employers struck and struck hard.
It was in April, 1918. Like many other cities in the land Centralia was
conducting a Red Cross drive. Among the features of this event were a
bazaar and a parade.
The profits of the lumber trust were soaring to dizzy heights at this time
and their patriotism was proportionately exalted.
There was the usual brand of hypocritical and fervid speechmaking. The
flag was waved, the Government was lauded and the Constitution praised.
Then, after the war-like proclivities of the stay-at-home heroes had been
sufficiently worked upon; flag, Government and Constitution were forgotten
long enough for the gang to go down the street and raid the "wobbly" hall.
Dominating the festivities was the figure of F.B. Hubbard, at that time
President of the Employers' Association of the State of Washington. This
is neither Hubbard's first nor last appearance as a terrorist and
mob-leader--usually behind the scenes, however, or putting in a last
minute appearance.
[Illustration: Avalon Hotel, Centralia
From this point Elsie Hornbeck claimed she identified Eugene Barnett in
the open window with a rifle. Afterwards she admitted that her
identification was based only on a photograph shown her by the
prosecution. This young lady nearly fainted on the witness stand while
trying to patch her absurd story together.]
The 1918 Raid
It had been rumored about town that the Union Hall was to be wrecked on
this day but the loggers at the hall were of the opinion that the business
men, having driven their Secretary out of town a short time previously,
would not dare to perpetrate another atrocity so soon afterwards. In this
they were sadly mistaken.
Down the street marched the parade, at first presenting no unusual
appearance. The Chief of Police, the Mayor and the Governor of the State
were given places of honor at the head of the procession. Company G of the
National Guard and a gang of broad-cloth hoodlums disguised as "Elks" made
up the main body of the marchers. But the crafty and unscrupulous Hubbard
had laid his plans in advance with characteristic cunning. The parade,
like a scorpion, carried its sting in the rear.
Along the main avenue went the guardsmen and the gentlemen of the Elks
Club. So far nothing extraordinary had happened. Then the procession
swerved to a side street. This must be the right thing for the line of
march had been arranged by the Chamber of Commerce itself. A couple of
blocks more and the parade had reached the intersection of First Street
and Tower Avenue. What happened then the Mayor and Chief of Police
probably could not have stopped even had the Governor himself ordered them
to do so. From somewhere in the line of march a voice cried out, "Let's
raid the I.W.W. Hall!" And the crowd at the tail end of the procession
broke ranks and leaped to their work with a will.
In a short time the intervening block that separated them from the Union
Hall was covered. The building was stormed with clubs and stones. Every
window was shattered and every door was smashed, the very sides of the
building were torn off by the mob in its blind fury. Inside the rioters
tore down the partitions and broke up chairs and pictures. The union men
were surrounded, beaten and driven to the street where they were forced to
watch furniture, records, typewriter and literature demolished and burned
before their eyes. An American flag hanging in the hall, was torn down and
destroyed. A Victrola and a desk were carried to the street with
considerable care. The former was auctioned off on the spot for the
benefit of the Red Cross. James Churchill, owner of a glove factory, won
the machine. He still boasts of its possession. The desk was appropriated
by F.B. Hubbard himself. This was turned over to an expressman and carted
to the Chamber of Commerce. A small boy picked up the typewriter case and
started to take it to a nearby hotel office. One of the terrorists
detected the act and gave warning. The mob seized the lad, took him to a
nearby light pole and threatened to lynch him if he did not tell them
where books and papers were secreted which somebody said had been carried
away by him. The boy denied having done this, but the hoodlums went into
the hotel, ransacked and overturned everything. Not finding what they
wanted, they left a notice that the proprietor would have to take the sign
down from his building in just twenty-four hours. Then the mob surged
around the unfortunate men who had been found in the Union hall. With
cuffs and blows these were dragged to waiting trucks where they were
lifted by the ears to the body of the machine and knocked prostrate one at
a time. Sometimes a man would be dropped to the ground just after he had
been lifted from his feet. Here he would lay with ear drums bursting and
writhing from the kicks and blows that had been freely given. Like all
similar mobs this one carried ropes, which were placed about the necks of
the loggers. "Here's and I.W.W." yelled someone. "What shall we do with
him?" A cry was given to "lynch him!" Some were taken to the city jail and
the rest were dumped unceremoniously on the other side of the county line.
Since that time the wrecked hall has remained tenantless and unrepaired.
Grey and gaunt like a house in battle-scarred Belgium, it stands a mute
testimony of the labor-hating ferocity of the lumber trust. Repeated
efforts have since been made to destroy the remains with fire. The defense
had tried without avail to introduce a photograph of the ruin as evidence
to prove that the second hall was raided in a similar manner on Armistice
Day, 1919. Judge Wilson refused to permit the jury to see either the
photographs or the hall. But in case of another trial...?
Evidently the lumber trust thought it better to have all traces of its
previous crime obliterated.