A policeman’s lot is not a happy one, particularly when a skulker tries to conk him with a bottle, or a pair of drunks engage in tag-team wrestling with the officer to prevent themselves from being dragged off to the pokey. And then there was the young chicken rancher who required four strong men to restrain him, crazed from his addiction to “fifty cigarettes a day, smoking day and night, with a little morphine thrown in.”
OFFICE HAD SOME TROUBLE
Officer Yeager Arrests Obstreperous Prisoners
Monday night was a night of fights for Officer N. G. Yeager. Every person he attempted to arrest put up a stiff fight and he was compelled to use force to land them in the jail, where they became sadder and wiser people.
The first fight occurred when Officer Yeager attempted to arrest Stella Dixon, a woman of the under world. She had been drinking and was roaming about aimlessly. When the officer took her into custody her friend, Jim Campion, attempted to prevent her being arrested. He took a strenuous hand in the affair and as a result he was placed under arrest also, charged with drunkenness. Officer Yeager was game, but he had the time of his life landing his prisoners, because both offered such stubborn resistance. The Dixon woman came here on a hop picking special during the summer and has since remained.
Later in the night Officer Yeager undertook to arrest George Woods, who was on a rampage from drink. Woods, who is considered somewhat of a scrapper, put up a fight the minute Yeager undertook to arrest him. It was a merry time the officer had in attempting to get the handcuffs on the prisoner. He finally landed his man, however. The patrol wagon was needed for the Dixon-Campion pair.
Officer Yeager believes it was the dampness of the weather that caused the fighting spirit to be aroused in these persons.– Santa Rosa Republican, December 10, 1907
FOUGHT WILDLY TO MAKE ESCAPE
Fifty Cigarettes Daily and Morphine Part of Diet That Drove Henry Anderson Insane
In lucid moments, after he had almost torn his cell in the county jail to pieces and made his escape by wrenching boards and tin from the walls. Henry Concord Anderson, a young chicken rancher from down Sonoma way, told a Press Democrat reporter that fifty cigarettes a day, smoking day and night, with a little morphine thrown in, were responsible for his condition.
Anderson for a time on Wednesday was one of the most wildly insane men that has ever occupied the padded cell in the grim building on Third street. It took Sheriff Smith and Deputies McIntosh, Reynolds and La Point to handle him, and finally strap him hand and foot to a stretcher. Then he became tranquil for a time. In order to secure him without using much force a little strategy was used. He was induced to thrust his hand through the peephole in the door and did so, and then the wicket was opened and the straps were put on him. Judge Denny and the Lunacy Commission convened at the county jail in the afternoon and Anderson was adjudged a fit subject for the asylum at Ukiah.– Press Democrat, May 2, 1907
ASSAULTED IN THE DARKNESS
Coward Under Cover Hurls Bottles at Policeman Who is Patrolling a Tenderloin Beat at Night
Shortly after nine o’clock on Wednesday night a dastardly attempted assault was made upon Police Officer P. L. Wilson while he was patrolling his beat on First street, between D and E streets. Four beer bottles were hurled with considerable force at him by unknown cowards hiding in the darkness. Two of the bottles fell at his feet and smashed. One of them almost grazed his helmet. If it had hit him on the head the chances are it would have killed him.
The officer was walking along the center of the street. The first he knew that something was happening was when one of the missiles whizzed by his head. The next moment a bottle smashed at his feet and the splinters of glass showered over him. Two more bottles were thrown. He pulled his gun and speaking in the direction from which the bottles were thrown, said: “Whoever you are you can’t run fast enough for me.” There was no move. If there had been the officer was ready. An investigation was immediately made, but the bottle thrower were not to be found, undoubtedly having sneaked away down the creek bank under shelter of the darkness. The officer has two of the empty bottles that were not broken and the necks of the two that were broken.
The bottles were not hurled at Policeman Wilson in jest. He says they were thrown with too much vehemence for that. The aim was deliberate. The bottles were not thrown from any house. The throwers were in hiding near a big tree. The policeman has no idea as to their identity. Inquiry was made at houses on the street, and the people denied that they kept the brand of beer the labels indicated.– Press Democrat, September 12, 1907