Floodpath
Page 17
Eastman broke the ice. He announced that Los Angeles was ready and willing to restore the Santa Clara River Valley and pay for losses. He added that he hoped this could be done without haggling over blame. In response, Teague expressed his willingness to work cooperatively with Los Angeles and his belief in the city’s sincerity. On March 22, the Joint Committee released a statement that agreed to undertake “complete restoration of property and compensation for loss of life.”24 After a “goodwill” luncheon at the Glen Tavern Inn, negotiations were off to a promising start, but there was an overwhelming amount of work to do.
Along with dealing with the dead and property damage in the Santa Clara River Valley, an important priority for Los Angeles was to repair one hundred feet of broken Aqueduct pipe and restore electrical generation at Powerhouse 2. Two hundred and fifty men were assigned to the job. Water was drained and workers with shovels and small hand trucks carefully made their way into the tunnel, cleared mud and debris, and made repairs. Within days, Aqueduct and penstock connections were reestablished and water flowed again. Powerhouse 2 was running by June 1928 and in full operation by November.
Anticipating future power needs, a third penstock and generator were added. In a decision the cost-conscious Chief enthusiastically endorsed, one of the two generators that survived the flood was rebuilt and returned to service.25 Although the Bureau of Power and Light had no responsibility for the destruction caused by the St. Francis Dam disaster, the Department footed the $1,090,304.69 bill,26 another behind-the-scenes source of irritation to BPL chief Ezra Scattergood.
Damaged turbines at Powerhouse 2 (Los Angeles Department of Water and Power)
When it came to rebuilding the Santa Clara River Valley, the DWP didn’t have the personnel and heavy equipment needed for such a massive effort. An “at cost” contract was negotiated with Associated General Contractors (AGC), a consortium of nine construction companies. Before work could begin, landowners were required to sign permission forms that allowed repair and restoration to proceed without the city accepting liability for the damage. By March 26, 250 heavy machines and five hundred men were at work in the Valley. In the weeks that followed, that number swelled to 506 pieces of equipment with a workforce of 2,138.27
For the sake of speed and efficiency, representatives from both Los Angeles and Ventura County wanted to establish control over costs. But for Los Angeles there were troubling unanswered questions. Before a thorough investigation, how could the city legally pay for losses without prematurely admitting guilt, and again, where would the money come from? City Councilman Pierson Hall was impatient and Mayor Cryer agreed that further delays could compound the problem.28 After some intense legal research, a young attorney found an obscure 1897 City Charter statute. It allowed the Los Angeles City Council to approve bonds to take care of “non-contractual legal obligations” without a public vote. To further support L.A.’s tenuous position, City Attorney Stephens devised a legal strategy that allowed fund-raising to begin on the basis of “a reasoned apprehension of legal liability,” rather than an outright acceptance of guilt.29
Damaged homes in the floodpath (J.E. Phillips)
As city leaders had done since the boom years of the 1880s, they approached New York investment banks for underwriting. The firm of Dillon and Hubbard expressed interest. The company had provided funding for the purchase of the city’s private water company in 1902, but this time the bank was hesitant about accepting Stephens’s “reasoned apprehension” justification without some kind of test case. After fervent lobbying by the desperate leadership of Los Angeles, and undoubtedly skilled negotiations involving W.B. Mathews, the New York investors agreed to issue short-term bonds as they were needed.30
The plan was to establish a special bank account and issue warrants, the equivalent of IOUs, to claimants as cases were settled. Once a significant amount of debt was accumulated, a bond would be issued for payment. The money was deposited in a local bank that agreed not to take a fee for the transaction. In this way, the city would borrow neither too much nor too little to meet St. Francis Dam obligations.31
In the meantime, the Joint Restoration Committee organized individual subcommittees to focus on claims and restoration. When the St. Francis flood hit, the Santa Clara River Valley was in the most productive period of the year. Trees were heavy with fruit and nuts and it was planting time for a new season of crops. Now 23,638 acres were silt-covered ruins.32 Determining the nature and extent of agricultural losses and the best way to proceed with restitution was an extremely complex and detailed task. It was necessary to precisely determine what had been lost, including the replacement value and any additional restitution. The rainy season was approaching, and it was imperative to clear hazards and blockages that could result in further flooding and more agricultural damage.
For this work, C.C. Teague and his Ventura committee wanted to engage a knowledgeable independent resource. Again, Los Angeles was determined to avoid third parties. The cooperative atmosphere between the two committees chilled. Teague wrote a pointed letter: “I want to impress upon you, Mr. Eastman, just as emphatically as I can, that if we do not set up a fact finding body that will have the confidence of the public generally and the injured parties as well as your committee representing Los Angeles, our problem is a hopeless one.”33
When Teague indicated he was willing to turn over the entire matter to the courts, Eastman and the Los Angeles committee quickly backed down. The State Agricultural Extension Service, based at the University of California College of Agriculture in Berkeley, was brought in as an independent evaluator.
Whatever controversies that might arise, representatives of both Los Angeles and Ventura County didn’t want to waste time. To facilitate the restitution process, newspaper articles and flyers were distributed, urging everyone with claims to fill out detailed forms. As required by a Los Angeles City Council ordinance, a statute of limitations was set. To be considered, all claims needed to be filed by September 12, 1928, exactly six months from the day of the disaster. To avoid future legal challenges, special efforts were made to contact potential claimants who didn’t live in the area. One letter was sent as far as Australia.34 Long lines appeared outside the downtown headquarters of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce and in offices in Santa Paula and Fillmore.35
Faced with increasing anger and impatience, C.C. Teague issued an upbeat progress report with a warning: “I would ask our people not to be impatient, as there is a large amount of money involved and it is of the greatest importance that the right basis is agreed upon before we start, or we could not hope to arrive at the complete restoration program which is being attempted, without recourse to law suits.”36
To help determine and negotiate appropriate values and settlements, the DWP brought in experienced agents from the Department’s Right of Way and Land Division. Many of the men had worked gathering information to ascertain property values and acquire water rights in the Owens Valley. They were experienced, efficient, and tough-minded.
After more than two months investigating Santa Clara River Valley claims, one veteran DWP agent offered a hard-nosed evaluation of a pending case: “We are convinced that the claimant sustained damages, but we do not feel the damages amounted to the sum demanded … the lady bears investigation, that she is a good dresser, etc. And that her moral reputation is not perfect. We also know she needs money and desires a speedy settlement … I am convinced that if someone could go to the claimant and offer her $500 cash that she would sign a full release.”37 Occasionally, DWP agents relied on a claimant’s “helpful” friends and neighbors to refresh overly enthusiastic memories. “He told you that that old shed was worth $1,500? Well, just last week he told me it was in such bad shape he planned to tear it down.”
When Los Angeles Assistant City Attorney Lucius Green expressed the opinion that to save time and money and avoid unnecessary conflict and dissatisfaction, investigators should err on the side of a speedy settlement, a Right of Way and
Land Division agent shot back: “Our work up to this writing has brought home to me the fact that in most cases all claims are excessive and in many cases dishonest. As a result the cost of investigation work to date has paid for itself many times over and only confirms the plans to fully investigate every claim for personal property damage.”38
The most sensitive and emotional aspect of the disaster was handled by the Joint Death and Injury Subcommittee, chaired by Walter B. Allen, the president of the Los Angeles Harbor Commission. From the beginning, members of the subcommittee admitted that “The city could not pay out taxpayer’s money for heartaches … Damages had to be real.”39 In the cold logic of the insurance business, the deaths and injuries of the employees of the DWP and Southern California Edison were covered by State Workers’ Compensation laws, which guaranteed medical or death benefits in exchange for a victim’s right to sue independently. However, in this case, it was possible to sue Los Angeles separately. More than forty suits were filed.
The St. Francis flood had hardly ended before personal-injury attorneys appeared on the scene. They were not a welcome sight to representatives of the Los Angeles and Ventura County Joint Restoration Committee. On March 18, C.C. Teague distributed a circular that warned against making arrangements with “shyster” lawyers who worked on a contingency, or percentage of a settlement. He argued that “[This] will only result in complicating the situation and in reducing the amount that those injured will receive.”
Teague asked citizens to turn over the names of any such lawyers who approached them. When the first of what he derided as “so called ‘parasites’” appeared, a committee of local leaders, accompanied by a sheriff’s officer, ushered the attorneys to the Santa Barbara County line and warned them not to return. Teague admitted that this “savored a little of vigilante days and probably was not legal,” but he believed it was “warranted under the circumstances.”40
Despite threats and a police escort out of town, the law partnership of Len Honey and Lawrence Edwards of Stockton, California, refused to be deterred. When investigators checked a bank reference, they were informed that the Stockton attorneys were “hard workers” with “an excellent credit rating and good character,” although it was admitted that some might consider them “necessary evils.”41 Los Angeles City Attorney Stephens and agents from the DWP Right of Way and Land Division began to keep close tabs on the activities of the legal interlopers. In their reports and memos, the firm was referred to as “the enemy.”
Shortly after March 13, Honey and Edwards “claims adjuster” Edward P. Garrett arrived in the Santa Clara River Valley with his wife and son. A Fillmore real estate and insurance man who was a DWP informant described a meeting with Garrett’s wife to discuss an apartment the local businessman had for rent. He was annoyed when Mrs. Garrett made him wait at the Glen Tavern Inn while she took a nap. “Garrett’s wife looks like a half-breed Mexican, about the same age as his son, 22 year [sic],” the informant reported, “and from all appearances needs the beauty sleep above referred to.”42 The Garretts found lodging elsewhere.
Whatever the background of his wife, Garrett was especially interested in gathering Mexican clients. Despite editorial warnings from the Spanish-language press, including an article written by Manuel Reyes in La Voz de Colonia, a handful of Mexican survivors rejected pressures to submit their claims to the Joint Death and Injury Committee and instead listened to Garrett and Honey and Edwards.
As part of the contingency arrangement, when claimants signed with the Stockton firm, they agreed to turn over one third of any recompense. Jesus Torres, who lost eight members of his family, was one of the first to sign. Months after the flood, when he was unable to look for the bodies of his family, he became frustrated and bitter. The owner of the land Torres lived on refused to let the city use heavy equipment to overturn thick debris. A letter to the Red Cross from the Mexican Consulate had no effect.43 Even when the Joint Restoration Committee intervened, the landowner, described as “a peculiar man,” rebuffed them. He responded that there was no proof bodies were there, adding that he wanted to preserve the debris as protection against possible flooding during the upcoming rainy season.44
Jesus Torres wasn’t the only survivor who believed the treatment of Mexicans and Anglos wasn’t the same. While attempts were made to be fair in determining death and injury settlements, in some instances, social attitudes played a part in evaluating Mexican losses and claims. In an interoffice memo, an especially cost-conscious DWP Right of Way and Land Division investigator complained about the amount of money given by the Red Cross to a Mexican survivor. “How could an ignorant Mexican honestly collect $954.37 of belongings, etc. $125 in cash or a total of $1,080 in 5 months after feeding a family of 8? I don’t believe this claimant had the assets and feel most or all of it should be eliminated.”45
Distraught thirty-eight-year-old Juan Carrillo, whose entire family was swept away by the flood when he paused to warn a neighbor, was pressured to sign with Honey and Edwards. Since Carrillo didn’t speak English well, and was unable to write in Spanish, his sister-in-law acted as his translator. As encouragement, Garrett told Carrillo that members of the Basolo family, including Sis, the eighteen-year-old bride of Georgie Basolo, who drowned after he shouted that he “refused to die like a rat,” had agreed to be a Honey and Edwards client. Claims agent Garrett said he would loan Carrillo eighty dollars to visit a doctor in San Francisco and promised to give him sixty dollars a month until the case was settled.46 Of course, these were “advances” to be deducted from any settlement.
When representatives of the Joint Committee learned this, they urged Carrillo to join with them. Pushed and pulled, the farm laborer agreed, and even became an informant for the DWP concerning Garrett’s activities in the Mexican community. Whatever Honey and Edwards were up to, it was likely Los Angeles and Ventura County informants were close behind. On June 25, 1928, when Garrett’s son drove his car faster than the speed limit in Santa Paula, he received a fifteen-dollar ticket from motorcycle patrolman Thornton Edwards.47
At 9:15 P.M. on April 17, Garrett met with a group of potential clients in Fillmore to counter accusations that he was an “ambulance chaser.” A DWP-hired stenographer was there to transcribe every word as the Honey and Edwards claims adjuster traced his humble Tennessee roots and shared old-time values. “I am honest and fair and square,” he assured his audience. After speaking for nearly twenty minutes, he concluded with a reference to Los Angeles and the Joint Restoration Committee: “I will fight that bunch until that place down there where the flames are is all covered over with ice and you can skate all over it— until they pay you and pay you until it hurts.”48
Mexicans were not the only clients Garrett pursued. Joe Gottardi, who forlornly roamed the floodpath looking for his family, agreed to sign. Another, one-legged H.H. Kelly, was furious at Los Angeles for the loss of his wife and four of his five children. He became a “chief agitator in town.” Reflecting the anti-Communist Red Scare of the 1920s, one report described his “Bolsheviki attitude.” When Kelly showed up with a new Chrysler automobile, DWP investigators talked to the local dealer and learned the car had been provided by Honey and Edwards, who were paying the impoverished survivor five dollars a day to “obtain clients for Garrett.”
Arriving at final death and injury settlements was the responsibility of a special committee of insurance claim agents recruited from railway companies including the Union Pacific, Santa Fe, Pacific Electric Company, and Los Angeles Railway. The Automobile Club of Southern California offered the services of the organization’s chief investigator.49 The committee met each week in the offices of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce. Case by case, City Attorney Jess Stephens described the details of each claim and claimant. Later, he spoke about the process: “Each claim adjuster, without consultation with any other, would put on a slip of paper his suggested award. Then we averaged them. I was amazed at their accuracy. Time and again there would be a large percentage o
f answers with identical figures.”50
Honey and Edwards’s most prominent clients were Ray Rising and Lillian Curtis and her little son, Danny, the only three survivors from DWP Powerhouse 2. Rising had no experience with lawyers and lawsuits. Honey and Edwards convinced him they could command the full recompense he needed and deserved. Days after the disaster, Lillian Curtis, still in a state of shock, sometimes couldn’t stop crying. Pressured to make a decision about making a claim for her losses, she was unable to decide. In the end, her father convinced his daughter that rejecting the Joint Restoration Committee agreement was the way to go.51 Honey and Edwards demanded $175,000 for Rising’s wife, Julia, and their three children. They demanded $425,000 for the death of Lillian’s husband, Lyman, the family breadwinner, and the couple’s two daughters.
For the most part, with little basis or ability to object, victims of the St. Francis Dam disaster were willing to accept the Joint Restoration Committee’s figures. Most wanted to get on with their lives and avoid the uncertainties of lengthy court proceedings. Many Mexican-American victims were surprised to receive any offers of recompense. A “proclamation” published in the March 24 issue of the Santa Paula Chronicle expressed humble gratitude for the city’s willingness to help after the disaster. For poor Mexican survivors, access to running water and electricity, which was provided in the segregated tent camps, was often a new and welcome experience.
The author of the Chronicle “proclamation,” Filipe Villa, was a lemon picker. He signed the article along with two hundred or more other Mexicans, most of whom probably worked for the Limoneira Company. The “Communication to the Americans of Santa Paula” was effusive: “before we realized the bitterness of it all before we could even know the unutterable misery into which we had been grown, you were ministering to our afflicted, feeding the hungry ones, healing the sick, clothing the naked,” Villa wrote. He concluded: “More we cannot say than this: We thank you, we bless you, we love you.”52