Half Moon Bay Memories & El Granada Observer

(Photo: Great Western building on Main St, Half Moon Bay, at right. In the foreground, a parade.)

By 1925 much of the Bay Area had been electrified–but there was no electricity to light the darkness south of Half Moon Bay.

As the sun dimmed and the shadows took hold of the night, San Gregorio and Pescadero were stilled. An occasional flash of light from the headlights of a speeding rum-running automobile ws the only break in the night. Farmers and housewives depended on coal oil lamps for the routine tasks of living.

With an office on Main Street in Half Moon Bay, the northern Coastside was served by the Great Western Power Co. (GWPC) of California.

“Nowadays a good continuous supply of electric power is as necessary in the home and in the kitchen as it is in the artichoke field,” the Half Moon Bay Review proclaimed in 1923.

GWPC was committed to the spread of electrification, as was its powerful arch-rival, Pacific Gas & Electric Co. PG&E kept an office in Redwood City but it was known on the coastside for its aggressive ads in the Review.

In the early 1920s many rival power companies were elbowing for business room in California. It wasn’t extraordinary for two different power companies to light the opposite sides of a street in the same town.

The struggle to electrify the south Coast was just part of a larger competition between PG&E and GWPC. Great Western had long served the Coastside–and in early 1925 asked the County Board of Supervisors to grant it a franchise to expand power lines. The request was denied.

In late June 1925 having been denied the franchise, Great Western had no choice but to enter into a race with PG&E.Which company would plant power poles fast enough to reach electricity-starved Pescadero first?

The prize could guarantee supremacy on the Coastside.

…To be continued…

“8%/(-*?)(:@1/2!!xx

Did you ever hit “r� when you aimed at k?

And mixed-up your copy
With a double jj?

Made a capital M when it
Should have been small.

And ruined the meaning
With ‘bell’ instead of ‘ball’….�

Poem from Pescadero Union High School 1924 Yearbook: Carnelian and Blue

Pescadero Union High School student Evelyn Voge never punched an “r� when she aimed for a “k�.

“Ev� was the perfect typist, a real “speed demon� who set out to prove she could click-clack her way to first place at the National Typewriting Contest held at the San Francisco Business Show in April 1924.

Typing was a significant skill. A proficient typist could aspire to be a secretary, a glamorous ambition in this new age of working women.

Given Evelyn Voge’s superior typing skills, it was no surprise that she became the editor of Pescadero High’s first “Carnelian and Blue� yearbook, named for the school’s colors.

She surely organized the yearbook that was artfully bound in red construction paper. Browsing through a surviving copy of “Carnellian and Blue� is like being transported back to Pescadero 1924.

The 90-plus pages are crammed with art, graphics, excellent black-and-white photos, humor and exuberance.

To see Evelyn Voge walking to school she appeared as a stylish young flapper—but when she sat down to punch the keys on an Underwood typewriter, she was transformed into a vrtuoso.

On a 60-second typing test, Ev scored an astounding 79-words per minute, earning the admiration of all her classmates and teachers.

Due to Evelyn’s influence, typewriting became one of the school’s most popular classes with may of the students enrolling. When the day came for Evelyn to compete with 100 other first-rate typists at the contest in San Francisco, she was escorted by her friends to the bus stop in front of the local hotel owned by Dr. Thompson, the county supervisor from Pescadero.

As the bus carrying the young aspirant rolled away in a puff of exhaust fumes, the mood among Ev’s friends was wistful.

The soft-spoken Catherine “Cassie� Bentley and the chatty Elsie Blomquist lingered on the hotel porch wishing they could have accompanied Evelyn on her exciting trip to the big city. Alas, their typing skills were mediocre and the girls glumly walked back to the school.

Note: Cassie and Elsie had their own talents. They were mischief-makers of the first order, later involved in an amusing scandal at the school when they hid the soccer team’s street clothes.

Evelyn Voge, Pescadero High’s legendary typist performed admirably at the contest in San Francisco. Ev finished in the top ten, the only candidate from San Mateo County to do so.

The Underwood Typing Company awarded her a bronze medal. In my 1924 copy of the “Carnelian and Blue� yearbook there’s an amusing caricature of Evelyn Voge wearing her flapper era cloche frantically pounding at the keys of her typewriter.

Evelyn Voge’s true legacy was a role model to many of the other students who resulved to emulate her so that, they, too, could one day make the exciting trip to the big typing contest in San Francisco.

And I can’t remember her name–was it Mrs. Bell? She could be seen everywhere–here she is at the “Worm Ranch”, in the 1970s, waiting for the local band, “Full Faith & Credit”, to begin their pop concert.

In San Gregorio, in the 1970s, the members of the band, “Full Faith & Credit”, featuring singer Michael Schwab. Michael lived at the worm farm.

Two guests at the concert: (At left) former El Granada contractor Doug St. Denis  with unidentifed man.

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hello to jerry koontz!!!

peter adams , laguna beach

In his July 30th report, the handwriting expert Chauncey McGovern raised grave suspicions. He advised all parties that the signature was not that of Sarah Coburn. There were too many variations, he noted, between the signature on the will and the one on official records.

The “s� and the subsequent “a� on the official documents, for example, were not connected—but they were connected on the alleged forgery. On the official documents, the “a� was executed with one stroke, while it took two strokes on the will. In the authentic signature, the final “h� in the name, Sarah, “faded out in a flourish�. In the will it looked like a drawn line.

Finally, Chauncey McGovern pointed out that the will was typed on a typewriter of “ancient vintage�. Only Sarah’s signature was actually signed by hand. The letters and the alignment indicated that the will had not been typed by a stenographer – and, in his opinion, not in a lawyer’s office.

Did Sarah Coburn know how to type? No one knew for certain.

McGovern’s report did not speculate on who the alleged forger might have been.

In 1920 the will contest was dismissed when a financial agreement was reached between the beneficiaries of Sarah’s will and the East Coast relatives. By that time, the plaintiff’s attorney Charles Humphrey had acquired a desirable stretch of South Coast property. At the scenic Pescadero ranch he now owned, Humphrey entertained a steady stream of guests until his death in the 1940s.

A year after the case was dismissed, Chauncey McGovern’s ad seeking artists to rent the Von Suppe Poet and Peasant Cottage in Montara appeared in the Half Moon Bay Review.

In the early 1990s the cottage still stood in Montara, across the way from the old Montara Schoolhouse on Sixth Street. At that time, maintaining its tradition, the Von Suppe cottage was home to a music teacher.

NOTE: While researching old newspapers for my book called “The Coburn Mysteryâ€?– a true story of murder [unsolved] and revenge set in 19th & early 20th century Pescadero– I ran into names of many prominent Bay Area attorneys because the main character, Loren Coburn, had earned the “overly litigiousâ€? moniker.

If Loren had a problem, he sued. He sued everybody. That’s why there’s so much information on his long, long life.

And being detailed oriented, I also happily found and pursued the “little stories� I found within the big one. Tangents.

Cottage For Rent In the Montara Artist’s Colony

“Cottage For Rent: The Von Suppe, Poet & Peasant Cottage of the Montara Fine Arts Colony Country Club�—that’s what the ad said that appeared in the summer 1921 issue of the Half Moon Bay Review.

(Von Suppe was a 19th century European theatrical conductor, the composer of 150 operettas. He became well known for composing the overture to “Poet and Peasant�.)

The Review ad described the cottage as a “5-room, rustic camping out structure, rose vine covered, dozen 10-year-old Eucalyptus trees, on Bret Harte Hill near corner of Elbert Hubbard Road and Rudyard Kipling Ave.—within 200 feet of spacious schoolhouse and one block from Ocean Shore Auto Blvd.—tenants preferably artists, authors musicians. Weekly $5.00�.

Artists were directed to contact Chauncey McGovern, president of the Montara Fine Arts Club. Although we don’t know if he dabbled in painting, labored over romantic poetry or composed music, McGovern’s line of work as a well known San Francisco handwriting expert made his life from ordinary.

McGovern either rode the Ocean Shore Railroad (if it was still running) or drove to his San Francisco office in the Hearst Building. There is no doubt that he knew Harr Wagner, the educator, publisher and real estate developer whose dream was to turn Montara nto an artist’s colony. Harr and wife Madge Morris, a minor California poet, hosted many literary barbecues at their home, marked by stone pillars.

Chauncey McGovern’s introduction to the Coastside may or may not have originated at Wagner’s parties. His association with the fine arts club and cottage at Montara could also have come as a result of legal business that introduced him to Pescadero, south of Half Moon Bay.

In 1919, San Francisco attorney Charles F. Humphrey hired McGovern to verify the signature on Sarah S. Coburn’s last will. The elderly, wealthy widow had been clubbed to death in her Pescadero home in the summer of that year. The will–dated Feb. 19, 1919–was found by Half Moon Bay’s Dr. W. A. Brooke, then the county coroner, in a room adjacent to the one in which the body lay motionless.

Attorney Humphrey represented the disgruntled East Coast family members who had been omitted from the rich woman’s will. Aside from a few minor bequests to friends, the bulk of the estate was left to “strangers in blood�.

Feeling cheated out of their rightful inheritance, the East Coast relatives challenged the authenticity of Sarah Coburn’s signature.

The relatives wondered if that was even her signature—or if she knew what she was signing. After engaging Humphrey’s legal services, papers were filed to initiate a heated will contest.

Enter handwriting expert Chauncey McGovern, also president of the Montara Fine Arts Club.

Examples of Sarah’s handwriting were turned over to McGovern to examine. These included Sarah’s handwriting on official documents and the outside of folders, to be compared with a photo of the signature that appeared on the will.

…To be continued….

The messages remind folks that there’s going to be a “town photo”, giving the time and place.On Stage Road. I love it!

Mrs. Caroline Dias, just the sweetest lady who lived in Pescadero (she passed away some time ago), grew up in the village, married and lived across the street from the library where she worked. Like many Pebble Beach-goers before her, she found a favorite pebble, had it polished and turned into a pretty pendant that hung from this gold chain.

The aunt of Ron Duarte, Mrs. Dias became one of the sources for my book, “The Coburn Mystery”. She was familiar with the characters in the 20 th century part of the book.

Oops–almost forgot, you can’t pick the pebbles anymore.

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.

The END

It’s true that Kid Zug’s boxing skills were a shadow of what they had been 35 years earlier—and that his opponent, “Happy� Frey had a big-mouth—but for the boys in the village of Pescadero, a boxing match with world champ Abe Attell could not have brought them more excitement.

Details of the 1918 event remain sketchy but as the day of the fight drew near people came from all around.

When the moment finally arrived, the combatants entered the ring and the crowd was breathless. Kid Zug was stone-faced and silent. Happy Frey was clearly nervous and ringsiders wondered if either fighter was sober.

The referee spoke to them for a moment and signaled for the bell to start the fight.

Both boxers were tentative. Zug kept his hands high to protect his scarred face. Happy’s inexperience quickly presented an opening for the Kid who launched a solid right cross which staggered Happy and knocked out several of his teeth.

The fight was over.

Although the ending was unexpected, the stunned crowd seemed satisified with the outcome—especially those that had bet on the Kid.

Zug’s ability to strike so swiftly at his advanced age amazed everyone.

Pescaderans would never forget the short boxing match on San Gregorio Street.

But a year later, in the summer of 1919, a brutal murder occurred in Pescadero. It ws a seamy case involving the slaying of a wealthy, elderly widow—and all bets were that the people Zug worked for had something to do with it.

Around this time it was report4d that Zug fell ill with pneumonia. In Pescadero many villagers were coming down with the dreaded “Spanish� flu, the post-World War I influenza pandemic that took the lives of millions worldwide.

Some insiders suspected that Zug’s illness might have presented a perfect cover to get him out of town during the murder investigation.

For weeks the Kid was confined to a hospital room in San Mateo. As soon as he recovered, to everyone’s astonishment, Zug was back on the wooden sidewalks of Pescadero, intimidating and menacing.

Not long after returning to town, Zug faced real trouble. According to official court testimony and leaks to the local press, he was a major principle in an assault case. On a late Saturday night in September 1919 the lightweight pugilist was accused of badly beating 40-year-old Frank Goularte, the 190-pound son of the Pescadero blacksmith. In the melee, Goularte suffered two black eyes, a fractured nose and bruises on his face and head.

While he was being patched up, authorities questioned Frank Goularte.

….To be continued

While many Pescaderans must have been intimidated by Kid Zug’s battered-looking face–“Happyâ€? Frey, whose constable father Herman owned the Elkhorn Saloon on San Gregorio Street– took one look at Zug and boasted to one and all that he could knock him out flat.

Happy’s exuberance could be attributed to his youth, or was it the alcohol content of his favorite beverages?

Unfortunately, his boxing experience was limited to fist fights with the local town toughs. Nevertheless, Happy remained confident, knowing that Kid Zug was probably close to 60 years old.

Happy’s boasting soon reached the Kid’s ears at the Swanton House where Zug was rooming. In its glory days the Swanton had been the centerpiece of the resort town, but by 1918 it had become a crummy, rundown hotel.

Kid Zug was not about to leave Happy’s arrogant claims unchallenged. The confrontation was unavailable and word of their contest quickly spread about town.

The Kid may have seemed too old to fight, but his credentials as a boxer were much discussed. He was a 135-pound lightweight, a former sailor turned professional pugilist. His early skills were honed in the violent back rooms of saloons on the East Coast. His face revealed the scars of many tough battles—in and out of the ring—and it could very well be that the Pescaderans had never seen a professional boxer before.

Those included to support Happy Frey felt that the Kid was long past his prime, down on his luck, in bad shape, and that liquor had gotten the best of him. They pointed out his slurred speech, the result of repeated beatings. They said he was a “little wacky from getting hit in the head.� Yet Zug’s ability to intimidate was not impaired. With merely a glance he could wither nearly anybody he encountered and that was exactly why he had been hired.

Happy Frey was a pure Pescaderan. His father, Herman, was the local constable as well as the owner of the Elkhorn Saloon. His mother, Lizzie McCormick Frey, was the lady bartender with the trademark deep voice.

And her father, John McCormick, had at one time owned the renowned Pescadero House, Swanton House and the town’s general store.

To the folks who were running Pescadero, the fight was an event sent from heaven. Booze would flow and cash registers rings. The customers would bet on the fight and have dollars in their pocket.

Arrangements were quickly drawn up, and construction of the outdoor boxing ring began at the southern end of what was then called San Gregorio Street, near the town’s landmark flagpole.

To be continued….

(Note: The true story of “Kid Zug� was stitched together, using old newspapers to pick out a description here, another there—until I gathered enough pieces for a word picture).

“Kid Zug�: Part I

In 1918 workmen hurriedly erected an outdoor prize fight ring on the saloon-fronted San Gregorio Street in Pescadero—and everybody buzzed about the upcoming boxing match between the newly arrived “Kid Zug� and his local opponent, “Happy� Frey.

In California boxing was illegal—so was gambling—and had it been any place other than Pescadero, the authorities would have clamped down. But this was Pescadero—west of the magnificent redwood forest on San Mateo County’s remote South Coast—and outsiders didn’t care (or know) what was going on there.

The village of Pescadero was about 70 years old in 1918—but it was local lore that you could tell what was fashionable by the contents of the cargo salvaged from the last shipwreck.

In the 1890s, for example, horse-and-buggy tourists were surprised to see every single house in town with a fresh coat of white paint. They learned that the Pescaderans had been the beneficiaries of a bonanza in the form of tons of paint salvaged from the shipwrecked vessel Colombia.

A quarter century later it was more likely that the villagers would be salvaging cases of illegal liquor from the unlucky bootlegging fishing trawlers that had crashed into the dark rocky reefs on moonless nights.

Newcomers to the Coastside village, particularly those with the “right� connections, quickly discovered that slot machines and card games were found in a two=story house at a curve on the lonely road leading east into the redwoods.

Even more fascinating were the rumors that certain county officials were regularly in attendance, playing the one-armed bandits.

Among the intriguing newcomers was a ruddy, scar-faced ex=pugilist who called himself “Kid Zug�.

He was seen paling around with the owner of the gambling joint. Although “the Kid� explained his presence in town by saying he was a house painter, he was never seen holding a paintbrush. He was much more often seen tipping back a glass of beer at one of the four saloons—and he never ceased menacing those around them.

It didn’t take long for the locals to learn the truth: Kid Zug was really in town to act as a strong-arm enforcer.

To be continued….