The Centralia Conspiracy - Ralph Chaplin
"In Spokane 13 members were indicted in the Superior Court for wearing the
I.W.W. button and displaying their emblem. The jury unanimously acquitted
them and the court held it no crime.
"In test cases last month both in the Seattle and Everett Superior Courts,
the presiding judge declared the police had no authority in law to close
their halls and the padlocks were ordered off and the halls opened.
"Many I.W.W. in and around Centralia went to France and fought and bled
for the democracy they never secured. They came home to be threatened with
mob violence by the law and order outfit that pilfered every nickel
possible from their mothers and fathers while they were fighting in the
trenches in the thickest of the fray.
"Our only crime is solidarity, loyalty to the working class and justice to
the oppressed."
"Let the Men in Uniform Do It"
On November 6th, the Centralia Post of the American Legion met with a
committee from the Chamber of Commerce to arrange for a parade-another
"patriotic" parade. The first anniversary of the signing of the armistice
was now but a few days distant and Centralia felt it incumbent upon
herself to celebrate. Of course the matter was brought up rather
circumspectly, but knowing smiles greeted the suggestion. One business man
made a motion that the brave boys wear their uniforms. This was agreed
upon.
The line of march was also discussed. As the union hall was a little off
the customary parade route, Scales suggested that their course lead past
the hall "in order to show them how strong we are." It was intimated that
a command "eyes right" would be given as the legionaries and business men
passed the union headquarters. This was merely a poor excuse of the secret
committeemen to get the parade where they needed it. But many innocent men
were lured into a "lynching bee" without knowing that they were being led
to death by a hidden gang of broad-cloth conspirators who were plotting at
murder. Lieutenant Cormier, who afterwards blew the whistle that was the
signal for the raid, endorsed the proposal of Scales as did Grimm and
McElfresh--all three of them secret committeemen.
Practically no other subject but the "parade" was discussed at this
meeting. The success of the project was now assured for it had placed into
the hands of the men who alone could arrange to "have the men in uniform
do it." The men in uniform had done it once before and people knew what to
expect.
The day following this meeting the Centralia Hub published an announcement
of the coming event stating that the legionaires had "voted to wear
uniforms." The line of march was published for the first time. Any doubts
about the real purpose of the parade vanished when people read that the
precession was to march from the City Park to Third street and Tower
avenue and return. The union hall was on Tower between Second and Third
streets, practically at the end of the line of march and plainly the
objective of the demonstrators.
[Illustration: Bridge from which Everest Was Hanged
From this bridge, over the Chehalis river, Wesley Everest was left
dangling by a mob of business men. Automobile parties visited this spot at
different times during the night and played their headlights on the corpse
in order better to enjoy the spectacle.]
"Decent Labor"--Hands Off!
A short time after the shooting a virulent leaflet was issued by the
Mayor's office stating that the "plot to kill had been laid two or three
weeks before the tragedy," and that "the attack (of the loggers) was
without justification or excuse." Both statements are bare faced lies. The
meeting was held the 6th and the line of march made public of the 7th. The
loggers could not possibly have planned a week and a half previously to
shoot into a parade they knew nothing about and whose line of march had
not yet been disclosed. It was proved in court that the union men armed
themselves at the very last moment, after everything else had failed and
they had been left helpless to face the alternative of being driven out of
town or being lynched.
About this time eyewitnesses declare coils of rope were being purchased in
a local hardware store. This rope is all cut up into little pieces now and
most of it is dirty and stained. But many of Centralia's best families
prize their souvenir highly. They say it brings good luck to a family.
A few days after the meeting just described William Dunning, vice
president of the Lewis County Trades and Labor Assembly, met Warren Grimm
on the street. Having fresh in his mind a recent talk about the raid in
the Labor Council meetings, and being well aware of Grimm's standing and
influence, Dunning broached the subject.
"We've been discussing the threatened raid on the I.W.W. hall," he said.
"Who are you, an I.W.W.?" asked Grimm.
Dunning replied stating that he was vice president of the Labor Assembly
and proceeded to tell Grimm the feeling of his organization on the
subject.
"Decent labor ought to keep its hands off," was Grimm's laconic reply.
The Sunday before the raid a public meeting was held in the union hall.
About a hundred and fifty persons were in the audience, mostly working men
and women of Centralia. A number of loggers were present, dressed in the
invariable mackinaw, stagged overalls and caulked shoes. John Foss, an
I.W.W. ship builder from Seattle, was the speaker. Secretary Britt Smith
was chairman. Walking up and down the isle, selling the union's pamphlets
and papers was a muscular and sun-burned young man with a rough, honest
face and a pair of clear hazel eyes in which a smile was always twinkling.
He wore a khaki army coat above stagged overalls of a slightly darker
shade,--Wesley Everest, the ex-soldier who was shortly to be mutilated and
lynched by the mob.
"I Hope to Jesus Nothing Happens"
The atmosphere of the meeting was already tainted with the Terror. Nerves
were on edge. Every time any newcomer would enter the door the audience
would look over their shoulders with apprehensive glances. At the
conclusion of the meeting the loggers gathered around the secretary and
asked him the latest news about the contemplated raid. For reply Britt
Smith handed them copies of the leaflet "We Must Appeal" and told of the
efforts that had been made and were being made to secure legal protection
and to let the public know the real facts in the case.
"If they raid the hall again as they did in 1918 the boys won't stand for
it," said a logger.
"If the law won't protect us we've got a right to protect ourselves,"
ventured another.
"I hope to Jesus nothing happens," replied the secretary.
Wesley Everest laid down his few unsold papers, rolled a brown paper
cigarette and smiled enigmatically over the empty seats in the general
direction of the new One Big Union label on the front window. His closest
friends say he was never afraid of anything in all his life.
None of these men knew that loggers from nearby camps, having heard of the
purchase of the coils of rope, were watching the hall night and day to see
that "nothing happens."
The next day, after talking things over with Britt Smith, Mrs. McAllister,
wife of the proprietor of the Roderick hotel from whom the loggers rented
the hall, went to see Chief of Police Hughes. This is how she told of the
interview:
"I got worried and I went to the Chief. I says to him 'Are you going to
protect my property?' Hughes says, 'We'll do the best we can for you, but
as far as the wobblies are concerned they wouldn't last fifteen minutes if
the business men start after them. The business men don't want any
wobblies in this town.'"
The day before the tragedy Elmer Smith dropped in at the Union hall to
warn his clients that nothing could now stop the raid. "Defend it if you
choose to do so," he told them. "The law gives you that right."
It was on the strength of this remark, overheard by the stool-pigeon,
Morgan, and afterwards reported to the prosecution, that Elmer Smith was
hailed to prison charged with murder in the first degree. His enemies had
been certain all along that his incomprehensible delusion about the law
being the same for the poor man as the rich would bring its own
punishment. It did; there can no longer be any doubt on the subject.
[Illustration: Carting Away Wesley Everest's Body for Burial
After the mutilated body had been cut down in laid in the river for two
days. Then it was taken back to the city jail where it remained for two
days more--as an object lesson--in plain view of the comrades of the
murdered boy. Everest was taken from this building to be lynched. During
the first week after the tragedy this jail witnessed scenes of torture and
horror that equaled the worst days of the Spanish inquisition.]
The Scorpion's Sting
November 11th was a raw, gray day; the cold sunlight barely penetrating
the mist that hung over the city and the distant tree-clad hills. The
"parade" assembled at the City Park. Lieutenant Cormier was marshal.
Warren Grimm was commander of the Centralia division. In a very short time
he had the various bodies arranged to his satisfaction. At the head of the
procession was the "two-fisted" Centralia bunch. This was followed by one
from Chehalis, the county seat, and where the parade would logically have
been held had its purpose been an honest one. Then came a few sailors and
marines and a large body of well dressed gentlemen from the Elks. The
school children who were to have marched did not appear. At the very end
were a couple of dozen boy scouts and an automobile carrying pretty girls
dressed in Red Cross uniforms. Evidently this parade, unlike the one of
1918, did not, like a scorpion, carry its sting in the rear. But wait
until you read how cleverly this part of it had been arranged!
The marchers were unduly silent and those who knew nothing of the lawless
plan of the secret committee felt somehow that something must be wrong.
City Postmaster McCleary and a wicked-faced old man named Thompson were
seen carrying coils of rope. Thompson is a veteran of the Civil War and a
minister of God. On the witness stand he afterwards swore he picked up the
rope from the street and was carrying it "as a joke." It turned out that
the "joke" was on Wesley Everest.
"Be ready for the command 'eyes right' or 'eyes left' when we pass the
'reviewing stand'," Grimm told the platoon commanders just as the parade
started.
The procession covered most of the line of march without incident. When
the union hall was reached there was some craning of necks but no outburst
of any kind. A few of the out-of-town paraders looked at the place
curiously and several business men were seen pointing the hall out to
their friends. There were some dark glances and a few long noses but no
demonstration.
"When do we reach the reviewing stand?" asked a parader, named Joe Smith,
of a man marching beside him.
"Hell, there ain't any reviewing stand," was the reply. "We're going to
give the wobbly hall 'eyes right' on the way back."
The head of the columns reached Third avenue and halted. A command of
'about face' was given and the procession again started to march past the
union hall going in the opposite direction. The loggers inside felt
greatly relieved as they saw the crowd once more headed for the city. But
the Centralia and Chehalis contingents, that had headed the parade, was
now in the rear--just where the "scorpion sting" of the 1918 parade had
been located! The danger was not yet over.
"Let's go! At 'em, boys!"
The Chehalis division had marched past the hall and the Centralia division
was just in front of it when a sharp command was given. The latter stopped
squarely in front of the hall but the former continued to march.
Lieutenant Cormier of the secret committee was riding between the two
contingents on a bay horse. Suddenly he placed his fingers to his mouth
and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately there was a hoarse cry of "Let's
go-o-o! At 'em, boys!" About sixty feet separated the two contingents at
this time, the Chehalis men still continuing the march. Cromier spurred
his horse and overtook them. "Aren't you boys in on this?" he shouted.
At the words "Let's go," the paraders from both ends and the middle of the
Centralia contingent broke ranks and started on the run for the union
headquarters. A crowd of soldiers surged against the door. There was a
crashing of glass and a splintering of wood as the door gave way. A few of
the marauders had actually forced their way into the hall. Then there was
a shot, three more shots ... and a small volley. From Seminary hill and
the Avalon hotel rifles began to crack.
[Illustration: Elks Club, Centralia
It was here that the Centralia conspiracy was hatched and the notorious
"secret committee" appointed to do the dirty work.]
The mob stopped suddenly, astounded at the unexpected opposition. Out of
hundreds of halls that had been raided during the past two years this was
the first time the union men had attempted to defend themselves. It had
evidently been planned to stampede the entire contingent into the attack
by having the secret committeemen take the lead from both ends and the
middle. But before this could happen the crowd, frightened at the shots
started to scurry for cover. Two men were seen carrying the limp figure of
a soldier from the door of the hall. When the volley started they dropped
it and ran. The soldier was a handsome young man, named Arthur McElfresh.
He was left lying in front of the hall with his feet on the curb and his
head in the gutter. The whole thing had been a matter of seconds.
"I Had No Business Being There"
Several men had been wounded. A pool of blood was widening in front of the
doorway. A big man in officer's uniform was seen to stagger away bent
almost double and holding his hands over his abdomen. "My God, I'm shot!"
he had cried to the soldier beside him. This was Warren O. Grimm; the
other was his friend, Frank Van Gilder. Grimm walked unassisted to the
rear of a nearby soft drink place from whence he was taken to a hospital.
He died a short time afterwards. Van Gilder swore on the witness stand
that Grimm and himself were standing at the head of the columns of
"unoffending paraders" when his friend was shot. He stated that Grimm had
been his life-long friend but admitted that when his "life-long friend"
received his mortal wound that he (Van Gilder), instead of acting like a
hero in no man's land, had deserted him in precipitate haste. Too many eye
witnesses had seen Grimm stagger wounded from the doorway of the hall to
suit the prosecution. Van Gilder knew at which place Grimm had been shot
but it was necessary that he be placed at a convenient distance from the
hall. It is reported on good authority that Grimm, just before he died in
the hospital, confessed to a person at his bedside: "It served me right, I
had no business being there."
A workingman, John Patterson, had come down town on Armistice Day with his
three small children to watch the parade. He was standing thirty-five feet
from the door of the hall when the raid started. On the witness stand
Patterson told of being pushed out of the way by the rush before the
shooting began. He saw a couple of soldiers shot and saw Grimm stagger
away from the doorway wounded in the abdomen. The testimony of Dr.
Bickford at the corner's inquest under oath was as follows:
"I spoke up and said I would lead if enough would follow, but before I
could take the lead there were many ahead of me. Someone next to me put
his foot against the door and forced it open, after which a shower of
bullets poured through the opening about us." Dr. Bickford is an A.E.F.
man and one of the very few legionaires who dared to tell the truth about
the shooting. The Centralia business element has since tried repeatedly to
ruin him.
In trying to present the plea of self defense to the court, Defense
attorney Vanderveer stated:
"There was a rush, men reached the hall under the command of Grimm, and
yet counsel asks to have shown a specific overt act of Grimm before we can
present the plea of self-defense. Would he have had the men wait with
their lives at stake? The fact is that Grimm was there and in defending
themselves these men shot. Grimm was killed because he was there. They
could not wait. Your honor, self defense isn't much good after a man is
dead."
The prosecution sought to make a point of the fact that the loggers had
fired into a street in which there were innocent bystanders as well as
paraders. But the fact remains that the only men hit by bullets were those
who were in the forefront of the mob.
Through the Hall Window
How the raid looked from the inside of the hall can best be described from
the viewpoint of one of the occupants, Bert Faulkner, a union logger and
ex-service man. Faulkner described how he had dropped in at the hall on
Armistice Day and stood watching the parade from the window. In words all
the more startling for their sheer artlessness he told of the events which
followed: First the grimacing faces of the business men, then as the
soldiers returned, a muffled order, the smashing of the window, with the
splinters of glass falling against the curtain, the crashing open of the
door ... and the shots that "made his ears ring," and made him run for
shelter to the rear of the hall, with the shoulder of his overcoat torn
with a bullet. Then how he found himself on the back stairs covered with
rifles and commanded to come down with his hands in the air. Finally how
he was frisked to the city jail in an automobile with a business man
standing over him armed with a piece of gas pipe.
Eugene Barnett gave a graphic description of the raid as he saw it from
the office of the adjoining Roderick hotel. Barnett said he saw the line
go past the hotel. The business men were ahead of the soldiers and as this
detachment passed the hotel returning the soldiers still were going north.
The business men were looking at the hall and pointing it out to the
soldiers. Some of them had their thumbs to their noses and others were
saying various things.
[Illustration: City Park, Centralia
At this place the parade assembled that started out to raid the Union hall
and lynch its secretary.]
"When the soldiers turned and came past I saw a man on horseback ride
past. He was giving orders which were repeated along the line by another.
As the rider passed the hotel he gave a command and the second man said:
'Bunch up, men!'
"When this order came the men all rushed for the hall. I heard glass
break. I heard a door slam. There was another sound and then shooting
came. It started from inside the hall.
"As I saw these soldiers rush the hall I jumped up and threw off my coat.
I thought there would be a fight and I was going to mix in. Then came the
shooting, and I knew I had no business there."
Later Barnett went home and remained there until his arrest the next day.
In the union hall, besides Bert Faulkner, were Wesley Everest, Roy Becker,
Britt Smith, Mike Sheehan, James McInerney and the "stool pigeon," these,
with the exception of Faulkner and Everest, remained in the hall until the
authorities came to place them under arrest. They had after the first
furious rush of their assailants, taken refuge in a big and long disused
ice box in the rear of the hall. Britt Smith was unarmed, his revolver
being found afterwards, fully loaded, in his roll-top desk. After their
arrest the loggers were taken to the city jail which was to be the scene
of an inquisition unparalleled in the history of the United States. After
this, as an additional punishment, they were compelled to face the farce
of a "fair trial" in a capitalistic court.
Wesley Everest
But Destiny had decided to spare one man the bitter irony of judicial
murder. Wesley Everest still had a pocket full of cartridges and a
forty-four automatic that could speak for itself.
This soldier-lumberjack had done most of the shooting in the hall. He held
off the mob until the very last moment, and, instead of seeking refuge in
the refrigerator after the "paraders" had been dispersed, he ran out of
the back door, reloading his pistol as he went. It is believed by many
that Arthur McElfresh was killed inside the hall by a bullet fired by
Everest.
In the yard at the rear of the hall the mob had already reorganized for an
attack from that direction. Before anyone knew what had happened Everest
had broken through their ranks and scaled the fence. "Don't follow me and
I won't shoot," he called to the crowd and displaying the still smoking
blue steel pistol in his hand.
"There goes the secretary!" yelled someone, as the logger started at top
speed down the alley. The mob surged in pursuit, collapsing the board
fence before them with sheer force of numbers. There was a rope in the
crowd and the union secretary was the man they wanted. The chase that
followed probably saved the life, not only of Britt Smith, but the
remaining loggers in the hall as well.
Running pell-mell down the alley the mob gave a shout of exaltation as
Everest slowed his pace and turned to face them. They stopped cold,
however, as a number of quick shots rang out and bullets whistled and
zipped around them. Everest turned in his tracks and was off again like a
flash, reloading his pistol as he ran. The mob again resumed the pursuit.
The logger ran through an open gateway, paused to turn and again fire at
his pursuers; then he ran between two frame dwellings to the open street.
When the mob again caught the trail they were evidently under the
impression that the logger's ammunition was exhausted. At all events they
took up the chase with redoubled energy. Some men in the mob had rifles
and now and then a pot-shot would be taken at the fleeing figure. The
marksmanship of both sides seems to have been poor for no one appears to
have been injured.
Dale Hubbard
This kind of running fight was kept up until Everest reached the river.
Having kept off his pursuers thus far the boy started boldly for the
comparative security of the opposite shore, splashing the water violently
as he waded out into the stream. The mob was getting closer all the time.
Suddenly Everest seemed to change his mind and began to retrace his steps
to the shore. Here he stood dripping wet in the tangled grasses to await
the arrival of the mob bent on his destruction. Everest had lost his hat
and his wet hair stuck to his forehead. His gun was now so hot he could
hardly hold it and the last of his ammunition was in the magazine. Eye
witnesses declare his face still wore a quizzical, half bantering smile
when the mob overtook him. With the pistol held loosely in his rough hand
Everest stood at bay, ready to make a last stand for his life. Seeing him
thus, and no doubt thinking his last bullet had been expended, the mob
made a rush for its quarry.
"Stand back!" he shouted. "If there are 'bulls' in the crowd, I'll submit
to arrest; otherwise lay off of me."
[Illustration: Blind Tom Lassiter
Tom Lassiter is the blind news dealer who Was kidnapped and deported out
of town in June, 1919, by a gang of business men. His stand was raided and
the contents burned in the street. He had been selling The Seattle Union
Record, The Industrial Worker and Solidarity. County attorney Allen said
he couldn't help to apprehend the criminals and would only charge them
with third degree assault if they were found. The fine would be one dollar
and costs! Lassiter is now in jail in Chehalis charged with "criminal
syndicalism."]
No attention was paid to his words. Everest shot from the hip four
times,--then his gun stalled. A group of soldiers started to run in his
direction. Everest was tugging at the gun with both hands. Raising it
suddenly he took careful aim and fired. All the soldiers but one wavered
and stopped. Everest fired twice, both bullets taking effect. Two more
shots were fired almost point blank before the logger dropped his
assailant at his feet. Then he tossed away the empty gun and the mob
surged upon him.
The legionaire who had been shot was Dale Hubbard, a nephew of F.B.
Hubbard, the lumber baron. He was a strong, brave and misguided young
man--worthy of a nobler death.
"Let's Finish the Job!"
Everest attempted a fight with his fists but was overpowered and severely
beaten. A number of men clamoured for immediate lynching, but saner
council prevailed for the time and he was dragged through the streets
towards the city jail. When the mob was half a block from this place the
"hot heads" made another attempt to cheat the state executioner. A wave of
fury seemed here to sweep the crowd. Men fought with one another for a
chance to strike, kick or spit in the face of their victim. It was an orgy
of hatred and blood-lust. Everest's arms were pinioned, blows, kicks and
curses rained upon him from every side. One business man clawed strips of
bleeding flesh from his face. A woman slapped his battered cheek with a
well groomed hand. A soldier tried to lunge a hunting rifle at the
helpless logger; the crowd was too thick. He bumped them aside with the
butt of the gun to get room. Then he crashed the muzzle with full force
into Everest's mouth. Teeth were broken and blood flowed profusely.