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Photographs: The Chutes and Hazard’s Pavilion |
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Labor day was observed in Los Angeles yesterday. Public offices and courts, the banks and some business houses closed their doors in recognition of the holiday. There was no general cessation of trade, however, and most of the retail firms kept open. Quite a number of the business houses along Main and Spring streets closed in the morning while the parade was passing, as a matter of policy, and reopened as soon as the line had passed. So cool and delightful was the weather that less than the ordinary number of people took advantage of the holiday to visit the beaches. All places of amusement in the city were crowded, especially the Chutes, where a programme of sports was given by the unions in the afternoon. The theaters gave special matinées which were well patronized. The chief feature of the day’s celebration was the union labor parade, which started from Sixth and Main streets promptly at 9:30 o’clock a.m. This demonstration was given under the auspices of the Los Angeles Council of Labor, which . . . asserts a membership of between 5,000 and 6,000 men. By actual count, verified at three points along the line of march, there were 2,193 union men in the parade yesterday. Some of the labor leaders placed the number as high as 4,000, but the figures given will not vary ten men either way from the actual number in line when the parade passed the reviewing stand at the City Hall. The length of the parade was swollen by the artifice of some of the organization dodging back through a cross street after they had passed the reviewing stand and going by the stand a second time. The labor leaders had boasted that there would be 3,000 men in line, but they fell 1,000 short of their mark. The men in most of the unions marched either two or four abreast, and the line was thereby strung out. The parade was fifty-four minutes in passing the reviewing stand. . . . Mayor Snyder stood uncovered near the front of the stand while the parade was passing, acknowledging the salutes of the union men. He was presented by the brewers with a bottle of beer, and by the horseshoers with a “good-luck” horseshoe. . . . Carpenters, No. 426, had more men in line than any other union, marching 300 strong. To them was awarded the first prize for the most characteristic display, which was a house constructed while the parade was in progress. . . . When the start was made from Sixth and Main streets the float was nothing but a big wagon lined with patriotic bunting and loaded with lumber, pipe and building material. When the . . parade swung again into Broadway, a small house, complete in every detail, greeted the judges. It was boarded, shingled, plumbed and painted, and bore on the outside this legend: “For Rent.” A float bearing exact models of the American and the Coöperative Laundry |
buildings attracted general attention. On the float were seated four laundry girls dressed in white and red. . . .
The machinists were in blue jumpers and overalls. On a float was a small model engine and train of cars, seating little girls dressed in white. The blacksmiths, twenty-one men, came next, and then Broommakers, No. 53, in tallyhos [a coach drawn by four horses] and on foot. To this union was awarded the second prize for the best characteristic display, a broom factory in operation, under a large canopy of broom corn. . . . Team Owners, No. 275, had forty-two men in line, each driving his own wagon. The display occupied nearly two blocks, and was characterized by the fine appearance of the horses that drew the wagons. . . . Lathers, No. 43, had thirty-seven men in line. They wore white hats with a black band, black pongee shirts and white trousers. Each man carried a lath in his hand as a sword. . . . Journeymen Horseshoers, No. 134, won the third prize for the best characteristic design. A horseshoeing shop with a live horse, anvil, forge and other paraphernalia, formed a float that attracted much attention. The men marching behind wore leather aprons and carried Japanese parasols. The horse was shod en route. . . . The laborites concluded their holiday with a dance last night in Turner Hall on South Main street. Stamm’s Orchestra furnished the music for the 300 or more dancers, and the sport was kept up until after midnight.
Afternoon Sports
A noisy crowd of 6,000 or 7,000 people pressed into Chutes grounds in the afternoon to witness the sporting events given in connection with the celebration. They were held on the baseball grounds and the management was very poor, no provision having been made to keep the big mob of men and boys from surging over the field. There were several fist fights among the “union” members and dozens of self-appointed “officers” covered with highly-colored badges of their “union” rushed around in the dust and heat trying to show some sort of authority that no one recognized. . . . |
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On September 6, 1901, President William McKinley was assassinated in Buffalo, New York, by Leon Czolgosz, who, besides being nuts, was also an anarchist. The news devastated conservative Los Angeles, which had received a visit from the popular Republican President (the victor in the Spanish-American War) the preceding May. On the day of McKinley’s funeral, all businesses were closed in the city, and two massive memorial observances were held. One was at Hazard’s Pavilion, which, according to Abraham Hoffman, was “a huge theatre . . . concert hall where opera, ballet, musical concerts — and boxing matches — were held, as well as religious services and political rallies,” on the northeast corner of Fifth and Olive, across the street from what was then called Central Park. That park was on its way to becoming a place where radical speeches could normally be made with little official hindrance, like its successor, Pershing Square. (Hazard’s Pavilion image is from the Los Angeles Public Library collection.)
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One single word, uttered thoughtlessly, maybe by a discharged lunatic, threw more than a thousand sober-minded and sorrowing people into uncontrollable fury at Central Park yesterday afternoon. It precipitated a riot which but for the prompt interference of the police would have cost at least one life . . .. The overflow from Hazard’s pavilion, which was crowded to suffocation, had sought refuge in Central park, where words of tribute were being said from the bandstand by well-known men of this city to the memory of the late president of the United States. Among those who spoke was one who referred in scathing terms of abhorrence to the individuals who talk in the park every day of the year about anarchy, defiance of law and disrespect of the government. The speaker cautioned them that the loyal citizens would some day rise in their mighty wrath and wipe them out of existence. He freely applied the words “vile scum,” “dregs of the earth” and other equally uncomplimentary terms to these orators of the park. . . . What Started the TroubleNear the close of the exercises a set of resolutions expressing horror at the assassin’s deed and praise and sorrow for his victim were adopted. The audience was asked to give a viva voce assent to them. When Chairman [William H.] Workman said: “All in favor of the resolution will say ‘aye,’ ” the aye was given with a loud shout by all. Then the chairman added, unnecessarily enough, but probably as a matter of habit: “Contrary, ‘no.’ ” To the consternation of the large assemblage, one solitary voice sounded an unequivocal “No” in determined accents. Surprise kept the mass still just a single moment, but the quiet was immediately succeeded by yells of rage. The individual who said “No” was a rather tall, tow-headed man, dressed like laborer. Before he seemed to understand that he had |
imperiled his life, a big Irishman struck him with his fist on the point of the chin and knocked him down, crying: “I was raised in the land that raised the ancestors of Lincoln and McKinley, and I am proud of the blood that stains my hand.”
Although the blow had dazed the fool who had despised the loyal sentiments of the crowd and dared their resentment, he quickly got up and made a run for safety toward Fifth street. But the foremost in the crowd were upon him, and he went down a number of times under their blows and kicks before Patrolman Alfredo Arguello reached the scene and went to his rescue. The most excited of the people clamored for a rope to hang the man, and if one had been handy, they surely would have strung him up. The uproar brought a squad of police, including Chief [Charles] Elton, Captain Hensley, Sergeant Williams, and several patrolmen, out of Hazard’s pavilion. While these held the raging and howling mob, Arguello got his man on a passing street car and thus to the central police station. After standing some interrogation at headquarters, the man, who gave the name of John Nilson, was locked up for safekeeping. Just a Dense SailorAfter he had somewhat recovered from his excitement, he told his story simply enough. He said that he is a coastwise sailor who . . . strayed into the park yesterday. He heard the speeches, but he seems too dense to have understood their purpose. He said he yelled “Aye” when they asked him to, and also “No” when he thought it was expected of him. . . . The man's name is . . . Nils Nilson. He was sent to the Napa Insane asylum from Humboldt county. . . . he was discharged as recovered on June 21 last . . .. When asked if his insanity had been violent and dangerous in its character, Nilson replied: “Ay tank not, but ay tank it vara dangerous for me to bay out in the street bay myself.” Nilson will be released today. |
In their fine survey of a century of Minor League Baseball, Bill Weiss and Marshall Wright say that the site, officially Washington Park, was named for “a chute-the-chutes advertised as the highest and steepest in the world.” The property is now occupied by the 12-story L.A. Mart.|
For a personal look at Los Angeles in the 1920s and 1930s, click for a new book by George Garrigues
He Usually Lived With a Female: The Life of a California Newspaperman |
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