Pescadero Memories

As Wally was driven away,  Franklin Swart, the 41-year-old longtime (since 1910) D.A. remained inside the Coburn house. He had come all the way from Redwood City to personally take charge of the investigation.

Swart wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. The Stanford educated attorney dug ditches to support himself while earning his law degree.

As he studied the crime scene, the D.A. concluded there had been no death struggle in Sarah’s bedroom. The shades were still drawn but he could see that the furniture wasn’t broken or tipped over. Everything was in its place.

The robbery motive was ruled out when Swart found the $1640 in the big safe in the living room, a lot of cash at the time. An additional $30 was found in Sarah’s handbag which lay in open view in Wally’s bedroom.

The weapon itself– determined to be the club-like piece of firewood–did have a smear of blood on it but no identifiable fingerprints. They were there but they were blurry, according to the police. Even the latest technology,  a microscopic examination of the prints, gave the cops nothing solid to go on.

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Now Wally became a murder suspect. Two sheriff’s guards took him into custody and on June 4, 1919 he took his first automobile ride.

Sarah had never allowed the “uncontrollable boy” to ride in a horse and carriage–and he had never seen the inside of a car. Instead he took daily walks with Mrs. Quilla, who held his hand tightly–the rest of the time he was confined to the house.

The decision was made to put Wally under 24-hours observation at Gardiner’s Sanitarium in Belmont, once the elegant home of famous banker William Ralston. On the opposite side of the mountain, an hour by automobile, Gardiner’s was a world away from Pescadero.

[While at Gardiner’s Sanitarium, employees told police, and the Redwood City Standard reported that Wally repeatedly muttered, “threats against a well known resident of the Coastside.” The Chronicle repeated the story and added that the name sounded like “Ryan” but nobody knew a “Ryan.”

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Like his father Loren, Wally was tall and slender. But there the similarities ended. Unlike his father, who favored conservative black “swallow tail” coats, Wally was dressed in soiled and mismatched clothing. Wally hadn’t had his hair cut by a barber in 45 years because scissors frightened him–and he wore his brown hair in a long braid.

Wally also scared people. A 14-year-old whose last name was Machado said, “I was afraid of him.” And when he saw Wally, he crossed the street to avoid the encounter.

Everybody wondered what had happened to Wally–some thought he was just born “that way.” His parents explained that as a teenager Wally fell seriously ill with typhoid fever and when he recovered he was not the same boy.

[Scarlet fever was the cause, according to another report which added how much the tragedy embittered Loren Coburn–providing others with “rich gossip” for years.]

He couldn’t accomplish the simplest tasks. Even eating was difficult. He had to wear a leather apron and then like a very small child began drumming on the table with a knife. Entertaining guests became an impossibility, said the Coburns.

One reason Loren married sister-in-law Sarah after his wife’s death was because she had been so kind to Wally.

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Andy Stirling next walked to the McCormick General Merchandise store where the telephone operator and her equipment had been located since 1904. There was a call for Stirling from a San Francisco reporter who wanted confirmation on the death of Mrs. Coburn. Stirling confirmed, adding helpfully, “from the looks of it, Wally did it.”

Back at the house, a small crowd was forming and official cars were arriving from Redwood City and San Francisco. County Sheriff Michael Sheehan was discouraging the curious from getting too close to the house-and when some young “ruffians” tried to slip past him, he brusquely barred the way.

There was so much activity at the Coburn house it’s surprising that the people standing outside were able to hear the familiar mumbling at the front door.  They knew the tragic figure perched on the threshold was Wallace “Wally” Coburn–but he was better known as “the boy,” a name he had been called for all of his 68-years.

Wally was the only child of Loren and his first wife Mary Antoinette; he was the stepson of Sarah, Loren’s second wife.

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It was Andy Stirling who discovered the alleged murder weapon: a heavy wooden club, two feet long and three inches wide.

The club lay in open view on the floor in the space between Sarah and Wally’s bedrooms. Joe Quilla recognized the club at once–he said it was part of a load of firewood that he had carried into the house the day before.

As Andy picked up the club, felt its weight and handed it over to Dr. Thompson, he argued that Wally should be kept at Joe Quilla’s home until Sheriff Michael Sheehan arrived–but the ranchhand’s wife was frightened and refused to take responsibility for Wally’s safety. Not under her roof, she said.

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“…I spoke to him [Wally],” Stirling said, “but he did not reply other than to fly into a fit of rage and shake the body again….” Stirling claimed he heard poor Wally “growl…like an animal,” then speak softly to his stepmother saying, “Wake up sweetheart, wake up, sweetheart…”

Within minutes, Stirling said he “…ran out for help and with friends we got Wallace out of the room. He quieted down and let us search him…”

Among the men who arrived before the police was Dr. Thompson, who lived around the corner. He helped Wally change from his white night shirt into street clothes. In Wally’s room, Thompson and Stirling claimed they found a butcher knife–but there were no visible knife wounds on Sarah Coburn’s body.

Andy Stirling said “Wallace refused to answer any questions…he simply folded his hands behind his back and walked up and down in the circle we made around him…”

Not until then did Stirling decide to report the murder and he telephoned the county district attorney and the sheriff.

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“…The first sight that greeted my eyes was the body of Mrs. Coburn lying partially robed on her bed; her head was crushed and bleeding,” Andy Stirling later told a reporter from the “San Francisco News.”

Contemporary newspaper reports graphically described the scene. Dried blood oozed from her mouth and nose; the bed sheets were stained. There was blood on the wall. Her hands were crossed over her chest and she looked as if she had been sleeping peacefully.

Andy Stirling looked around the room and said he saw no signs of struggle. Then Wally Coburn wandered into the room. Wearing a white nightshirt, he appeared disoriented and began to pace nervously. He did not acknowledge Andy or Joe Quilla.

[Wally was not a child or a teenager; he was an older man, often the brunt of jokes in town. He often wore a bowler style hat, with a fresh carnation in the lapel of his jacket. A few days after the murder of his stepmother, he was examined by an alienist –today we’d call him a psychiatrist–and he said Wally Coburn suffered from dementia, adding that “he has a mental age of three to four years. A paranoiac, afflicted with delusions of persecution might have committed murder in a fit of rage. But Wallace Coburn, with the mind of a child, could not have done so.”]

Suddenly Wally dropped to his knees close to his stepmother’s bed–looking as if he were going to pray. But instead he shook Sarah’s lifeless body roughly as if he were trying to wake her, then he hugged her, mumbling something that Andy Stirling claimed sounded like “Poor George Washington is dead.”

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By June Morrall

7:30 a.m., June 4, 1919

Joe Quilla, Sarah Coburn’s Portuguese ranchhand had finished milking the cows in the pasture behind the rambling house–and, as always, carried a bucket of the fresh milk to the back door. The remainder he sold to the villagers.

He knocked on the back door and waited. He knocked again and again but Mrs. Coburn did not appear. This was strange; it had never happened before. He tapped on the window, pressing his face against the cool glass. No answer.

But he did hear a familiar mumbling on the other side of the window–and the recognizable voice was that of Wally, Sarah Coburn’s stepson.

Sensing trouble, Quilla ran to get help. Right across the street he saw the boyish looking Andy Stirling talking with another fellow in front of Carl Coburn’s store, The Emporium.

Andy listened to the nervous ranchhand’s account and as a friend of Mrs. Coburn’s, he confidently reassured Joe Quill that there must be a good explanation. Then the two men walked back across the street to the Coburn house. Stirling, an ex-deputy sheriff, checked the front door that was always locked and found it open. He also noticed that the heavy chair Sarah pushed against the door for extra security was also missing.

Rushing to the back of the house they entered Sarah’s drab bedroom lit by a coal oil lamp.  Then they saw her: Sarah Coburn was dead.

…to be continued…

By June Morrall

In 1919 the commercial vitality of Pescadero could be found on San Gregorio Street.  There was J.C. Williamson’s General Store,  McCormick’s Merchandise Store, Duarte’s Tavern & Saloon, and the Elkhorn Saloon where Mrs. Frey worked as a bartender. The wildest bar in town was Ginola’s and another place called Amarahl’s.

The sidewalks were wooden and some of the stores looked like a Wild West town created by Hollywood–only Pescadero was authentic.

Carl J. Coburn, the errant nephew of Loren Coburn, ran “The Emporium,” where candy and tobacco was sold. Carl and his wife lived in a nearby house. He was friendly but manipulative and often had to borrow money from friends which he couldn’t pay back.

…to be continued….

By June Morrall

“Christmas in Pescadero in 1876”

The flag was raised in front of the Swanton House. The locals celebrated with roast turkey and “Eggnogs Tom & Jerry”.   The kids hung their stockings stuffed with sugar plums and candy.

A bonfire was built on San Gregorio Street and in the evening the Pescadero Cornet Band entertained the villagers.

“New Years Day in Pescadero 1876”

A long line of celebrators stretched from the Swanton House to Stryker & Co.–there to give a special gift to Charles W. Swanton.