Vigilantes make short work of 1902 gambling den in small North Ontario community

Under the cover of darkness, old-fashioned vigilante justice played out in the Inland Empire.

One night in 1902 about 50 determined citizens felt they could no longer tolerate an ugly blot on their little community of North Ontario, today’s Upland.

The mob charged into E. J. Peters’ bathhouse and cigar store, angry that the poker playing and gambling activities there had become a cancer to their town.

Now this was hardly the Old West, so there were no hangings on that fateful night nor was anyone run out of town. But justice was done when the vigilantes dragged Peters’ card tables and gambling gear out in the street and burned them all, the Los Angeles Times of Jan. 20, 1902 reported.

That gambling was going on there was confirmed when the mob surprised a few denizens of the place in mid-shuffle.

“For a long time it had been whispered about that poker was being played in the place,” wrote the Times. “Men have told each other quietly that they have lost money there. It is unknown who originated the plan to raid the place, but it found ready support and last night’s visit by the ‘vigilantes’ was the result.”

What may have also spawned this raid was an article one day before, that Peters and four other men had filed articles of incorporation for the “North Ontario Owl Club,” reported the San Bernardino Evening Transcript of Jan. 18.

Its stated purpose was for “entertainment, amusement, recreation and refreshment of its members and for the general promotion of their social intercourse,” according to the article.

In addition to Peters, the Owl board was composed of president and forest ranger Norman Allan; blacksmith F.M. Clark; and E.C. Whitton and Frank Bolinger, co-owners of a pool room that would fail the following year.

We never were able to determine if the Owl Club ever actually had much entertainment, amusement, recreation and refreshment, but you can bet it had to be done without card tables.

Financial boon

Admit it – haven’t we all at one time or another thought police officers were given a quota of tickets to issue to help fill their city or county’s treasury?

On Aug. 2, 1899, the Sun newspaper pulled no punches in its headline: “Police round up six violators of the ordinance and the treasury is thereby replenished.”

The article said San Bernardino was under “imminent financial stringency” and the writer claimed “the word was given out among policemen yesterday to replenish the city’s coffers as much as possible.” This was a time before automobiles filled the street and bicycles were a common form of transportation. Some bike riders found sidewalks easier on two wheels because many streets were still not paved.

Officer Joseph Clews – who had been on the force less than two months – on Aug. 1 captured six bicyclists, each cited for riding on the city sidewalks “which is against the peace and dignity of the people of San Bernardino,” wrote the Sun with no small bit of sarcasm. All were fined from $1 to $2.50 after being taken to City Hall by Clews.

We must point out that one of the victims of Clews’ enthusiasm was S.R. Colliver, a member of the Sun’s staff, which may account for the rather pointed wording of the article.

“Clews has now succeeded in chasing out all of the wheelmen out of that part of town,” wrote the Sun. “Where he will conceal himself next is at present a vexed question.”

Counted out

A couple of con men found a new way to fleece unsuspecting local residents in 1898.

A man claiming to be well-known boxer Jack Downey and purported Canadian champion Jack Copple arrived in San Bernardino in January and stirred up the interest of local boxing fans.

The pair put on a class at the Athletic Club and held a four-round bout there on Jan. 22. “It wasn’t much of a row, the evident intention of the men being to get away from each other,” an unimpressed Times writer reported two days later.

“Having bled the suckers of this city sufficiently, the two ‘pugs’ quietly left with many bills unpaid,” reported the San Bernardino Daily Times-Index on March 1.

A few days later the purported Downey and his companion – now transformed into an “Australian” fighter –  received a real technical knockout. They were tossed in jail in Fresno for again trying to skip town without paying their hotel bills.

Being counted out

Dean Stanley just wanted to know how many telegraph poles there were between Banning and Indio in 1927.

As a result, he was sentenced to a year in Riverside County jail for fraud and petty larceny by Banning Justice of the Peace Lee Childers, reported the Sun, July 24, 1927.

He was cited for hiring Harvey Harris and John Milliken each for $3.50 a day for the odd task of counting the poles, pretending to be with the Postal Telegraph Co.

Under some very hot days from June 23 to July 13, the pair did as instructed, but Stanley not only wouldn’t pay them but also made off with their tools.

Stanley, 20, went to jail never explaining why he set the two men out on this rigorous task or, for that matter, just how many poles there really were between Banning and Indio.