MUTUAL BENEFIT: THE GIRLS AND WOMEN OF THE SEATTLE CRITTENTON HOME

 

The Crittenton Home in 1901, shortly after opening. Courtesy of MOHAI.

-- Eleanor Boba and Nancy Dulaney

In 1899 a group of women in the Seattle area, inspired by the message of millionaire-philanthropist Charles Crittenton, formed a Rescue Circle to help “fallen women” in their community. The establishment quickly evolved from one meant to rescue prostitutes to a home for pregnant teens and unwed mothers. The home weathered changing economic times and social norms for nearly three quarters of a century, all in the same spot at the south end of the Rainier Valley.

Crittenton Seattle was an institution run largely by women, for women. And while the focus was on helping girls and young women “in trouble,” the charity also served as a training ground for community volunteers, for staff, and for professional women seeking a toehold in a man’s world.

Rainier Beach, circa 1895. Seattle Municipal Archives. The building that would become the Crittenton Home can be seen at extreme left, middle.

 

Detail of above

  

A HOME ON THE HILL

The Crittenton Home had its origin in a visit to Seattle by millionaire-turned-evangelist Charles N. Crittenton (1833-1909) early in 1899. The wealthy druggist had made it his purpose in life to help the women of the streets, founding the Florence Crittenton Mission (named for his daughter who had died at the age of four) in New York City in 1883. During the 1890s he traveled the country in a special train car he dubbed “Good News” speaking to gatherings and urging action at the local level. His fiery rhetoric took hold in a nation rapidly adopting progressive thinking. Crittenton homes and hospitals were founded all over this country and in a few foreign ones.

In March 1899 he favored Seattle with a week’s worth of meetings. Fired up by a mission from God, the women of the newly-created Crittenton Rescue Circle in Seattle were able to turn their resolution into reality within eight months of Crittenton’s visit – an astounding feat! Funds were quickly raised from businesses, churches, and individuals. (The list of contributors published includes $50 from “colored people.”) Mr. C., himself, donated the largest sum, $1,000, toward the goal of purchasing and refurbishing a large property in the Rainier Beach neighborhood of what was then unincorporated King County, one that came complete with a large Italianate mansion.  

The mission of the Florence Crittenton Home in Seattle, as stated in the 1900 Articles of Incorporation, was the “founding, maintenance and conducting of a home and refuge for fallen women and the children thereof.” [i] The founders also wrote up a constitution in which they pledged to “train and rehabilitate worthy unwed prospective mothers, and to render to these mothers such aftercare and assistance as will help keep mother and child together until such time as they find their proper place in society.” [ii]

Early histories refer to the large structure as the former home of the “Young Ladies Baptist Seminary” or the Baptist “University of Seattle.” Whether that institution actually built or ever occupied the building is a matter of some mystery. Land purchases are recorded in the name of the start-up school in the area in 1891 and 1892; however, beginning in 1892, all newspaper references to the college place it in Kirkland. It is possible that the university board envisioned the home on the hill as a segregated campus for female students. Instead, the house became home to an entirely different category of girls.

In 1897 the university sold the land to one “William Prosser of Renton.”[iii] This was Colonel William F. Prosser who served in the Union Army during the Civil War and afterwards made a fortune in timber in the Northwest. Prosser bought land in a number of locations, including the town that now bears his name, Prosser in Benton County. For reasons unknown, Prosser held on to the Rainier Beach property for only two years before selling it to the women of the Rescue Circle for $4100.

The original Crittenton Home consisted of two stories and 27 rooms, with basement, attic, and tower. Spaces were converted into classrooms, medical examining rooms, two maternity wards, and a delivery room; hospital births were still decades away. The more than 20 acres included an orchard and lawn; according to the 1933 history of the Crittenton mission, “…one could look down a pretty canyon between the hills and get a glimpse of Lake Washington, about half a mile away.” [iv] The ladies of the home were able to raise chickens and at least one cow on the property. It was definitely in the boonies; there were no paved roads, although the Seattle to Renton streetcar ran along the foot of the hill.

The house served the organization until 1926 at which time a brand-new brick structure was built on the same property and the 19^th century structure torn down. The new, purpose-built home was considered the epitome of Crittenton ideals. It included a delivery room and hospital ward, two isolation rooms, presumably for those with communicable illnesses, a nursery and sun parlor for the infants, office spaces, and bedrooms sufficient for 25 girls. The facility underwent two subsequent expansions: in 1953 a new wing was added and in 1966 four dormitory cottages were built behind the main building. All of these were designed to increase the capacity of the home, since demand for services continued to grow. By 1967, the home was capable of housing 80 young women at a time. Alas, the latest expansion came only six years before social and economic factors brought about the end of Crittenton operations in Seattle.

THE EARLY YEARS

The Crittenton movement nationally claimed 78 affiliated homes and maternity hospitals at its peak in 1914.[v] The homes were run independently, but generally strove to adhere to principals laid down by the national body.

Girls placed at the Seattle Crittenton Home came via referrals from physicians, clergy, and the law. Many came on their own. A stay at the home might last for several months, both pre- and post-partum. Operating funding came from occasional modest allocations from the state and from donations. Girls whose families could afford it paid for their stay, but, at least in theory, no girl was turned away for lack of ability to pay. In 1921 the charity was accepted for annual funding through the local Community Chest.

Lofty goals notwithstanding, the early managers struggled to make ends meet. Some early pledges of support had not been honored. In 1904 they made a public appeal for assistance, reporting that their inmates were dining only on beans and rice and broth.[vi] For a number of years the home relied on the kindness of churches and community groups such as the Rainier Beach Women’s Club, which often donated sacks of flour, jars of fruit, cans of milk, boxes of tomatoes, and soap.[vii]

On more than one occasion the board was forced to turn to the national mission for financial assistance or administrative guidance. About 1930 the national society sent out a representative to take charge of a disintegrating situation. Documents hint at low morale, big debts, few residents, and in-fighting at the board level. Mrs. J. Erle Collier was able to put things to rights in short order, including instigating a complete reconstitution of the board and staff.[viii]

The Great Depression no doubt had a hand in creating those dark days. Money was hard to come by. Seattle Crittenton did manage to avoid the far worse calamity experienced by its sister home in Spokane, where six infants died in a short period of 1910; the suspected cause was tainted milk.[ix]

Charles Crittenton was a proclaimer of Christianity and the movement he founded held onto the rhetoric of that religion for decades. And while the Seattle home was not aligned with any one faith, it was far from nondenominational. A Christian ethos runs through the early days. The Annual Report for 1912 is heavy-handed in its use of the term: “We have been able to rescue scores of girls. We have put them in Christian homes. Many of them have been regenerated and have made Christian homes of their own. Babies have been rescued, protected and given into hands gentle and Christian.”[x]

Adoption of infants was a course of last resort in the early decades; in this, the home echoed the dictates of the national Crittenton movement. The 1912 Annual Report states that “of necessity” three infants of the 37 born in the home that year were adopted into good Christian homes. Far preferable, it seems, was undoing the damage done by arranging hasty marriages with the young men in question. This was considered the best possible outcome for all, even if, as the report proudly proclaims, some of the girls were only fourteen or fifteen years of age.[xi] More common outcomes were returning the girl and baby to her parents’ home or finding “work under proper conditions,” generally of a domestic nature.

THE DISRUPTION OF WAR

World War II brought an unexpected interruption to the life of the home. Requisitioned by Uncle Sam, the Crittenton Home became a “Rapid Treatment Center” for women with venereal disease. The women targeted were largely the “Victory Girls” who populated Seattle’s downtown and waterfront, as well as other ports of embarkation, during those years. Not exactly prostitutes, these young patriotic women were willing to give their all for the war effort. Unfortunately, the resulting outbreaks of syphilis and gonorrhea threatened to sap the fighting power of the armed forces, so punitive measures were taken. Women and teens were arrested and detained if suspected of being infected; if contagion was proved, they could be quarantined, even when no laws had been broken.

So serious was the problem that the federal government set up an agency, headed up by one Eliot Ness, with funding from the 1941 Lanham Act to combat the problem. The Seattle treatment center, run jointly by the city and the feds, was one of 47 nationwide under the aegis of the Division of Social Protection of the Federal Works Agency. The Crittenton Home, already fitted up for the care of girls and young women, and far removed from temptation, seemed the perfect location.

In some ways, the program for the inmates was quite similar to that of the Crittenton girls – school studies, occupational training, and fun and games interspersed with medical exams and treatments. However, unlike their predecessors, the inmates of the euphemistically-titled “Lake View Manor School for Girls “were all court-mandated. Further, they were not (necessarily) pregnant.

Lake View Manor did aspire to something more than medical cures; the authorities hoped fervently for moral rehabilitation as well. A memo to Ness written by his local representative invites him to come and see “what can be done with promiscuous girls.” The writer adds that the inmates are “worthwhile human material.”

The regional rep enclosed copies of the Tattler, a typewritten newsletter written by the inmates, as an example of their creative spirit. True to its name, the Tattler offered up gossipy tidbits about both residents and staff, using full names. For example,

“Where on earth did Alice Flowers get those bedroom slippers? For a while we thought someone had dyed their French poodles red and turned them loose in the house.” [xii]

Treatments consisted of sulfonamides for those with gonorrhea and a combination of drip and injection therapy with drugs containing arsenic for those infected with syphilis. “Rapid treatment” typically meant six to ten weeks of confinement. The use of penicillin, which could effect a cure in a far shorter period of time, was just around the corner.

The use of the Crittenton Home for the treatment center lasted from late fall 1943 until spring of 1945, scarcely a year and a half. Because the Crittenton board had only leased the property to the city, they were able to re-open the home by August of 1946.

Cartoon from The Tattler, newsletter of the Rapid Treatment Center.

MISSION CHANGE

World War II was a watershed moment for the Crittenton Home and not only because of the disruption of service. In the Crittenton movement nationally, a dramatic, almost seismic, shift occurred in the philosophy of infant placement following World War II. The new, college trained social workers rejected the blanket policy of keeping mothers and babies together, in favor of case-by-case analysis. In 1947, the national Crittenton organization officially abandoned the decades-long dictum.[xiii] The pendulum may have swung a bit far in favor of adoption; In The Girls who Went Away, Anne Fessler catalogs heart-wrenching stories of Crittenton girls across the country who felt constrained to give away their infants – to do “what is best for baby.”[xiv] In the 1963 annual report of Seattle Crittenton, Executive Director Aileen Overton complains that some nurses at Swedish Hospital were surreptitiously encouraging girls to keep their babies – “one of these actually offering the girl and the baby shelter in her home.”[xv]

As the professionalization of social work became the norm, no longer could the homes rely on just a handful of paid staff and earnest volunteers. Funders, which in the Seattle case were primarily the state welfare department and the Seattle community chest, were increasingly demanding professional level case work and accountability. Reflecting this new reality, costs in 1958 were $109,473, twelve times those of 1940, while capacity had increased by only 32 percent.[xvi] Ten years later, expenses topped $324,000.[xvii]

During this same period hospital births became the rule. Girls in labor were sent to Renton’s brand-new “wagon-wheel” hospital and later to Swedish Hospital in Seattle. As before, the new mothers were brought back to the home for recuperation; however, with over 90% of the infants going to adoption by this time, the stays were shorter.

Staff and volunteers strove to create a home-like atmosphere at Seattle Crittenton. In addition to necessary medical services, residents were offered a range of occupational training experiences. In the early days, the focus was on learning good parenting skills, as well as some form of domestic labor. Gradually, additional options were added to the curriculum, including office skills. The 1946 Annual Report lists sewing, cooking, bedside nursing, and child care as classes, with typing and weaving awaiting the acquisition of the necessary equipment. It also reports that the “spiritual program is evolving satisfactorily.” [xviii] By the 1960s the home was offering full academic instruction at the middle and high school levels, including graduation ceremonies, with the cooperation of the Seattle Public School District.

The Crittenton girls had household chores to perform daily; however, carefully selected amusements were also part of home life, including birthday parties, game nights, and talent shows. Some board members offered special outings; others provided improving lectures at the home. In 1950 a board member arranged for in-home classes by the local charm school.[xix]

Typing class, circa 1970, Courtesy of MOHAI.

BACKS TO THE CAMERA: THE GIRLS OF THE CRITTENTON HOME

Patient confidentiality rules were not nearly as codified in the first part of the 20^th century as they are today. Nonetheless, the girls who stayed at Crittenton were protected by an iron shield of privacy dictated by the national organization and based on the core tenet that pregnancy outside of marriage was shameful – shameful for the girl, shameful for her family. In the 1912 Annual Report, the writers state “we do attempt to rescue these young misguided girls who, through lack of discipline or a mother’s watchful care have gone astray.”[xx] Decades later, the same sentiment prevailed. As late as the 1950s, only girls from out of state, of which there were many, were allowed to guide visitors and help at events. In all house literature and newspaper coverage, girls are pictured only from the back.

The good intentions of the board and staff are not in question. Board and public relations materials evince a broad sympathy for the plight of the “unfortunates.” Nonetheless, there are attitudes and practices that, from today’s vantage point, feel highly paternalistic and even damaging. Frequent references to the need to keep the girls’ weight down pepper the later annual reports. A gain of more than half a pound in a week meant the loss of privileges in the 1960s. Strict controls were placed on visitors, outings, and mail.

Due to privacy concerns, both past and present, actual case studies are difficult to come by. Some may be gleaned from the few reports to the board still in existence; these cases all use fictitious names. In addition, some stories, generally the most tragic or salacious, were freely reported in the newspapers of a century ago.

One of the more unusual stories involving the Crittenton Home was that of Kaoru Yamataya (1886? -?), a pregnant 15-year old Japanese girl brought to this country by an adult male in 1901. [In the photo of the Crittenton Home at the top of this story, Kaoru, in kimono, can be seen standing on the front steps of the house.]

From Seattle Daily Times, October 16, 1906.

Shortly after disembarking at the Port of Seattle, Kaoru and the man who called himself her uncle were detained by immigration inspectors who suspected that the girl was bound for work in a brothel. Such things were not uncommon. A short hearing called a Board of Special Inquiry was held in which the feds decided that the girl met the criteria for deportation outlined in the Immigration Act of 1891: She was a pauper and likely to become a public charge. Her companion, Masataro Yamataya, was arrested on suspicion of what today would be called human trafficking. Since Kaoru was quite young and in a “delicate condition,” she was spared jailtime and delivered to The Home of the Good Shepherd in Seattle, a Catholic institution for girls, by a U.S. Marshall. As her pregnancy neared term, she was moved to the Crittenton Home where she gave birth to a boy on September 24, 1901. Sadly, the child died a few weeks later of pneumonia.

Kaoru’s story does not end there. In fact, her case wound up at the Supreme Court of the United States. She had become something of a cause célèbre in the Japanese community of Seattle, which hired attorneys to appeal her case. Two years after her arrival on our shores, the Supreme Court ruled that while she did have a right to due process, the board of inquiry had satisfied that requirement; she was deported.

Whatever the feds may have thought, public sentiment in the case, as reflected in the papers of the day, was decidedly on Kaoru’s side, inventing all sorts of romantic back stories involving a secret lover, a cruel uncle, and elopement.

“The managers of the Crittenden [sic] home were much attached to the little Japanese girl who was as different from the Japanese women one sees on the streets of Seattle as a sparrow is from a bird of paradise.”[xxi]

The case Yamataya v. Fisher became part of case law and, as such, has had a life of its own. The ruling that would-be immigrants facing deportation are entitled to legal due process became a part of Supreme Court precedent. To date the “Japanese Immigrant Case” has been cited in nearly 300 opinions, including challenges to President Donald Trump’s Muslim bans.[xxii]

 

Not all the residents of the Crittenton Home were pregnant. In the early days, the home became a convenient dumping ground for certain women who were draining the resources of the public hospitals and jails.  One of these was Jessie Newman (1871-1903). Jessie was born to a farming family in Ontario, Canada; from the early 1890s until at least 1900 she worked as a domestic servant for a dry goods salesman in Detroit. The King County rolls record her death at Crittenton in May 1903, with Bright’s Disease as the cause, a failing of the kidneys. She was 31 years old. We do not know how long Jessie stayed at the home or if she had been offered the indicated treatments of the day for her condition -- warm baths, herbal infusions, heart tonics, dietary restrictions, digitalis and opioids. 

Jessie had not been without means at some points in her life, but it appears that a generous nature may have left her bereft just when she needed help most. Probate records list her personal belongings as one ladies gold watch and chain, one gold ladies brooch and bracelet, a trunk and its contents, and a $300 mortgage and note to a brother, William, in Port Angeles. She had also made loans to her sister’s husband in Ontario and an associate of his. Her estate was ultimately valued at $670, the amount of the promissory notes. She was buried at Lake View Cemetery in Seattle, with the funeral expenses of $69 paid by her estate.[xxiii]  

  Jessie Newman, courtesy of Norm Fox.

So sad was the story of Mary Hall (1888-1903) that the newspapers of the day followed the sensational case closely. As with the case of Kaoru Yamataya, reporters felt justified in embellishing the facts. 

Mary was the daughter of Abraham Howard Hall, an African-American porter at a dry goods store in downtown Seattle. In August 1902, Hall filed criminal charges against the pastor of the African Methodist Episcopal Church, Mack Scott. Mary had revealed to her father that she was with child by the Reverend Scott, her Sunday school teacher, and that she had refused to “undergo a criminal operation” to end the pregnancy.[xxiv] Mary was just 14 years old. Since her mother had died, Mary had taken care of her five siblings while her father worked. Sometime after her disclosure, “in order to hide her downfall from her younger sisters” she was placed at the Crittenton Home.”[xxv] 

In March 1903, Mary died of convulsions shortly after giving birth. According to the Seattle Star, she had earlier protested when her father told her she would have to give up the baby since it would be too much of a burden for her to raise and also because her siblings would then have to know “her whole sad story.”[xxvi] Reverend Scott was convicted of rape and sentenced to 15 years of hard labor at Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla. He began serving his time in August of 1903; his wife moved nearby so she could “supply him with all the delicacies of each season.”[xxvii] With less than two years’ time served, Mack Scott was paroled by Washington Governor Albert Mead. A request for pardon was later denied.[xxviii] Mary’s baby, a girl, was adopted by a Christian family of a local church.

For a period of 18 months during 1902-1903, frequent interactions between “habitual drunkard” Kitty Bird and local law enforcement were serialized in the Seattle Daily Times. The paper described her as both “a pretty little thing not much over 21 years of age” and “a notorious character of the underworld.” The Seattle Star labeled her “A Barrell of Trouble.”[xxix] Her fair hair was more than once noted, as well as the fact that she had suffered desertion by her husband. Seattle’s Anti-Saloon League was intent on driving out undesirable aspects of the recent population and economic boom -- waterfront saloons, gambling and dance halls, brothels and opium dens, and those who frequented them. Kitty had caught the attention of the authorities as early as 1893. 

In June of 1902, Bird was very briefly an inmate at the Crittenton Home. Facing a five-month sentence at the “comfortless” jail, she had been offered an alternative: “nothing to do but sit in the shade of the trees and watch the gentle waves of Lake Washington come and go in response to the sighing wind.”[xxx]  But some situations are short-lived; some habits hard to break. Just the next morning, Kitty was spotted hiking north along the streetcar tracks back toward the city, having escaped the home. Within weeks she was returned to the custody of the jail on new charges of being “beastly drunk before morning.”[xxxi]

 

The type of reporting typified in Kitty Bird’s case went out of fashion as the century progressed. Certainly, by mid-century, the plight of unfortunate young women was no longer a source of public amusement. At the same time, privacy became the prevailing currency for the Crittenton girls, particularly as many came from the respectable classes.  Girls admitted to the Crittenton Home in the post-war years trended middle class. Private pay patients now accounted for half or more of house receipts. There is a hint or two of cherry-picking the better girls in the reports, a far cry from the early days when the home felt constrained to take all comers.

In a snapshot from 1966 we find that only 31% of the girls came from the city of Seattle and 13% came from out of state. They ranged in age from 13 to 23, with a median age of 17. The average stay was three and a half months.[xxxii]

While perhaps coming with more resources than others, the girls of the 1950s and 60s had plenty of problems. Long-time Executive Director Overton, in her annual reports to the board, provides case studies involving broken homes, sexual assault, severe emotional and behavioral problems, and many pregnancy complications. Fortunately, by this time, the caseworkers were trained to deal with all such situations and to connect girls with community resources, such as specialized medical and psychiatric treatment, when needed.

Weekly weigh-ins. A gain of more than half a pound in a week meant the loss of privileges in the 1960s. Crittenton Home Annual Report.

INTREPID WOMEN

The 20^th century saw remarkable progress in women’s rights, from suffrage to the right to practice as professionals, to serve on juries, and to make decisions about their own health care. During these times of struggle, many smart and capable women looked to charitable organizations as an outlet for their talents. In the venerable tradition of clubwomen, both society and middle-class women stepped up to organize and run service organizations, especially those working with women and children. The Crittenton Home in Seattle, like its sister homes throughout the country, was founded by women. And while men were represented on the board of directors in the early days, over time the directors and committee members were virtually all women.

Given the sensitive nature of the work, it is understandable that the board and primarily-female staff would look to female professionals to help the girls with medical and legal matters. Female doctors and lawyers were few and far between in the early decades of the century, but several offered their services pro-bono to the home. These pioneers deserve to have their stories told.

Dr. Harriet J. Clark at the Ahmednegar missionary hospital in India. Pamphlet: The Ahmednegar Hospital for Women and Children, 1925, via Internet Archive.

Harriet J. Clark (1879 - ?) was one of the very first physicians who attended girls at the Crittenton Home. It was she who signed the death certificate for Kaoru’s child, Thomas, in 1901, and for Mary Hall in 1903. In 1906, Dr. Clark was one of the founding members of the Medical Women’s Club in Seattle. Two decades later Dr. Clark was in India, associate director of the Ahmednegar missionary hospital for women and children.

Historian Clarence Bagley included a biographical entry for Mabel Seagrave, M.D., in his History of King County, published in 1929, noting among her many accomplishments that she was on the staff of the Florence Crittenton Home. In November 1935, Dr. Seagrave suffered a fatal stroke and died at age 53. One year later, the first tree planted in the Florence Crittenton Home memorial garden was dedicated to Dr. Seagrave in recognition of her outstanding service to womanhood and children. Her girlhood friend Florence Denny Heliker, of the pioneering Denny family, was in attendance, at the time a trustee of the Home. [xxxiii]

Mabel and Florence graduated from Seattle High School, in 1901 and 1898, respectively. The two became the first Seattle women to attend Wellesley College in Boston. After receiving a medical degree from Johns Hopkins University in 1911, Seagrave opened her medical practice in the downtown Cobb Building as one of 24 women physicians in Seattle, specializing in obstetrics and gynecology. She also began her work with the Florence Crittenton Home about this time.

Decades later, in 1959, Heliker told an interviewer that Mabel had decided to go to war and she had followed. Sent to France by a national suffrage association, the women worked together, first at a battlefield hospital and then at a hospital for influenza-stricken refugees, during and just after World War I. Heliker recalled that, while she had volunteered as an x-ray technician, her ultimate role was “sort of an aide, carrying the heavy end of the stretcher and Mabel’s bag.” Seagrave was awarded the Medal of Valor by the government of France in recognition of her service in 1919.[xxxiv] Upon her return to Seattle with the silver decoration, Seagrave described carrying out the duties of the woman-run hospital unit with “Not a man in the outfit.” [xxxv]

Mabel Seagrave, right, and Florence Heliker in France, 1915.
 Seattle Times photo licensed through Wikimedia Commons.

Dr. Minnie Burdon (1878-1972) grew up in Anacortes. A family story relates that at a young age she took it upon herself to perform tracheostomies with a kitchen knife on some chickens that were choking on bacon rinds.[xxxvi] It seems some of the chickens survived the procedure and the rest was history – Burdon went on to take a medical degree from the University of Oregon in 1909, served as a surgeon/anesthetist in World War I, completed a residency in gynecology at the Mayo Clinic, and practiced at Seattle General Hospital until her retirement in 1949 at the age of 70. She volunteered at the Crittenton Home during the 1930s and ‘40s, serving both on the board and in a medical capacity. The volunteer guild that bore her name was dedicated to raising funds for medical supplies and equipment for the home.

 

Minnie Burdon, right, with her sister-in law, Courtesy of the Anacortes Museum

Lady Willie Forbus (1892-1993) was an attorney who offered services to the Crittenton Home. The southerner with the unique given name arrived in Seattle in 1918 with a law degree from the University of Michigan, where she had been the only female in a class of 50. During a long life (she lived to be 100), Forbus practiced law, lost elections for judgeships, won an election to the state senate, stumped for President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s re-election, and advocated tirelessly for the rights of women and children. As president of the Crittenton board in 1938, she presided over the ceremonial burning of the mortgage, accomplished in a witch’s cauldron. Forbus also provided free legal services to the home where needed. This often took the form of tracking down fathers of the infants born in the home with a view to arranging marriages.

 

The burning of the mortgage came about due to the munificence of one Talluah Alice Wright (1863-1936). Talluah married Hamlet Wright, a Canadian resident and thus a British citizen, in Dawson City, in the Yukon Territory in 1889. She must have given up her American citizenship at this time, because in 1923 she petitioned the courts for naturalization despite having been born in Georgia. Hamlet Wright is listed as a gold miner in the 1910 census. He and Talluah must have done fairly well in the Klondike Gold Rush, since by 1910 they owned a large home free and clear in the desirable Mount Baker neighborhood of Seattle and had a live-in servant. At her death in 1936 the Widow Wright left a substantial bequest of $32,000 to the Crittenton Home, enough to pay off the mortgage and then some! Her personal connection to the home is not clear, but it may be that she was acquainted with the women who ran the home. After her death, one of the volunteer circles that supported the home was named the Alice Wright Guild.

 

Blanche Narodick, circa 1994. Courtesy of Joan Roth, photographer.

Blanche Narodick (1909-95) was an energetic committee woman in mid-century Seattle, as well as a public relations professional. She was active on the board of the Crittenton Home from the time it re-opened after the war until the mid-1950s, serving as board president, treasurer, and head of the public relations committee. At the same time, she chaired the Washington State Committee on Unwed Parenthood. One achievement had long-lasting effects: in 1949 Narodick worked with reporters from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer to expose the practices of some private maternity homes. While the term “baby market” was a bit sensational, the stories did lead to scrutiny of these unregulated businesses, ultimately leading to state legislation requiring the licensing of such establishments. [xxxvii]

Narodick was something of an anomaly, because she was Jewish. In an oral history, she recalls being encouraged to work on behalf of the Christian home by a friend who said “You have to go out there and show them that you don’t have any horns!” Narodick goes on to give an insider’s view of the home and the girls served in those days: “We had [some] girls from very wealthy and very socially elite homes. In fact, when members of the community came out to visit [the home], we had to hide [those] girls.” Why? “In those days, it was a horrible disgrace. I would say 95% of the girls gave their babies up for adoption.”[xxxviii]

Asked about diversity, Narodick reports that there was an occasional Jewish girl – apparently there was quite a demand for Jewish babies – and even “black girls, but not predominantly.” It seems that the conventional wisdom at the time was that “blacks would take care of blacks.” Narodick continued her long career of community service long after she left the Crittenton Home, working primarily with the Red Cross. In 1989, she received that organization’s highest honor for volunteerism, the Harriman Award, for her efforts to bring volunteers and medical equipment to Shanghai, China.

AN ABRUPT END

The shame of unwed motherhood was a constant through at least the 1950s. In the 1960s, views began to change as more professional woman began to choose single motherhood and the availability of birth control, perversely, meant less sympathy for those who “chose” to become pregnant outside of marriage. Certainly there was no dip in the number of unwed mothers, but the perception of need had changed.

When the end came for the Seattle Crittenton Home it came fairly rapidly. In 1968 the home reported a total of 299 girls sheltered and 208 babies born, seeming proof of the continued need. Yet in 1972 the home was notified that they would no longer be a recipient of United Way of King County funding, a quarter share of their budget. The Boeing Bust recession, beginning in 1970, likely was a major cause of the contraction of funding region-wide, but there were other factors. New management at United Way, taking a cost benefit stance, declared that the home “was more than the community could afford.”[xxxix] Further, they suggested that the home was only at half capacity.

Faced with mounting debts and the loss of a major funding source, the home made the difficult decision to close. The last girl was admitted in November 1972 and the house shuttered its doors completely on March 15, 1973. There were seven girls living at the home at the time; some of these were transferred to the Ruth School for Girls in Burien (later Ruth Dykeman Children’s Center), a facility for emotionally troubled girls.

A few months later, another venerable institution, the Home of the Good Shepherd, shut down, as well. The age of residential treatment was giving way to that of outpatient and community support services.

The Seattle home was not the only Crittenton to close. In her 1983 history of the movement, Nancy Fifield McConnell lists 69 homes by name, of which only 24 were still active; some of those had merged with other service organizations to insure viability.[xl] Today National Crittenton operates as a resource for a number of social service agencies, focusing on advocacy and research to better the lives of young people.

The property that was the Seattle Crittenton Home was purchased by the Seattle Indian Health Board, which since 1997 operated the Thunderbird Treatment Center for inpatient substance abuse rehab at the location. After operations at the home ceased, it stood shuttered and fenced for several years until being torn down in 2025. A petition for landmark status, filed in April 2020, was denied by the city landmarks board. The current owner of the land is Mt. Baker Housing Association.

 

The former Crittenton Home/Thunderbird Treatment Center, 2020. Photo, Eleanor Boba.

 

• For a more in-depth discussion of unwed motherhood and maternity homes, see Fallen Women, Problem Girls: Unmarried Mothers and the Professionalization of Social Work, 1890-1945 by Regina G. Kunzel, Yale University Press, 1993. 
• For personal accounts of the residents at homes for unwed mothers, see The Girls Who Went Away: The Hidden History of Women Who Surrendered Children for Adoption in the Decades Before Roe v. Wade by Ann Fessler, Penguin Books, 2006. Both include extensive descriptions of Florence Crittenton homes.
• For more on the Kaoru Yamataya case, see https://historylink.org/File/20597 . 
• For more on the Rapid Treatment Center, see https://www.historylink.org/File/21066.

 

---

[i] June Peterson, “The Florence Crittenton Home: A History of its Scope and Services,” unpublished manuscript, 1964, p. 21, University of Washington Special Collections.

[ii] Ibid.

[iii] Property quit-claim deed, King County Archives.

[iv] Wilson, 1933, p. 437

[v]  Adelaide Estep, “Szafran: 25 Years of Crittenton Compassion,” Weelunk.com (https://weelunk.com/szafran-25-years-of-crittenton-compassion/), October 8, 2018. Accessed December 23, 2019

[vi] “Women Lack Food at Rescue Home,” Seattle Daily Times, May 30, 1904, p.1.

[vii] “History of Rainier Beach Women’s Club,” Rainier Valley Historical Society.

[viii] 50 Years

[ix] “Offered Money for a Statement ‘Purifying’ The Broadview Milk,” The Press, June 6, 1910, p.1.

[x] The Annual Report of the Florence Crittenton Home in Seattle, 1911-1912

[xi] Ibid.

[xii] Tattler from the National Archives, Baltimore, MD.

[xiii] Regina Kunzel, Fallen Women, Problem Girls, Yale University Press, 1993, 169.

[xiv] Fessler, Anne, The Girls Who Went Away, Penguin Books, 2006.

[xv] Crittenton Home Annual Report, 1963, p. 13.

[xvi] Crittenton Home Annual Reports, 1940 and 1958

[xvii] Crittenton Home Annual Report, 1968

[xviii] Crittenton Home Annual Report, 1946

[xix] Crittenton Home Annual Report, 1950

[xx] Crittenton Home Annual Report 1911-1912

[xxi] “Pretty Japanese Girl with Romantic Past is Not to be Found,” Seattle Star, April 11, 1903, p.3.

[xxii] Eleanor Boba, “Supreme Court rules in the Japanese Immigrant Case, Yamataya v. Fisher, on April 6, 1903,” HistoryLink.org essay #20597, July 3, 2018.

[xxiii] Probate record, King County Archives.

[xxiv] Seattle Daily Times, August 13, 1902.

[xxv] Seattle Republican, March 13, 1903.

[xxvi] Seattle Star, March 9, 1903.

[xxvii]Seattle Star, August 1, 1903.

[xxviii] “Pardons, Commutations, Reprieves, Remissions of Fines, etc., Granted by Albert E. Mead, Governor of the State of Washington”, April 14, 1905.

[xxix] Kitty Bird’s Great Fault,” Seattle Star, April 28, 1902.

[xxx] “Kitty Will Not Stay Reformed,” Seattle Daily News, June 22, 1902.

[xxxi] “Kitty’s Liberty Was Short,” Seattle Daily News, August 8, 1902.

[xxxii] Crittenton Home Annual Report 1966.

[xxxiii] “Friends Bidden to Crittenton Home,” Seattle Daily Times, June 8, 1936, p.15.

[xxxiv] Dorothy Brant Brazier, “A Denny Girl Rolls Back Years,” Seattle Times, October 25, 1959, p.4.

[xxxv] John C. Hughes, “Dr. Mabel A. Seagrave: Living the Wellesley Motto, Pacific NW, August 11, 2019, pp. 8-11.

[xxxvi] Dr. Minnie Bell Burdon, Anacortes Museum online research database

[xxxvii] Crittenton Home Annual Report, 10 Years After, 1963

[xxxviii] Blanche Narodick, oral history, University of Washington Special Collections.

[xxxix] Seattle Times, January 30, 1973, B4.

[xl] Nancy Fifield McConnell, Crittenton Services, the First Century, 1883-1983, National Florence Crittenton Mission, 1983.

Historical Images of Lake Washington

NARA photo, 1970.

This webpage is intended to complement the publication Around Lake Washington, Arcadia Publishing, 2021. It is a list of all sources used for historic photos and quotations. All contemporary photos are by the author, Eleanor Boba, unless otherwise indicated in the book.

Cover - Photo courtesy Shoreline Historical Museum, #SHM 723.

Title Page - Photo courtesy  Shoreline Historical Museum, #SHM 1910A.

Chapter 1 - The North End

Page 11, Photo courtesy Shoreline Historical Museum, #SHM 1230.

Page 12, Photo courtesy Shoreline Historical Museum, #SHM 1250.

Page 13, Photo courtesy Shoreline Historical Museum, #SHM 723.

Page 14, Photo courtesy of Kenmore Heritage Society.

Page 15, Photo courtesy Shoreline Historical Museum, #SHM 1356.

Page 16, Photo courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives.

Page 17, Photo courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #1986.5G.1869.

Page 18, Photo courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #1983.10.12862.3. Quotation from Seattle Star, cited in webpage Charles Lindbergh, An American Aviator, http://www.charleslindbergh.com/mystory/sand.asp.

          Page 19, Photo courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #2000.107.217.35.01.

Page 20, Photo courtesy Densho, The Japanese American Legacy Project.

Page 21, Courtesy The Seattle Public Library, #spl_shp 40300.

 

Page 22, Courtesy Archives of the Archdiocese of Seattle, #VR1030-00013. RG1030 Orphanages and Boarding Schools, Seattle.

Page 23, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #2000.107.170.29.02.

Page 24, Courtesy The Seattle Public Library, #spl_shp 14290.

Page 25, Courtesy The Seattle Public Library, #14288. VERIFY

Page 26, Courtesy University of Washington Libraries, Special Collection, UW40854.

Page 27, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #PI27795.

Page 28, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, PEMCO Webster & Stevens Collection, 1983.10.3686.

Chapter 2 - The Westside

Page 29, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #29054, Series 5801-01: Don Sherwood Parks History Collection.

Page 30, Courtesy Army Corps of Engineers and Friends of the Ballard Locks, #045.029.006.121.

Page 31,Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #30551, Series 5801-01: Don Sherwood Parks History Collection.

Page 32, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #2000.107.223.22.01.

Page 33, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, PEMCO Webster & Stevens Collection, #1983.10.9672.1.

Page 34, Courtesy University of Washington Libraries, Special Collections, NIS(I)7259d.

 

Page 35, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #172630, Series 5801-08: Olmsted Brothers Photographs.

Page 36,Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, PEMCO Webster & Stevens Collection, #1983.10.7531.

 

Page 37, Courtesy Yousef Shulman.

Page 38, Courtesy Rainier Valley Historical Society, #01.037.01.

Page 39, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #11615, Series 2613-07: Engineering Department Negatives.

Page 40, Courtesy Rainier Valley Historical Society, #1999.065.0002.

Page 41, Past image courtesy Rainier Valley Historical Society, #02.022.01. Present image courtesy Karen O'Brien.

Page 42, Courtesy John L. O’Brien Family.

Page 43, Past image courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #2000.107.062.03.05. Present image courtesy Karen O'Brien.

Page 44, Courtesy Rainier Valley Historical Society, #08.31.52.

Page 45, Courtesy Kubota Garden Foundation and Densho, The Japanese American Legacy Project.

Page 46, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Maida Miller Collection on the Florence Crittenton Home, #2000.43.7.

Page 47, Courtesy Rainier Valley Historical Society, #02.001.01.

Page 48, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #1941, Series 9940-01: Erlyn Jensen Rainier Beach Collection.

Chapter 3 - The South End

Page 49, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #1986.5.199.1.

Page 50, Courtesy  the Renton History Museum, Renton Washington, #41.0831.

Page 51,Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #1986.5.6724.1.

Page 52, Courtesy Renton History Museum, Renton, Washington, #763A.

Page 53, Courtesy Renton History Museum, Renton, Washington, #5782.

Page 54, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Pacific Coast Company Photograph Album, #1978.6585.27.

Page 55, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #shs365. Art Wood quotation from 1991 oral history in possession of Renton History Museum and quoted in "In the Garden of Eden: A Kennydale Story," by Steve A. Anderson, Renton Historical Society & Museum Quarterly, June 2005.

Page 56, Courtesy Renton History Museum, Renton, Washington, #6062. Laughery quotation in "More Remembrances of Early North Renton," Renton Historical Quarterly, November 1973.

Page 57, Courtesy Renton History Museum, Renton, Washington, #3078.

Page 58, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #1986.5.39315.3

Chapter 4 - The Eastside

Page 59, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #226, Series 2613-07: Engineering Department Negatives.

Page 60, Courtesy Eastside Heritage Center, #2002.147.010.

Page 61, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Alfred Renfro Photograph Albums and Diaries, #2013.39.18.12.

Page 62, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, PEMCO Webster & Stevens Collection, #1983.10.3974.

Page 63, Courtesy Puget Sound Maritime Historical Society, Joe Williamson Collection, #5156-012.

Page 64, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #1989.10.4.

Page 65, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #1997.20.1.

Page 66, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Postcard Collection, #1998.10.39.

Page 67, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #shs18755.

Page 68, Courtesy Archives of the Archdiocese of Seattle, #VR1060-00647.

Chapter 5 - Around the Lake

Page 69, Courtesy Black Heritage Society, #2000.09.2.05.

Page 70, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, PEMCO Webster & Stevens Collection, #1983.10.2530.2.

Page 71, Courtesy Puget Sound Maritime Historical Society.

Page 72, Photo courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #shs2823. Brochure courtesy Washington State Historical Society, #1997.1.85.

Page 73, Courtesy Washington State Historical Society, #1997.10.39.

Page 74, Courtesy Washington State Historical Society, #1994.36.18.

Page 75, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #1986.5.7588.2.

Page 76, Courtesy Pacific Northwest Railroad Archive, #WWAPCO472.

Page 77, Courtesy Eastside Heritage Center, #2014.005.010.

Page 78, Courtesy Rainier Valley Historical Society, #94.002.01.

Page 79, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #PI20283.

Page 80, Photo courtesy Museum of History and Industry, James D. Lowman Family Photograph Collection, #2008.47.2.1. Brochure courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #5804_05_06_14_001, Series 5804-05: Planning, Construction and Maintenance Records.

Page 81, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #4453, Series 2613-07: Engineering Department Negatives.

Page 82, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #shs11726.

Page 83, Courtesy Eastside Heritage Center, #2010.028.005.

Page 84, Past image courtesy Army Corps of Engineers and Friends of the Ballard Locks, #001.079.040.042. Present image courtesy Kyle Stetler.

Chapter 6 - Ecology of the Lake

Page 85, Courtesy National Archives and Records Administration, via Wikimedia Commons, #552235.jpg.

Page 86, Top photo courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Anders Beer Wilse Collection, #1988.33.92. Lower photo courtesy Renton History Museum, Renton, Washington, #1994.068.3883. Slauson quotation in personal correspondence of Lucile McDonald, Lucile McDonald Collection, University of Washington Special Collections.

Page 87, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Anders Beer Wilse Collection, #1988.33.238. Tonkin quotation in Renton: From Coal to Jets, by Morda Slauson, 1976, p. 27.

Page 88, Courtesy Shoreline Historical Museum, #SHM-388.

Page 89, Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, #shs8917.

Page 90, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #44896, Series 2613-07: Engineering Department Notes.

Page 91, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #12861, Series 2625-10: Department of Streets and Sewers Photograph Collection. Parker quotation from oral history in possession of Rainier Valley Historical Society.

Page 92, Courtesy Renton History Museum, Renton, Washington, #2019.007.

Page 93, Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #65820, Series 5801-01: Don Sherwood Parks History Collection.

Page 94, Courtesy Washington State Historical Society, #2002.71.19. Kinne quotation in "Kennydale Days," by Pauline Kirkman, c. 1985, manuscript in possession of Renton History Museum.

Page 95, Past photo courtesy Museum of History and Industry, Seatle Post-Intelligencer Collection, #PI23041. Present photo courtesy Mikala Woodward and Rainier Valley Historical Society.

Back Cover - Courtesy Museum of History and Industry, PEMCO Webster & Stevens Collection, #1983.10.7529.

Battle Road: Comparing Source Material on the Battle of Dominguez Rancho

The Battle of Dominguez Rancho as depicted by William H. Meyers in Naval Sketches of the War in California, published in 1939.

“A renegade from Flores’ camp brings intelligence that a party of some 300 Americans (sailors, marines & riflemen) had landed at San Pedro & moved on towards Los Angeles. At Domingo’s Ranche, they were met by 130 Californians with a small field piece, defeated & driven back to the Ship with a loss of 5 killed & 7 wounded. Must be Mervine for no other officer is ass enough to attempt to move infantry against these people unless backed by Artillery.” (McLane, 87)

Thus does 1^st Lieutenant Louis McLane of the U.S. Navy, describe the Battle of Dominguez Rancho in October 1846, the last true victory of the Mexican residents of Alta California in the fight to prevent conquest by American forces. At the time of writing, Lt. McLane was on loan to John C. Frémont’s California Battalion in northern California. Despite questionable punctuation, spelling, and fact-checking, his paragraph provides an adequate overview of this incident in the California War.

Commodore Stockton, in his official report on the battle, echoed McLane’s report, although in more formal language:

“Captain Mervine further informed me that…he had landed with his sailors and marines for the purpose of marching in conjunction with Captain Gillespie and his detachment of volunteers to Ciudad de los Angeles. He had not carried any artillery with him; that about twelve miles from San Pedro he encountered a party of the insurgents with one piece of artillery; a battle ensued; that several charges had been made upon the insurgents’ gun, but it was impossible to capture it, as, whenever he approached, they hitched their horses to it and retreated. Having sustained a loss of several men killed and wounded, he retired with his force and re-embarked.” (Stockton Report, 174-75)

The basic facts of the case are not in dispute. There are differing opinions among both primary and secondary sources as to the size of the Californio forces, the number killed and wounded, and the actual dates of the battle. (Some say the march began on October 7^th and the retreat on October 8^th. Others have it all a day later. The plaque commemorating the battle at Rancho Dominguez plumps for the latter.) The estimated number of defenders ranges from 50 to 400, depending on whom you ask. Not surprisingly, American sources tend to the higher ranges.As to casualties, most sources indicate none killed on the Californio side, although one source says that two of the wounded succumbed to their injuries following the battle. (Faragher, 129) American casualties included a cabin boy killed by friendly fire before the march even started and four to thirteen killed by enemy fire, again, depending on whom you ask.

March through the mustard

On the morning of October 8th (or 7^th, if you prefer) two American vessels stood in San Pedro Harbor, the merchant ship Vandalia [1] and the U.S. Navy’s frigate Savannah. A diverse body of soldiers, sailors, and marines, about 300 in number, disembarked from the Savannah and were rowed to shore. They were under the command of Captain William Mervine who had been sent by Commodore Stockton, chief of the Pacific Squadron, to put down the rebellion that had broken out in the Pueblo of Los Angeles two weeks earlier. The second ship, the Vandalia, had aboard Brevet Captain Archibald Gillespie and his command of some 50 soldiers, the contingent that had been left behind to garrison the pueblo after it had been conquered by the Americans in mid-August. Just nine days earlier Gillespie and his men had been harried out of Los Angeles and forced to make a humiliating march some 25 miles to the sea. San Pedro was the closest point to Los Angeles at that time with a harbor deep enough to accommodate sailing ships.

Now Mervine proposed to reverse the process, marching troops back to the pueblo and reclaiming it for the United States. Neither Mervine nor his boss, Stockton, expected the Californios to put up any meaningful resistance. A quick march, a quick victory, and then some consequences for their impudence!

The most detailed account of the events of these two days comes from one Lieutenant Robert C. Duvall, who served under Mervine in the engagement. Duvall was the keeper of the ship’s log of the Savannah. (Robert Duvall)

The march began inauspiciously with the death of the cabin boy, William A. Smith, in an accidental discharge of weaponry on the beach. But, without burning daylight, Mervine led his troops out along the dusty lowland wagon trail that led toward the pueblo. In his haste, the Captain ignored the advice of some of his officers to take ordnance from the ships. That would only slow him down! The troops likewise took little in the way of provisions. Such niceties as food and water would surely be available en route!

The troops waded out into the track lined in places by waist-high mustard fields. Ominously, horsemen started appearing on the upland slopes. A few shots rang out on both sides. Fortunately for the Americans, the Californio captain José Antonio Carrillo was under strict orders from his commander, José Maria Flores, not to risk an all-out fight, but to harass the interlopers until Flores could arrive with a piece of artillery. (Such tactics are sometimes called “Fabian,” after the Roman General Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, who employed such strategies against the Carthaginian Hannibal and his elephants.)

After eight hours and 12 miles of a hot heavy march the troops staggered into the Rancho Dominguez, less than halfway to their ultimate destination. With his men exhausted, Mervine agreed to stop for the night at the rancho.

Duvall described the first leg of the march:

“For the first four miles our march was through hills and ravines which the enemy might have taken advantage of, but preferred to occupy as spectators only, until our approach. A few shots from our flankers (who were the volunteer riflemen) would start them off; they returning the compliment before going. The remainder or our march was preformed over a continuous plain overgrown with wild mustard, rising in places to six or eight feet in height. The ground was excessively dry, the clouds of dust were suffocating and there was not a breath of wind in motion. There was no water on our line of march for ten or twelve miles and we suffered greatly from thirst. At 2:30 p.m. we reached our camping ground.” (Robert Duvall, 116)

According to Dominguez family historian Robert Gillingham, the family was in residence at the time. In his comprehensive Rancho San Pedro, Gillingham writes “Manuel Dominguez and his family were not molested, but had to provide beef and other food supplies.” He further states that, as to the battle, “there is no evidence that Don Manuel Dominguez took any active part, but he did send a messenger from the Rancho to authorities in the Pueblo when the American troops appeared.” (Gilllingham, 151)

Most other historians believe the family had vacated the premises in advance of the soldiers, driving off most of their livestock, as well. From the time that Gillespie’s party had marched south to San Pedro, at the end of September, the caballeros had kept an eye on movements at the harbor. Gillespie had been told to embark immediately, and the Vandalia stood ready to provide this service, but he apparently hesitated for several days, perhaps hoping for immediate salvation from the sea. Prior to leaving the town, he had sent a messenger on a fast horse north to notify Stockton of the situation. 

The Californios were also keeping eyes on the sea. Whether it was Dominguez or another look-out who sent the message to Flores at the pueblo is immaterial. However, it seems likely that a man of means and connections like Manuel Dominguez would have taken steps to assure the safety of his very young family by removing them to the pueblo or to some rancho farther inland during this chaotic time. Not only were his seven children at the time all under 17, the youngest but two years of age, but his wife was six months pregnant with their last child. None of the primary sources consulted for this essay mention anyone, even servants, at the rancho.

A sleepless night

Although the Americanos were able to bivouac on the grounds and patio of the Dominguez Rancho, it is doubtful that many got any rest. Nor were the Californios taking time out from the contest. Throughout the night the troops at the rancho were harassed by gunfire which they attempted to return, firing into the darkness. At about two in the morning, according to Duvall, a cannonball landed at the feet of some of the Americans, indicating the arrival of the cannon that was about to turn what was left of the tide of battle. “The marines, riflemen and volunteers were sent in pursuit of the gun, but could see or near nothing of it.” (Robert Duvall, 116) This was hardly surprising, since it would have been quite dark at that time, with only the light of a gibbous moon to make out shapes in the gloom.

At least at the rancho the troops were able to obtain fresh water from a spring and food from the ranch stores.

Despite the fatigue and what surely must have been the demoralization of his troops, Mervine rousted them out at daybreak to continue the march toward Los Angeles, another 16 miles along the track that is now, roughly, Alameda Street.

Flying artillery vs. Infantry squares

The advance toward the pueblo came to a screeching halt only three to four miles up the road, in the vicinity of what is now Compton Creek. Any thought that the enemy had retreated was put to rest when, according to Duvall,

“…the enemy appeared before us, drawn up on each side of the road, mounted on fine horses, each man armed with a lance and carbine. They also had a field piece (a four-pounder) to which were hitched eight or ten horses, placed on the road ahead of us.” (Robert Duvall, 117)

What followed was a running battle in which Mervine attempted to make forward progress, but was driven back each time by volleys from the gun. The horsemen used their reatas (lassos) to pull the cannon, affixed to a wheeled cart, out of the reach of Mervine’s advance men whenever they made an attempt to capture it, a kind of Californio game of chicken. The caballeros themselves were able to stay well back and keep the advantages of speed and agility.

Duvall states that the gun was loaded with round shot and copper grapeshot, in other words, cannon balls and small projectiles fired like buckshot. One historian, Leonard Pitt, believes the Californios may have been using other projectiles as well: cobblestones and metal scraps, in short anything that could cause damage.(Pitt, 33) Several historians have remarked that the Californios had only inferior gunpowder at their disposal, manufactured at the Mission San Gabriel, and not much of that. Some have considered that lack of powder was the reason cannon fire ceased during Mervine’s retreat.

This phase of the battle lasted only an hour or two. At some point, Mervine and his lieutenants recognized the futility of further action. They could not make forward progress. They could not capture the gun. They had wounded needing care. Even the approved method of fighting cavalry, placing the men in “infantry squares,” with sharpshooters and bayonets positioned on the perimeter, had little effect, since the enemy kept their distance.

A decision was made to retreat to the ship, carrying their dead and wounded in carts. The dead, numbering at least five, were buried on a small islet marking the entrance to the harbor. Either before or after these events the land mass became known as Deadman's Island. It is possible, also, that some fallen comrades were left on the field of battle. Reports from the enemy's side suggest that, following the battle, corpses were found along with spoils of war that included an American flag, equipment, and tobacco. (Farragher, 129)

The trip back to San Pedro was long and weary, we can imagine. The Californians kept their presence known with occasional potshots. Notably, the defenders did not follow up their advantage with an all-out assault. In keeping with their instructions, they continued to harass the Americans in the hope of driving them out of the country. In this they were successful — but only for a time.

Stockton takes charge

Mervine, Gillespie, and their men did not immediately set sail. Without further orders, they hovered at the cove in San Pedro for more than two weeks until Commodore Stockton himself arrived with a large force on board the flagship Congress on or about October 26, as had been previously arranged.  Sizing up the situation, and viewing what appeared to be hundreds, if not thousands, of horsemen on the hills, the Commodore made the executive decision to move his forces and his base of operation to San Diego, from whence he was to launch the final and successful assault on Los Angeles. In his report to his boss, Secretary of the Navy George Bancroft, Stockton explains his decision with telling words that speak of his disdain for the local inhabitants:

“Elated by this transient success, which the enemy, with his usual want of veracity, magnified into a great victory, they collected in large bodies on all the adjacent hills, and would not permit a hoof except their own horses to be within fifty miles of San Pedro. I had, however, agreed to land there, to be in readiness to co-operate with the forces under Major Frémont expected from Santa Barbara; and therefore determined to do so in the face of their boasting insolence, and there again to hoist the glorious stars in the presence of their horse covered hills.” (Stockton to George Bancroft)

Stockton get a dig in against John C. Frémont, that loose cannon who failed to meet up with him at San Pedro with his California Battalion:

“…I had given up all hope of the co-operation of Major Frémont. Besides, the enemy had driven off every animal, man, and beast, from that section of the country, and it was not possible, by any means in our power, to carry provisions for our march to the city.” (Stockton to George Bancroft)

Image courtesy of LearningHistory.com.

Lessons learned

Historians have analyzed the battle from many angles and most agree on a few basic factors that can be briefly summarized:

·        Mervine’s incompetence: The Captain’s failure to prepare adequately for a forced march over rough terrain left his troops fatigued and demoralized. In addition, his decision to travel without the artillery he had to hand on board the Savannah clearly put him at a disadvantage, even against a single, aged field-piece.
·        Stockton’s arrogance in underestimating the resentment and resolve of the Californios.
·        The horses: Carrillo’s mounted caballeros had every advantage in navigating familiar terrain.
·        Style of warfare: The Battle of Dominguez Rancho is a classic example of guerilla warfare used effectively against a force schooled in the rigid rules of classic warfare. Not unlike the Minutemen at Lexington and Concord in 1775, the caballeros used their native wits and weapons, the element of surprise, and even trickery to force a tactical withdrawal by their enemy.
·        Scorched earth: The Californios stopped short of actually burning crops, but they did — at the direction of Commandante Flores — drive off much of the cattle and horses from the coastal areas where they might have provided mounts or sustenance to the Americans. Indeed, Stockton and Mervine had been confident that they could find horses to ride and pull artillery along their route. The lack of these animals cramped their style. At Rancho Dominguez, they were able to commandeer one nag from an unfortunate man who had strayed into their camp. The horse was useful for dragging the cart bearing their wounded back to San Pedro, not much else.

Deceiving the Enemy

Antonio Maria Osio, a long-time resident of Alta California, commented on the clever tactics and “games” used during and after the Battle of Dominguez Rancho by the Californios to intimidate and wear down their opponents. He describes how Carrillo deployed his 80 men to fool the eyesight of Commodore Stockton on the beach:

“The eighty men walked halfway around San Pedro Hill. Then, one after the other, they climbed up to the top, where they could be easily seen by the warships, and then they climbed down. The first man to arrive at the base of the hill would run halfway around to catch up with the formation that was coming down, and he would position himself behind the last man. Thus they gave the appearance that there were more than six hundred soldiers.” (Osio, 235)

Another of Osio’s anecdotes involves a dog that hung around Stockton’s men on the beach. It seems one of Carrillo’s men tempted the dog over and tied a note to his neck challenging Stockton to “a colossal battle.” The trick must have worked, because a few hours later Stockton’s ships were preparing to stand out of the harbor! (Ibid.)

The story of the dog is confirmed in a first-hand account by ship’s surgeon Marius Duvall, posted to the Savannah at the time and no relation to Lieutenant R.C. Duvall. Duvall kept a journal in which he described the scene on the beach on October 28:

“A bright day; we began to be at home in our camp —Commodore Stockton came on shore, looked at every thing, made some bombastic speeches to the troops and returned on board. Today about 11 a.m. a large party (400?) came and reinforced those previously here — soon afterwards, 100 of them occupied the hills nearest out lines, they abused us, and one of them rode in bravado quite near us — he was fired at several times. Late in the afternoon, they sent a dog down to us, some letters were found on him, very abusive and obscene in their language.” (Marius Duvall, 64)

Duvall goes on to describe the hasty and somewhat humiliating departure ordered by Stockton:

“A flaming ‘general order’ was read to the troops. About 10 o’clock at night the boats from both ships came on shore with the order to [load up] every thing in the shortest possible time — this was accomplished before daylight of the 29^th. There was some confusion, and it was fortunate there was not a spirited enemy to watch us; some of us received a ‘ducking.’ What will be said of this here and at home [?!] (Ibid.)

Many writers have mentioned the Californios’ use of horses to stir up dust clouds to create the impression of a large horde. One account is in the memoirs of an American resident of the country, one Benjamin D. Wilson, who, as a friend to both sides, became a witness to history. Finding himself a prisoner of the Californios after the battle, Wilson agreed to act as an intermediary with Stockton whose arrival by sea was shortly expected:

“I was placed under charge of a Sergeant, and carried to the place designated, near the old
San Pedro Landing, on the Mesa, where I was to await Carrillo's orders. On our way we passed Carrillo's command, of some four or five hundred men all mounted … they seemed to be collecting on Dominguez's Ranch all the scattered horses they could secure; they already had a large number together… I looked back in the gap where the road leads through from the Palos Verdes to San Pedro Landing, and saw an immense dust raised by a large caballada mixed with mounted soldiers. This immense band of horses and cavalcade occupied up again to the same gap, and passing through again. This gave the impression and appearance of an immense mass of mounted cavalry, as no one at a distance could distinguish horses through the dust, if all had riders or not.” (Wilson, 115)

It appears that Wilson was himself fooled by the stratagem he describes, since it is unlikely that Carrillo had anything like “four or five hundred men” at this stage of the game. We have read that Dr. Duvall had the same impression of a large force.

Historian Bancroft also mentions these tricks on the part of the Californian forces, including the episode of the dog at the beach, although with less detail.

Yet another account is that contained in the memoir of film star Leo Carrillo (1880-1961) titled The California I Love. Carrillo is able to recount family lore handed down by his great-uncle José Antonio Carrillo, the very fellow who led the Californios against Mervine’s men. His ancestor regaled the children with the story of how he confused the Americanos with a type of smoke screen:

“He had his cavalrymen attach pieces of brush, old cowhides, and all sorts of heavy objects to their reatas. These were dragged across a dusty spot ahead of the oncoming American force. Then the horsemen dashed in and out of this dust cloud so that they appeared as a tremendous force of cavalry. The Americans were completely confused as to the numbers of the Californianos [sic]. Actually there were only fifty in the contingent under the command of Jose Antonio.” (Carrillo, 18)

Carrillo offers additional details about the battle, including the presence of “skittish gray mule” that dragged the cannon into battle and a suggestion that the Californios had only eight cannonballs which they re-used when they were able to retrieve them from the battlefield. (Ibid.) We must mention that Leo Carrillo was born 18 years after his great uncle’s demise; thus, he had only second- or perhaps third-hand knowledge of these tales.

Aftermath

The Battle of Dominguez Rancho was, of course, a mere blip in the history of the battle for California. With little or no backing from the official government in Mexico, and no other allies, the Californians only bought themselves a little time and perhaps burnished their reputation for bravery and fighting skill. Once Stockton had regrouped in San Diego, met up with General Stephen W. Kearney, not so fresh in from New Mexico, and tracked down Major Frémont and his California Battalion who were making their way south from Monterey by land, the fate of the Californians was sealed. Stockton and Kearney pushed through resistance in the battles of San Pascual (December 6 and 7), Rio San Gabriel near Montebello (January 8 and 9), and La Mesa near Vernon (January 9). A day following this last battle, Stockton’s forces entered Los Angeles for the second time, again encountering no opposition. Meanwhile, Frémont, now a Lieutenant Colonel, had approached the town from the San Fernando Valley, and, in a brilliant tactical move ensuring his own fame, cemented a peace treaty with Andres Pico of the Californio forces under the noses of his commanders, Stockton and Kearney. But that is a story for another day.

Who are you calling old?!

Folklore has dubbed the Battle of Dominguez Rancho “The Battle of the Old Woman’s Gun.” (Other names include “The Battle of Dominguez Hills,” “The Battle of Dominguez Ranch,” and “The Battle of Mervine’s Grapes” with a sarcastic nod to the grapeshot fired from the gun.)

So, who was this old woman and what did she have to do with a gun? Well, reliable sources have stated that the single piece of artillery used in the battle, a four-pound cannon brought to bear by the Californio forces, was one that had been hidden away by a woman during or perhaps just after the American occupation of Los Angeles. Famed historian Hubert Howe Bancroft, writing from voluminous notes taken by researchers in 1886, names the woman Inocensia Reyes:

“Nearly all of the male inhabitants of southern California were now, in a certain sense, engaged as soldiers in the revolt…The country was ransacked for old muskets, pistols, and lances, with indifferent success. An old four-pounder, that had formerly served on festive occasions for the firing of salutes, was dug up from the garden of Inocencia Reyes, where it had been buried on Stockton’s first approach; and this was mounted on a pair of wagon wheels by an English carpenter.” (Bancroft, 318)

A few years after Bancroft’s monumental work, historian J. M. Guinn, writing in the publication of the Historical Society of Southern California, identifies the woman as Dona Clara Cota de Reyes, but without mentioning his source. A search of public records reveals that one Maria Clara Cota de Reyes, a widow, lived in the pueblo of Los Angeles at the time of the uprising with five children, one of whom was named Maria Inocencia. It is likely that the burying of the cannon was a family affair. Dona Clara would have been about 56 at the time, old enough to be considered “old” in those days. Maria Inocencia was only about 31. (Ancestry.com) This version of the story appears to be confirmed by a descendant of the Reyes family. (Tina Reyes email)

But wait, there’s more! A website dedicated to the history of the Verdugo family in California adds more detail to the tale, naming several co-conspirators in the plot to seize and bury the gun. While historian Guinn believes the gun was buried in a sugarcane field at 1^st and Alameda streets, the author of the post states that the cannon was transported to a peach orchard adjacent to the Reyes homestead at 2^nd and San Pedro streets. (Doc ) The two addresses are a scant quarter mile apart. The web article draws on information from the memoirs of one Narciso Botello, an eyewitness to the events of the rebellion. Botello explains that

“It needs to be said how this cannon had always been in the Los Angeles Plaza, used to fire salutes to the Virgin. This cannon had been buried in a sandy spot of Antonio Reyes’ orchard, and meantime hidden by some women before Stockton came into town.” (Botello, 81)

Let us note that, according to baptismal records of Mission San Carlos Borromeo, an Antonio Reyes was the father of Inocencia (or Ynocencia) Reyes and the husband of Maria Clara Cota Reyes.(Ancestry.com, baptismal record)

In the extensive notes to the published Botello memoirs, editor Brent C. Dickerson details the adventures of the gun prior to the big battle, including a salute welcoming new governor Micheltorena in 1842 and its involvement in a jailbreak from the old calaboose in 1845. He recounts the conspiracy to obtain and bury the gun, perhaps twice, so it may be that both the story of the cane field and the peach orchard are true. Dickerson draws on publications currently unavailable to us, including the memoir of Pablo Vejar, the alleged instigator of the scheme. (Dickerson, Annals, 261) According to Vejar, the gun was buried for the second time on or about September 27, only a few days before the battle and during the period that Gillespie and his men were under siege on Fort Hill.

What happened to the Old Woman’s Gun?

Artillery, like the four-pound bore cannon that came to be called the “Old Woman’s Gun” (el pedrero de vieja) or el conico (conical one) were prized possessions in the rough and ready days of old California. While anecdotes about the gun are few and far between, we can piece together the gun’s life story, always keeping in mind that some accounts are contradictory and many guns looked alike.

Like many others, our gun had a number of varied assignments during its working life and in retirement it traveled as far afield as New Orleans and Annapolis. Probably. At present a cannon on display at the U.S. Naval Academy Museum in Annapolis purports to be the one we want.

Courtesy of U.S. Naval Academy Museum, Annapolis.

El conico is said to have been one of several guns stationed on the Los Angeles Plaza, a gathering spot in the old pueblo, and fired during ceremonial or festive occasions. As such, it was probably brought to the town by soldiers, perhaps the early “leather-jackets.” Had the gun been fired in anger prior to fetching up on the plaza? It is certainly possible, but probably impossible to know.

In his memoirs, Antonio Maria Osio provides a description of the gun in question:

”The angelinos had acquired a very small cannon which they would fire to celebrate special occasions. Unfortunately the vent on the cannon was too wide, and those who wanted to play artilleryman would be injured and might even lose their thumbs when they fired it. Even though the cannon had this defect, the angelinos, aware that it could do more damage through it mouth than through it vent, believed that it was an excellent defense. However, it was not mounted on a gun carriage. So to make it more powerful, they mounted it on a cart made from a tree trunk and left to engage Captain Mervine’s forces.” (Osio, 235)

Guinn picks up the tale:

“[The gun] was lashed to the axle by means of rawhide thongs and was drawn by riatas as described by Lieut. Duvall. The range was obtained by raising or lowering the pole of the wagon. Ignacio Aguilar acted as gunner, and having neither lanyard nor pentstock to fire it, he touched off the gun with the lighted end of a cigarette. Never before or since perhaps was a battle won with such crude artillery.” (Guinn, "Battle," 266)

Brent Dickerson, in his extensive notes to Narciso Botello’s memoir, provides further description of the gun courtesy of Franklin G. Mead, a descendant of old Angeleno families. Mead, basing his observations on the gun at Annapolis, describes it:

“The Old Woman's Gun is a quite large swivel gun; but it is, indeed, a swivel gun (in contradistinction to a field gun). Description: Bronze, smoothbore, 4 pounder, cannon tube, 43½ inches overall in length; bore 2.77 inches diameter; 4½ inch muzzle section length; tube 4 inches in diameter at the muzzle astragal; 16 inch chase section; 6 inches between 3rd and 2nd reinforce; 9½ inches across at trunnions.” (Dickerson website)

Further, Mead disputes Osio's assertion that there was something wrong with the cannon’s vent, a hint that perhaps they were not describing the same gun.

The Old Woman’s Gun was not the only piece of artillery available to the Californios. Accounts of the Battle of San Pascual, which followed the Battle of Dominguez Rancho on December 6 and 7 also involved a cannon or cannons. Louis McLane of the U.S. Navy, who accompanied Frémont toward Los Angeles, provided this account of that battle and the two skirmishes that followed:

“Flores [awaited them] with about 600  men on the best horses in California – and 3 pieces of Artillery – 1 twelve pound Iron medium and 2 brass 4’s. [He] disputed the passage of the Rio San Gabriel on January 8 & [of] the Mesa [on] January 9^th. [Flores] was beat off on both days & on the 10^th Stockton entered Los Angeles.” (McLane, 108)

It is possible, even likely, that el conico was present at these battles. Historian Guinn believes so based on inscriptions on the gun itself. (Guinn, "Battle," 265)

U.S. Naval Academy Museum.

In the hands of the enemy

Various sources say that two cannons were surrendered to (now) Lieutenant Colonel Frémont shortly after the signing of the Treaty of Cahuenga on January 13, 1847. Most assume that el conico was one of these:

Edwin Bryant, a journalist embedded with Frémont’s troops, was present at Campo de Cahuenga when Frémont met with his counterpart, Andrés  Pico. In his journal he writes out the terms of the treaty in full. Article 1 dictated that the defeated forces “deliver up their artillery and public arms…” He goes on to state that “the next morning [January 14] a brass howitzer was brought into camp and delivered. What other arms were given up I cannot say, for I saw none.” (Bryant, 53)

J.M. Guinn, writing at the end of the 19^th century, asserts (without giving his source) that two cannon were given up to Frémont at Cahuenga – “the howitzer captured from General Kearny at San Pascual” and “the woman’s gun that won the battle of Dominguez.” (Guinn, A History, 143)

Mr. Guinn provides us with tantalizing information about the gun’s future in a paragraph which places the small cannon on display at the New Orleans Exposition of 1884-85, otherwise known as the World Cotton Centennial. Guinn says the “label” read:

“Trophy 53, No. 63, Class 7. Used by Mexico against the United States at the battle of Dominguez Ranch, Oct. 9, 1846; at San Gabriel and Mesa; Jan. 8 and 9, 1847; used by U.S. forces against Mexico at Mazatlan Nov. 11, 1847; Urias (crew all killed or wounded); Palos Prietos, Dec. 13, 1847 and at San Jose, Feb. 15, 1848.” (Guinn, A History, 131)

As we have seen, San Gabriel and Mesa were back-to-back clashes early in January 1847. The last three encounters mentioned were skirmishes of the Mexican-American war outside of California.

Although Guinn does not specify it, the gun displayed at the exposition was likely a part of the U.S. Navy’s display. A catalog of the exposition described some of the many guns offered for view by the Navy: “Full sized models of the thirteen-inch and fifteen-inch bore, steel rifle cannon, now being made for the steel cruisers, were shown, together with specimens of the Hotchkiss revolving cannon, the Gatling gun, and the Dalghren and Parrott cannon.” (Fairall, 338)

If the gun was in the custody of the navy in 1885, it would go far to explain how it came to be at the U.S. Naval Academy Museum at Annapolis today. Photos made available by the museum show the gun on display among artifacts of the Mexican-American war. It is labelled “Old Woman’s Gun.” Close-ups of the barrel reveal that at some point it was inscribed with the wording Guinn quotes above, and perhaps more.

Tales told by dead men

So, we have what seems like a straightforward timeline for our gun: from Cahuenga to the U.S. Navy, to the New Orleans Exposition, to retirement at Annapolis. There is, however, one story that puts a hitch in this theory: In 1881 one Horace Bell, a former California Ranger (state marshal), published his memoirs. Although Bell does not cover the period of the battles and treaty, he recounts an interesting anecdote involving Juan Sepúlveda, a prominent don who had served with Carrillo in the Battle of Dominguez Rancho. Sepúlveda and Bell, it seems, were part of a group of boisterous gentlemen celebrating the new American holiday, the Fourth of July, in 1853.

According to Bell:

“Don Juan, in the exuberance of his patriotism, had unearthed a venerable field piece which had enjoyed the silence of the grave since it had fired its last shot in defense of Mexican territory. Captain Sepúlveda mustered and embarked his command on a large boat and proceeded up Wilmington Bay, where he embarked his artillery and sailed for Dead Man’s Island, where, after infinite labor, he succeeded in mounting his battery on the highest point of the island, and all being ready, we let loose such a thunder as was never exceeded by one gun. It seemed that we would wake the seven sleeping heroes who so quietly reposed on the little barren rock…...while paying our respects to our liquid ammunition, Don Juan proceeded to tell us how the seven sailors came to be killed. Their wooden head-boards stood in line in front of us.” (Bell, Chapter IX)

Sepúlveda then went on to give a vivid and perhaps somewhat enhanced account of the Battle of Dominguez Rancho, swearing that the gun at their feet was the very same that had turned the tide of that engagement. In Bell’s remembered and poetic words, Don Juan spoke thusly:

“The old gun was subsequently buried near my house, and after a nap of six years, here it is, and here am I, and others who dragged it away at the time, and here we are, all of us, the old gun, the old enemies, now friends, and here is brave Higuera firing a salute of honor over our former foes who fell in battle.” (Ibid.)

If there is any truth to this hearsay evidence, it would put the lie to the story of the old gun being surrendered as a spoil of war in 1847. It would raise many more questions concerning its actual fate and concerning the true identity of the impostor currently on display in Annapolis with a label that reads:

“Surrendered to Commodore R.F. Stockton, U.S.N., Los Angeles, California, January 16, 1847.”

A word in parting

In reviewing the story of the battle, I have endeavored to balance all relevant sources, both primary accounts and secondary assessments, while attempting to correct for bias of the parties involved. I am forced to concur with the words of historian Guinn who, in his 1899 article wrote:

“Of the notable events occurring during the conquest of California there are few others of which there are so contradictory accounts as that known as the battle of Dominguez Ranch.” (Guinn, "Battle," 261)

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[1] The Vandalia was a sloop-of-war which had served in the U.S. Navy until being decommissioned in 1845. Although she was re-commissioned for service in the Navy in 1849, during the period in question she was in private service.

SOURCES

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• The Private Journal of Louis McLane, U.S.N., 1844-1848 edited by Jay Monaghan, 1971.
• Stockton report to Congress, 1848, in Memoir of the Life and Public Services of John Charles Fremont edited by John Bigelow, 1856.
• Stockton to George Bancroft, Secretary of the Navy, November 23, 1846, in Samuel Bayard, A Sketch of the Life of Com. Robert F. Stockton, Applewood Books, 2009.
• John Mack Faragher, Eternity Street: Violence and Justice in Frontier Los Angeles, 2016.
• Robert C. Gillingham, Rancho San Pedro, 1961.
• Lt. Robert C. Duvall, "Extracts from the Log of the U.S. Frigate Savannah kept by Robert Carson Duvall," California Historical Society Quarterly, Vol. III, No. 2, July 1924.
• J.M. Guinn, "Battle of Dominguez Ranch," Annual Publication of the Historical Society of Southern California and Pioneer Register, Vol. 4, No. 3, 1899, pp. 261-266. Much of Guinn's 1899 article was reproduced verbatim in his history of California, below.
• J.M. Guinn, A History of California and an Extended History of Los Angeles and Environs, Vol I, Chapter 18, "The Defeat and Retreat of Mervine's Men," 1915. Guinn provides a detailed of account of the battle in this three-volume opus. Unfortunately, while he assures us that “In gathering material for this work, I have examined the collections in a number of libraries, public and private, have consulted state, county and city archives and have scanned thousands of pages of newspapers and magazines,” he does not provide individual sources for his statements.
• Leonard Pitt, The Decline of the Californios, 1966.
• Antonio María Osio, The History of Alta California, 1996.
• Marius Duvall, A Navy Surgeon in California, 1846-1847.
• Benjamin David Wilson, "Observations on Early Days in California and New Mexico," edited by Arthur Woodward, Historical Society of Southern California, 1934, vol. 16.
• Leo Carrillo, The California I Love, 1961.
• Hubert Howe Bancroft, A History of California, 1846-1886.
• Ancestry.com
• Tina Reyes, email to Eleanor Boba, April 1, 2019.
• Doc, “The ‘Old Woman’s Gun’ and the Battle of Rancho Dominguez, blogpost, Verdugo Family History, October 4, 2017, http://verdugofamilyhistory.blogspot.com/2017/10/the-old-womans-gun-and-battle-of-rancho.html, accessed April 2019.
• Ynocencia Reyes Cota, baptismal record, Ancestry.com.
• Narciso Botello's Annals of Southern California, 1833-1847 edited by Brent C. Dickerson, 2014.
• Brent C. Dickerson, "Narciso Botello's Annals of Southern California, 1833-1847, Illustrations, Maps, Images and Further Remarks," https://web.csulb.edu/~odinthor/botello.html.
• Edwin Bryant, What I Saw in California, undated, c. 1846-47.
• Herbert S. Fairall, The World's Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition, New Orleans, 1884-1885, 1885.
• Horace Bell, Reminiscences of a Ranger, 1881, Chapter IX, Kindle edition..
• Les Driver, “Carrillo’s Flying Artillery,” in California Historical Society Quarterly, 1969.