In 1919 a battered and bruised Frank Goularte, the 40-year-old son of the Pescadero blacksmith, was anxious to talk to the authorities about the beating he had received from Kid Zug– the recent winner of the highly anticipated outdoor bout with “Happy” Frey, son of the village bartender and constable.
“I was on my way to a dance,” Goularte began. “Before going there I stopped at San Gregorio to get a shave and when I left the shop,” the blacksmith’s son said he was suddenly, violently assaulted by Kid Zug. He intended to bring charges against the pugilist.
When he appeared before the Justice of the Peace in Redwood City, a wounded and angry Frank Goularte charged Zug with battery. A trial date was set and the Kid appeared before a jury in November 1919.
The evidence presented at trial definitely proved that the attack had occurred–but the jury believed Zug’s version of events, citing that his actions were defensible and justifiable. They were convinced that Goularte had directed slurs at Zug and made a move that looked as if he were about to draw for a gun. Kid Zug was acquitted of all the charges.
Insiders guessed at the truth: Frank Goularte was an important witness in the murder investigation involving the death of Sarah Coburn, a wealthy Pescadero widow. He lived across the street from Sarah, and on the night of her murder, had observed the comings and goings of possible suspects. His testimony could prove to be devastating to Zug’s employer–believed to have played a pivotal role in the slaying.
Some folks in the know believed the beating Kid Zug administered to the blacksmith’s son was a clear message to Goularte to keep his mouth shut.
Perhaps Zug’s influential employer was responsible for suppressing the murder invesstigation and having the whole matter dumped into a permanent cold case file.
By 1920 few people were even talking about the murder case.
Kid Zug quietly packed up his few belongings and left the Swanton House and Pescadero forever.
At left: Me, Bill Doerner and Reporter Dick Thompson.
Bill Doerner was a writer for Time magazine in New York before he was sent out West to take over as head of the San Francisco news bureauâjust as AIDS began to decimate the gay community and when angioplasty was becoming a popular option for clogged arteries and the two Steves, Jobs and Wozniak, had built the clunky looking Apple II.
I worked for Bill. I was the news bureauâs office manager,a temporary position, until the âregularâ? office manager returned from maternity leave.
Bill wasnât the warmest of people or the most fun. He could make you feel very uncomfortable because I think he felt uncomfortable. He seemed a tad snottyâbut beneath all that I discovered a deeply kind man.
When he made the move to the Cityâwhich proved to be as temporary as my stint as the office manager– Bill Doerner left behind the excitement of Manhattan, an apartment on West 70th Street and a weekend place in East Hampton.
Heâd been born in Missouri in 1941 and spent his entire life in the news business, beginning his career in St. Louis.
Being a writer and a bureau chief require a different set of skills– like morphing from an introvert to an extrovert. To me, the former describes Billâs personality. More inside than outside. (Some of Timeâs bureau chiefs are the stuff of legend and Bill Doerner did not fit into that categoryâIâm thinking in particular of the bureau chief Bill was replacing, a beloved but wild fellow everybody soley missed).
But San Francisco began to work its magic and I could tell Bill was falling in love with his new home. One day he asked me what it means if a guy wears one earringâ¦.and he wanted to know, what does it mean if he wears it on the left versus the right earâ¦.You know, I knew the answer but I just couldnât remember so we had a good laugh, me terribly flustered the whole time, wishing I could give him the definitive cultural explanationâbut he got the idea.
Another time it was Billâs day off when he called me at the office. His voice sounded shaky; he told me he had just been through a terrifying experience. Bill had gone to purchase some items at a discount store when a robber with a gun ordered all of the patrons to lie down on the floor, and he was one of themâthoughts racing through his mind as he heard "and donât move or Iâll shootâ?.
Hard as I tried, I couldn't imagine Bill in that situation.
After I went on a whale watching trip, sailing out of Pillar Point Harbor, here on the Coastside, I wrote a story called, âWatching Whale Partsâ?. Why did I give it that title? Because thatâs all I saw from the boat, parts of whales, never the entire mammal. I asked Bill to read it and he liked the story, calling it âsurrealâ?, and encouraging me to submit it to a publication.
Bill Doerner was a terrific writer, admired in the news bureau as one of the first to write about the AIDS epidemic in the City.
His stay in San Francisco was brief and one day he returned to the Time-Life Building in New York City. I canât say that I kept in regular contact with Bill, but every couple of years, or so, Iâd send a Christmas card with an update. I was both pleased and surprised that he always answered my notes, usually with a one-page typed letterâand he always showed interest in my writing.
In the spring of 1994, a decade after I worked for him, Bill completely rearrange his life. ââ¦I am currently a person of leisure,â? he wrote, âwith more reading on my handsâ¦.The late nights and deadlines, as well as a changing corporate atmosphere since the merger, finally began taking their toll.â?
After 27 years with Time he had taken an early retirement.
And of the future: âIâm planning to pretty much take the summer off in East Hampton, where I have a weekend place, and then decide where to try to go from hereâa part-time job, perhaps, or free-lancing?? I just donât know at this point.â?
The next Christmas he wrote, â Iâm still thoroughly enjoying post-TIME life,â? adding that , âMostly Iâm doing things I never had time to do over the years, like gardening at my weekend place out on Long Island. Iâve also done a bit of free-lance writing. But nothing major.â?
I didnât send another card until after 9/11. When I received his response, the first thing I noticed was a different return address. Not New York, but Missouri. Also this short note wasnât typed but handwritten.
He said that my letter caught up with him "in St. Louis (or a suburb of) where I grew up and to which I have retired to live. I left N.Y. just three days before the WTC tragedyâ¦..â?
A year or so passed, and I remembered that I had taken photographs of Bill at a San Francisco restaurant where the news bureau staff was celebrating his birthday. I now owned a scanner. I could blow up the old prints, I thought, and he might get a kick out of seeing them. Maybe he never even saw them before. I mailed the best of the pictures to Bill's Missouri address but this time there was no response.
It didn't go unnoticed.
In March a letter arrived from Bill Doernerâs sister. She wrote: ââ¦My brother had been in declining health for the past six or seven years. His heart just gave out. I thought you would want to be aware of his death.â? She had no idea who I was but she referred to the photos I had sent, adding that she didnât know if her brother had seen the pictures.
I hope he did.
William (âBillâ?) R. Doerner
Date of Birth: January 31, 1941
Date of Death: March 15, 2003