crime

MRS. DAHLMIER’S CLOSE ENCOUNTER

Jeff Elliott Leave a comment

Crime stories were the meat ‘n’ potatoes of old journalism, but newspapers in small quiet towns like Santa Rosa usually could only dish up leftovers reported on the wires from elsewhere. Thus it’s no surprise that the 1905 Press Democrat gave lots of ink and a hefty two-column headline to this ripping yarn of a local crime. Well, attempted crime.

As reported below, two strangers made a call on a Mrs. Dahlmier. While she was out of the room, the ladies snatched her jewelry (conveniently left in plain view). Discovering that her visitors were really thieves, the lady of the house brandished the family gun and demanded the crooks surrender the goods. A manhunt for the brigands followed, but was fruitless.

The crime described here was a bit unusual, but other forms of bunco — most often, fast-change trickery — were probably the second most common crimes of the day, just behind burglary. But mystery-story fans might be forgiven in thinking that many details in this story don’t ring true:

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The callers arrive and leave in a rubber-tired cart with a particularly docile horse. It’s interesting that super-observant Mrs. Dahlmier noticed so many details about their ride, considering she was confronted on opening the door by two aggressive strangers speaking “in unison” while attempting to push their way inside. And about that getaway vehicle: The rubber tires are significant, given the poor state of both the 1905 roads and primitive tire technology; if the pair left town, they would have needed to stay on the main roads to Sebastopol, Healdsburg, or Sonoma, where police were undoubtedly on the lookout. Although the pair could have arrived in town on the train and rented the buggy locally, surely that stable owner would have provided more details about the mysterious women.

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“Mrs. Mitchell” and “Mrs. Oliver” said they were from Hazel street, two short blocks away. Would real bunco artists have risked claiming that they lived so closely nearby? The maps of the day show that part of Santa Rosa was sparsely populated, with only about 25 houses in that immediate neighborhood (and curiously, only a single house with an address on Hazel street proper). It was great good luck for the con-artists to have targeted a woman who knew so little about her neighbors.

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The Press Democrat described the Dahlmier home as a “cottage,” and the insurance maps show it was about 900 square feet. Even if it was decorated “too cute for any use,” as the visitors purred, it was still the modest home of a laborer and his wife, and thieves should have had low expectations of finding any valuable loot at all, much less a diamond ring lying in the open. The small scale of the place also meant that Mrs. Dahlmier was never more than a couple of steps away. Again, it was a lucky, lucky day for the robbers to find themselves alone in a room with expensive jewelry.

There are other nagging questions about Mrs. Dahlmier’s tale, including why she doffed her valuables in the first place. A piano player may take off loose-fitting bracelets or such, but rings don’t interfere with tickling the ivories, unless the jewelry is the size of a knuckle-busting Superbowl souvenir. It was also curious that the telephone operator failed to answer at that critical moment; how long did Dahlmier try to connect? Surely “Central” was taking a bathroom break or was otherwise briefly indisposed, and it would have been better to keep trying the phone than to dress and hike seven blocks to the place where her husband worked. This is not the same cool player who had gotten the drop on grifters a few moments before.

A few days later, a small item appeared in the Press Democrat reporting that there was nothing to report — no trace of the criminal pair was found. But even lacking a conclusion, there was an adventure (real or imagined) on that late summer’s day on the corner of Orange street and Sebastopol avenue. And the next day, Mrs. I-Have-No-First-Name Dahlmier got part of her name in the press, editor Finley filled a quarter-page of his newspaper with an original yarn, and readers were entertained with a tale of derring-do that sounded as if it was lifted from a dime novel, and probably was.

WOMAN HOLDS UP WOMEN AT THE POINT OF A PISTOL
PLUCKILY THWARTS AN ATTEMPTED ROBBERY
TWO STYLISHLY DRESSED FEMALES, IN GUISE OF NEIGHBORS, PAY A SUPPOSEDLY FRIENDLY CALL AT A SANTA ROSA RESIDENCE
During Temporary Absence of Hostess They Steal Her Jewelry, But Are Made to Return Booty When She Holds Them Up Before They Leave the Parlor

After the experience she had on Thursday afternoon no one can charge Mrs. G. A. Dahlmier, wife of an electrician employed by the Santa Rosa Lighting Company, with being lacking in pluck and the possession of steady nerves when the demand is made.

At the Dahlmier residence, a pretty cottage at the corner of Orange street and Sebastopol avenue, on Thursday afternoon two women set the pace for a decided novelty in the etiquette of afternoon calls. In fact their exhibition of nerve was second only to that displayed by the lady who was their hostess for a few brief minutes. Here is the story in all its daring from the facts related by her:

About two o’clock in the afternoon Mrs. Dahlmier went to the front door in response to a ring of the bell. On opening the door she was confronted by two stylishly dressed, comely women, who had driven up to the house in a rubber-tired cart. They introduced themselves with the utmost affability, inquiring the name of the lady of the house, and in the same breath telling her that they were neighbors of hers, and that their names were “Mrs. Mitchell” and “Mrs. Oliver,” respectively.

“You know,” they said in unison, “we have been thinking of calling upon you for several days. We live on Hazel street, nearby, and as we are new arrivals here, we thought that we would get acquainted with our neighbors.”

Mrs. Dahlmier was pleased with the cordiality shown by her newly found neighbors, and hospitable woman that she is, she immediately invited her callers to come in. The invitation was accepted with apparent pleasure, and as the horse in the car was perfectly docile they did not tie him up.

The callers were shown into the best parlor and “Mrs. Mitchell” and “Mrs. Oliver” were soon complimenting the pretty furnishings of the room and the general appearance of the house. They thought everything was “too cute for any use.” Mrs. Dahlmier, who had been resting on the lounge before the ringing of the bell in another room, bethought herself that she should spruce up a bit, and excused herself for a few moments. Earlier in the day she had been playing the piano and had removed two valuable rings, one set in diamonds and the other an opal, and had laid them on a lace handkerchief on top of the instrument.

Before she retired to adjust her toilet she noticed that the rings and handkerchief were still where she had placed them. While in another room she heard one of the women walk over to the piano and run her hand idly up and down the keys. At the time she thought that evidently her guests were of the Bohemian cult and believed in making themselves perfectly at home even on the shortest of acquaintance. When she re-entered the parlor a glance at the piano showed her that rings and handkerchief were missing. Then the truth flashed upon her. Possibly she was entertaining not angels, but thieves, unawares.

“Why,” said she, with apparent concern, “I thought that I had left my rings and handkerchief on the piano. I must have been mistaken. Oh, yes, I know, I left them on a shelf in the china closet. Pray excuse me ladies just a moment.”

Mrs. Dahlmier says that her mission to the china closet was not with the idea of looking for her jewelry. It was to get the big pistol. It was unloaded ’tis true, but she thought that it would accomplish what she desired. It will be seen that it did.

Returning to the parlor she did not address her newly-made friends with the same gentleness of bearing and voice. She just said this:

“One of you women has taken my rings and handkerchief, and you have got to give them up before you leave here.” At the same moment she leveled the dangerous looking revolver at her guests.

“Mrs. Mitchell” and “Mrs. Oliver” at once rose to the occasion and essayed to back away from the range of this pistol.

“Don’t move a step. If you do, I will kill you. I mean it,” said the plucky little woman. “You just give me back my rings and handkerchief.”

At this she toyed with the trigger as if she meant business. Without further parleying one of the women, cute “Mrs. Oliver” slipped her hand into her shirtwaist and produced the rings and handkerchief. Mrs. Dahlmier grabbed her property and the women dashed out of the house and jumped nimbly into the cart and drove away.

For some moments Mrs. Dahlmier says that she was so scared she did not know what to do. When she recovered her composure she ran to the telephone to call the police, but for some reason could not get an answer from “central” at the time. She dressed herself and came up town to tell her husband and her mother. When the officers were informed no trace of the well-dressed strangers could be found. All night a close watch was kept for women answering the description of Mrs. Dahlmier’s callers. She says the women were elegantly dressed. One wore a blue silk dress and the other a plaid silk. Both wore big, black hats and veils.

Whether these woman thieves made other calls Thursday afternoon was not ascertained. During their conversation with Mrs. Dahlmier they asked her the names of other “neighbors” and evinced a desire to avail themselves of the pleasure of making themselves known to them also. The plan of campaign they adopt in the role of the light-fingered is certainly a neat one. But they had better cut their calling list short in the City of Roses now. They won’t be admitted into other houses on any such pretenses as the one that gained for them a short welcome at the corner of Orange street and Sebastopol avenue. Future callers, in the guise of “neighbors” will be more closely scrutinized by Mrs. Dahlmier than were Madames Mitchell and Oliver on Thursday afternoon.

– Press Democrat, September 22, 1905

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THE UNLUCKY HYPNOTIST AND THE MAN WHO LOVED BLONDES

Jeff Elliott Leave a comment

Showbiz was tough in 1905; sometimes there would be hecklers in the audience, sometimes a rotten tomato thrown. And when it was really, really bad, sometimes there would be a dentist waiting to beat you up outside the stage door.

Not much is known about “Professor Faits” (or “Fates,” or “Fait”), except that he had a hypnotism act similar to that of “The Great McEwen,” who played Santa Rosa in 1904. Both McEwen and Faits appeared to be following guidelines from a 1901 how-to book, Stage Hypnotism, which not only tutored would-be Mesmerists on trances and the like, but taught them how to promote themselves. McEwen chose to publicize himself with the trick of driving a buggy around town blindfolded; Faits used the simpler stunt of having supposedly hypnotized subjects asleep in the display window of a local store. And by appearing in Sonoma County, both hypnotists were following the book’s suggestion of targeting small towns because pickin’s were easier than in the cities.

There the similarities between McEwen and Faits ended. McEwen’s visit was a smashing success, probably due to equal parts to skill and personal charisma; it didn’t hurt either that the Press Democrat’s editor appeared to be an enthusiastic (and rather gullible) fan. By contrast, newspaper coverage of Faits’ “window sleeper” promo was perfunctory, and there was tepid enthusiasm for his shows (“the program is entertaining, instructive and at times very amusing”). By the last night, poor Faits, who had made the further mistake of booking himself into the largest theatre in town, was reduced to giving away tickets to fill seats.

Bad luck also plagued Faits’ visit to Santa Rosa. During one performance there was an accident with a photographer’s flash lamp that “burned two of the fingers of his hand so that the flesh dropped away from the bones,” the Santa Rosa Republican reported. By the end of the week, it’s safe to bet that Faits-the-Great was looking forward to leaving the City of The Roses and heading south to his next engagement at that nice little egg town to the south, Petaluma.

Oh, if only he knew.

During his last Petaluma show, two men in the audience began heckling. An experienced showman like Faits surely would have known how to deal with such disturbances; but maybe because it was the final night in town, or maybe because he was short-tempered because his burned fingers ached, he didn’t cope well. There were words and he ordered the men from the theatre. They left — as far as the front door.

When Faits and his two assistants exited the theatre at the end of the night, they were jumped by Walter Hall and two other men. Hall punched Faits in the mouth and likewise bloodied up Faits’ male assistant. Afterwards, police were called and charges were filed against Hall. He was arrested, made bail, and the next morning paid his fine of $25 (!) for three counts of battery.

The story could end here and be titled something like, “Professor Faits Worst Week Ever.” But there’s more: Who was this Petaluma guy named Walter Hall, who seemed so determined to cause trouble? Was he a local ruffian, a drunk looking for someone to pummel? Not at all; Doctor Walter C. Hall was a prominent 23 year-old dentist. He was also a man with a broken heart — and therein lies the other half of this tale.

Hall was married to his childhood Petaluma sweetheart, Abbie Nay. Years later, when her obituary appeared in newspapers the length of the state, it was noted that she was once known as “the most beautiful girl in Sonoma County.” No pictures can be found in the papers of the day, but she was described as small, with golden blonde hair, and an aristocratic bearing. The marriage to Hall was her third. She married her music teacher while still in her teens, and had two children. They divorced, and less than a year later, in June, 1902, she married James P. Treadwell.

Abbie’s second husband, “Jimmy” Treadwell, had inherited part of a fortune. Papers of the day commonly erred both by stating that he was worth “millions” (he wasn’t) and that the family money came from the famous Treadwell mine in Alaska (it didn’t), but he really did have a trust fund income of $1,000/month (worth over $100,000 today) and was worth somewhat short of a half-million. He also had the reputation as a playboy with an eye for actresses — one threatened him with a breach of promise suit and horsewhipped him in 1897 — and as a sometimes violent drunk.

A little over three months into their marriage, in early October, 1902, Abbie and Jimmy were vacationing at the famed Rubio Pavilion near Pasadena. They began arguing and Jimmy drew a gun. They struggled. He struck her on the head with the revolver and she ran away, bleeding. Then Jimmy supposedly shot himself. Twice. There were no witnesses.

Although he was shot both in the chest and in the center of his forehead, the jury ruled it a suicide. “No one for a moment would doubt the statement of this lady,” the coroner said. In the days that followed, other details were revealed: Jimmy had written his Last Will and Testament just a few days before his death, leaving Abbie his entire estate.

Abbie returned home to Petaluma as a widowed, divorced, mother of two, and a very, very, wealthy woman. There she reconnected with old flame Walter Hall, and they married at the end of 1904. Later accounts of her life say that their relationship was tempestuous, and they separated a few months later. This would bring us right to the time that young Dr. Walter C. Hall, having lost the girl of his dreams and her fortune, found himself in the alley behind the American hotel in Petaluma, waiting to beat the crap out of a poor magician who had only asked him to behave.

Walter and Abbie divorced in 1908, the dentist charging her with desertion. She did not contest the complaint. Abbie married again in 1912, this time to a man named Georgesterff. Like all of her other marriages, this one didn’t last long; she died about six months later of TB.

Fait/Faits toured as a magician at least until 1910, and probably endured much razzing over the incident, particularly since accounts found in the Santa Rosa Republican and elsewhere claim that he was knocked unconcious by the dentist’s punch. An item can be found in a paper in far away Amador County, where it was also noted that he had performed in the town many times. Doubtless every place he had ever appeared picked up the story; it would’ve been hard for editors to resist a tale with such jokey potential. Faits died in San Diego in 1940. The San Diego Historical Society appears to have archive materials donated by his daughter.

Almost immediately after his divorce was final, Dr. Hall married another local woman, “credited with being one of the most beautiful girls in her section of the country,” the Press Democrat reported. “She is a pronounced blonde.”

(Story update available here)

FAITS IS SAID TO BE A GREAT HYPNOTIST

Professor Faits, the hypnotist, who appears at the Athenaeum tomorrow night, is said to be very clever in his art and press notices in other cities where he has appeared speak very highly of him and the performance. The San Luiz Obispo Tribune says among other things:

“Last evening Prof. Faits gave another and an entirely different exhibition from the previous evening. To say that the performance is wonderfully clever and entertaining would be slight praise in view of the wonderful things he does. The cabinet work was decidedly the best that has ever come under our notice, and the Resto Capio was simply marvelous.

“This evening there will be an entire change of program. Mind reading will be the principal feature. The professor will do many wonderful things blindfolded. He will devine the thoughts of members of the audience, and locate hidden articles, and select a couple whom any person thinks of as being engaged to marry. We heartily recommend Prof. Fait’s exhibitions as being worthy of the best turnout that San Luiz Obispo is capable of. Go tonight and be edified.”

– Press Democrat, July 16, 1905

THIS MAN TO HAVE A RESTLESS SLEEP

Professor C. W. Faits who is giving a week of interesting demonstrations of the wonders of hypnotism, psychic phenomena, thought reading and modern spiritualism. At the Athenaeum will [sic] give a public exhibition this afternoon at 2:30 o’clock in the window of Mailer’s hardware store. On Monday he placed a young lady in a peaceful hypnotic sleep and she remained motionless until awakened in the theatre in the evening. Today he will place a man in a “restless” sleep for the same period, and prior to his awakening in the theatre he says he will make him so restless that it will require several strong men to keep him in bed. The program is entertaining, instructive and at times very amusing.

– Press Democrat, July 19, 1905

WONDERFUL WORK OF THE HYPNOTIST

Much attention was centered Wednesday afternoon on the work of Prof. C. W. Fates in placing a young man in a “troubled” sleep, in the show window of Mailer’s hardware store. The subject showed all the signs of nightmare and late in the evening was taken to the Athenaeum and awakened after unsuccessful efforts to get from his watchers [sic]. Before he was awakened he broke away from the grasp of four men.

A large and deeply interested audience witnesses the Professor’s work Wednesday night. This evening he will give the cabinet work among his other demonstrations. The attendance is increasing nightly.

– Press Democrat, July 20, 1905

TONIGHT WILL BE FAITS’ LAST HERE

This will be the last night of Prof. C. W. Faits entertainments at the Athenaeum. No one who has seen him has anything but words of praise for his work. The program tonight will be especially interesting. The coupon published in another column, if presented at the box office tonight, will entitle any lady to a reserved seat for the performance.

– Press Democrat, July 23, 1905
ASSAULTED THE ACTORS

Dr. Walter Hall went into Judge King’s court on Monday morning and paid a fine of $25 imposed by the court on three charges of battery. The doctor entered a plea of guilty and paid the coin.

Two of the complaints were sworn to by Prof. Fait. One charged battery upon the professor and the other charged battery upon the person of Miss Effie Jensen, who assists Prof. Fait in his performances. The third complaint was sworn to by George Satterwhite, who also assists Prof. Fait in his exhibitions.

It appears that at the Unique theater on Sunday night, during the performance of Prof. Fait, Dr. Hall and Sam Swartz occupied seats and created a disturbance. Prof. Fait approached them and asked them to desist and some words passed.

After the performance, as Prof. Fait and his assistants, Miss Jensen and Mr. Satterwhite were approaching the rear entrance to the American hotel on Kentucky street, they were assaulted by Dr. Hall who struck Prof. Fait in the mouth with his fist, cutting his lips open and spattering blood all over the professor’s dress shirt and coat. Mr. Satterwhite also received a blow on the face that caused blood to flow. In the melee Miss Jensen was so roughly handled that a charge of battery was sworn to in her case also. She was not struck by anyone, however.

Prof. Kenney, who says he feared trouble, accompanied Prof. Fait and his party. He interfered and finally succeeded in putting a stop to the struggle.

Sam Swartz and Roy Hooper were with Dr. Hall at the time of the assault but did not, it is said, participate in the scrap.

Dr. Hall was arrested Sunday night and gave bail for the sum of $100 for his appearance in court Monday morning.

Prof. Fait and party left Monday morning for Sonoma where they will give entertainments.

It was reported Monday that Prof. Kenney, who is determined to stamp out rowdyism at the Unique, will cause the arrest of Dr. Hall and Mr. Swartz on a charge of disturbing the peace of the people who were present at the theater Sunday evening.

Another disturbing element at the theater Sunday evening was a local character known as “White Horse.” That individual, who was drunk, let out a series of whoops the moment he stepped inside the door. He was quickly ejected, however.

– Petaluma Argus, July 31, 1905
Disturbance at the Unique

During Professor Fait’s hypnotism performance Sunday evening a disturbance arose. It was caused by Samuel Swartz and Dr. Walter Hall as stated by several eye witnesses, who sat on one of the front seats. Professor Fait remonstrated with Swartz who was the first to offend and then the disturbance was increased by Dr. Hall. They were induced to leave the theatre, but, with Roy Hooper, waited beside the American stables where Professor Fait and Miss Griffith, his assistaint, were taking advange of the passage that leads to the back entrance of the American hotel from Kentucky street. Dr. Hall struck Professor Fait but Professor Kenney who had suspected trouble followed and intervened, thus preventing further attack on Professor Fait. A man named Wells belonging to the Fait party was also beaten by Dr. Hall because he was starting out to find a policeman.

Dr. Hall states that he was not the only one to blame for the disturbance but is game enough to take the punishment.

Samuel Swartz says that he never opened his mouth during the whole evening. He says the man on the stage pointed out the wrong man when he indicated that Swartz was the guilty party. Samuel says that Dr. Hall and himself were on the way home when they met Professor Fait, and that Dr. Hall claimed that the professor owed an apology for what he had said in the theater. Wells interfered and the doctor hit him. Then Professor Fait picked up the woman and swung her between himself and Hall with such force that if Hall had not caught her she would have fallen to the ground. After this he called Dr. Hall away and they left.

Dr. Hall appeared before Judge Kig [sic] this morning. He pleaded guilty and was fined twenty five dollars for battery.

– Petaluma Courier, July 31, 1905

HYPNOTIZED A HYPNOTIST
Dr. Walter Hall of Petaluma Knocks Out Professor Fait and His Troupe

Dr. Walter C. Hall, a prominent dentist of Petaluma, was fined $25 for battery in Justice King’s Court in that city last Monday. It appears that Dr. Hall and a companion named Sam Swartz attended the Sunday night performance of Professor Fait, the hypnotist. The two men created a disturbance and had some words with the Professor. After the performance the men followed Fait and his two assistants, Miss Jensen and Mr. Satterwhite, into the street. The Petalumans assaulted three of the show people, the hypnotist getting a severe blow in the mouth. Hall showed himself to be scrapper and cleaned out the whole troupe.

He was arrested Sunday night on three charges of battery sworn out by the show man and his assistants. Dr. Hall gave bonds in the sum of $100 for his appearance and Monday morning paid his fine of $25. The Professor’s long, stagy clothes were ruined by the dental hypnotist.

– Santa Rosa Republican, August 1, 1905

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OH, YOU TRUSTING FOOLS

Jeff Elliott Leave a comment

Following the earlier 1905 report of a bicycle kidnapping, we now learn that there was a virtual crime wave of pilfered “wheels” that year, and all because too-trusting Santa Rosans didn’t lock up their ride.

Interesting is this aside: “This has long since become a matter of frequent comment among the policemen, newspapermen and others whose duties keep them abroad on the streets in the early morning hours.” It’s understandable that a cop or two would be on duty all night, but why would a newspaper in a farm town of 9,000 souls have someone prowling the dark streets? This wasn’t a city of all-night debauchery, like San Francisco. And what’s with counting up all the unlocked bikes? Is this another one of Editor Finley’s Queeg-like obsessions?

THROW DOWN BARS FOR UNINVITED RIDE

NO WONDER THAT BICYCLES ARE FREQUENTLY REPORTED MISSING TO OFFICERS
Hardly a Night Passes but What a Score of Bicycles Are Left Where They Can Be Purloined

Hardly a week passes but several reports are brought to police headquarters regarding missing bicycles. There is no doubt that in many instances the carelessness of the owners of the bicycles is responsible for the loss. There is hardly a night passes but what fifteen to twenty bicycles — one night recently twenty-four were counted — are left in racks, or leaning against sidewalks, buildings, and posts on Fourth and other streets. This has long since become a matter of frequent comment among the policemen, newspapermen and others whose duties keep them abroad on the streets in the early morning hours. It is a great wonder that more bicycles are not stolen. Thursday morning, about half past two o’clock, within two blocks on Fourth street, more than a dozen bicycles had been left by their owners in positions as described above. Owners of wheels should not forget that while hardly an instance can be given in which a Santa Rosa resident has been known to steal a bicycle, that at a this time of the year there are many strangers passing through town who would take a wheel, ride out of town either for “keeps” or to give trouble in finding it.

– Press Democrat, June 23, 1905

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