The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 8, 1898, Page 1

The Tall VOLUME LXXXIIL—NO. 39. SAN FRANCISCO, SATURDAY, JANUARY 8, 1898 PRICE FIVE CENT DURRANT EXPIATES HIS AWFUL CRIMES. PROOF TO BE REMEMBERED. HE GOES TO THE GALLOWS A CATHOLIC. Grapbic Pen Picture of the Last Hours in the Career of a Remark- able Criminal. ‘When Durrant’s bod casket had been provided, it the room at the other end Thus th proached and CRORHO SOOI side. heartily; and ate all uncons some ate ma more ¢ fter rom the prison. f the roast.” QC-C-OOOOOOQOOOOOO% design, and after ma- liberation, that The Call prints the story of the Durrant ecution without any illus and with no attempt at llishment of the plain There is a feeling freely ed that the continued of sensationalism has been distinetly injurious, that to 5 o movements ard plans of < o while living an undue = ence was attached, and % that now that he is dead, only S a morbid craving, to which S there is no wisdom in catering, < is to be satisfied by making a & pi i of the last < ted life. In tak- <4 e The Call has no j:) apology to offer, believing that it will be sustained by the best sentiment of the community. [atadntatngatntntntatuseteotentstetntutateutnteatn] o E=3 =3 {=fatetatstatetatat et tatntuutatstatat=Te] Theodore Durrant William died the death Henry he had earned; and against which he had fought with the bitterne desperation. His brief life went out in odium unspeakable, and his body, bearing the mark of the s of felon, is not even welcome to the em- brace of the His career, the day he lured to her fate a hel s girl who had trust- ed him, has been with few gleams of aught to show him human. True, he has wept, but his tears were not tears of penitence, such as may efface the record of evi. From Emmanuel Church to the gallows he bore the bur- den of his guilt. He died he had liv- ed, an enigma. With falsehood on his pallid lips he entered where finite judg- ment cannot follow, his last word a hollow plea of innocence which fell up- on the strained ear of every listener as mockery made awful because it came from the tomb. No, not on every ear; there was present a bowed and seemingly broken man who leaned his head to the shoulder of a friend and sought to hide the grief which shook him. The father was there. The execution was accomplished without unnecessary delay, and there | was no accident to mar the hideous | programme. On the scaffold, with the noose about his neck, Theodore Dur- rant turned to the hangman and en- deavored to speak, but his jaws were set and his throat visibly throbbed with the effort. Yet the hangman un- derstood and paused. Then Durrant addressed those who had come to see him die. At first his voice faltered, but the speaker gained confidence, and went to the end of a set declaration, which he ad practiced and had rehearsed in part to most of the visitors to his cell. His tone was devoid of feeling, with out emphasis or elasticity. It was as though under the stimulus of a gal vanic battery a corpse had uttered forms of speech, meaningless, empty; lifeless and soulless. There was noth- ing of the heroic about him; an au- tomaton could not be courageous. would have said more, but the black cap hid his face. “Innocent” was the final word, almost lost in the crash of the trap. ‘An execution is more than a grue- some spectacle. lesson to crime. No account of one can be a pleasant thing. Yet it is just that it be portrayed true to life and death, The glamor of the gallows needs to be dispelled. There is a diseased in- telligence which conceives the assassin to be great, would decorate his prison with flowers, would imitate him. Pecple seek the privilege of witness- ing an execution. They want to look upon the struggle, to hear the gasp, to bear away a picture of a mortal ag- ony. Yesterday’s affair was no excep- tion. Long before the appointed hour men began to arrive. They flocked about the doors, peering in curiously. He | It is horror, giving a | The black cap when taken off protruding, and the lids half open. kissed the lips of the dead. Mrs. Durrant wept. v had remained quite a while, when Convict Wilson, who Durrant if she would not like a cup of tea. “Thank you, I would,” was her reply. s loaded with an’ abundance of everything the prison dinner fare afforded was sent a table was spread within three feet of the corpse. Hus | a large room, | only for some rocking chairs. = RO RCRCHOROROORCK, A GHASTLY BANQUET. Durrant w vaiting. disclosed a shocking sight. The face was The jaws were firmly, rigorously R O OO RO RO R R OR RO R OAORCRC X CRORCAORORCROHORCRCOROHORORG) They speculated whether the prisoner would die “game.” They craned necks when the prisoner’s mother went in. Professional men composed a share of the throng. They did not ap- pear excited. There were jests and talk of the weather. The sun was bright on the waters of the bay, and touched the old gray building. good to stand there when one could for- get that inside a man was making his was cut down it was placed in the black coffin of the prison. transferred, and in the latter taken through the old furniture building to Here Mrs. set; the features distorted. Theé parents Her husband mingled his tears with hers, and tried with her Everybody present turned to the windows ast upon the scene both parents had vainly to smooth the visage of their son into its former likeness. to conceal their sympathetic emotions. When their eyes were again taken seats near the coffin. Mr. and Mrs. Durrant were chatting and she was smiling. s detailed to care for these rooms, ap- y of every presence, living and dead; ate till they were sated. How they judged from the request overheard by the shocked and disgusted ns of the unnatural repast had been taken away they sat conversing until the body was large | It was | last farewell to father and mother, but | rattiing Holts and the steady pace of guards would not let forgetfulness stay. The crowd grew more dense. parted when the Warden stepped into its midst with hand upraised. A pri oner limped in weary with the drag- ging of an iron boot. “He has to serve a life sentence,” said the officer who had him in charge. incident, and few noted it. den’s wish was to counsel The War- decorum, forbid the carrying of firearms into the | building, and to say there must be mno smoking. There was no demur. crowd was well behaved. As the final hour approached solem- | nity rested upon the throng like a 1t | This was only an | The | shadow. By rel: the invited filed in through the massive gates dcross a | court where flowers bloomed; through | another gate, and up rickety stairs to Here there was no idle talk, and men spoke spoke in whispers. Beycnd the next door they knew were the instru- ments of the law. When that door opened there was no rush. Some hesi- tated, some turned back; passed on went with slow step and bar- —— FERFRAELFRE LR S LRI AR NEWS OF THE DAY. Weather forecast for San Fran- cisco: Fair on Saturday; fresh northerly winds. Maximum temperature for the past twenty-four hours San Francisco . 7 degrees Portland 4 degrees Los Angel 58 degrees San Diego 60 degrees FIRST PAGE. Theodore Durrant Is Hanged. SECOND PAGE. What the Noose Said to Durrant. Fresnc Firemen at War. THIRD PAGE. Dudley’s Arrest a Mistake. Wife Killed by Her Husband. England and Japan Are Allies. Lining Up Democrats Against Hauna. FOURTH PAC How Roup e. Los Angeles School Scandal, Blanco to Take the Field. Long Takes Foremen to Task. SIXTH PAGE. Improvements Lag. ord-Breaking Feat. Street Car Fenders. Governor Budd's Opportunity, The Needs of Mining Men. Merchants’ Association Work. Some Suggestive Figures. Personals and Queries. SEVENTH PAGE. War Among Professions. Merchants Denounce the Bulletin. News Along the Water Front. A Wedding in High Life, EIGHTH PAGE. Sports of the Day. NINTH PAGE. Black Jack Shooting Grounds. Changes in the National Guard. Dow Was Murdered T Commercial New: ELEVENTH PAGE. News From Across the Bay. TWELFTH PAGE. Racing at Ingleside. THIRTE Births, Marriages and Deaths. FOURTEENTH PAGE. J. W. H. Campbell Very 1iL. Jdeas for the Jubilee. Strebt Raflways as Murderers. Beaten and Robbed. AWoman's Romantic Disappearance. Brownlie in Disgrace. Atfie ‘Warner Will Play. FERFAFRIRAAARE AR RRRER ok e e e iR ol ok oo ke ke e ol ofe ol e e ol o ofe ok e o * * #* * * * whitewashed and bare | who | those who | | guage, but in vain. On learning that a almost black; the eyes half The parents seated themselves witnesses: ‘“Papa, give me ed heads. death. It was the chamber of There stood the gallows, the noosed rope looped over a beam. There wasthe sentry-box, in which three guards were secreted, their mission to cut the cord that should release the trap and send a soul into eternity. Each of the trio DU am. I forgive them all I am innocent. was to sever a cord, but none to know whether it was his knife or another's that did the work. These guards showed for an instant and vanished. | Judged from its outward aspect, the box might have been tenantless. Sub- dued whispers - sank into stillness. There was no sound nor motion. Back of the gallows was another door, steps from the trap leading near- ly down to it. There was the sound of a latch, an opening of the door, and the procession appeared. ‘Warden Hale, venerable, frail with illness, was in the lead. Next came Father Lagan, fully robed, prayer-book in hand, his head low, his step heavy, uttering no | audible word. Guards Jones and Abogast came next, grasping on either side the pinioned arm of Theodore Durrant, a figure of death. He could not have fallen. Captain Jamieson and Amos Lunt were in the rear. Lunt is known as the hangman of San Quen- tin. Mild of aspect, with a frank face, a steelly but gentle blue eye, not a | cruel man, but firm. Coming up the stair somebody stum- | bled. It was a guard; not from weak- ness—an accident merely. passed through the assemblage. The peopie thought the prisoner had weak- ened; they did not know him. Durrant was held firmly. An instant and he was on the scaffold, and the noose which was to stifle his life had been put in place. Still moved the lips of the priest, but soundless. A gracious man, he seemed to-feel for the wretch who had turned to him for comfort. And Durrant, the father, he had come in with the procession, passed un- der the gallows and stood gazing into the face of his son. It was then that the son turned to Lunt and tried to speak, and then that he stood mute. But Lunt had hanged more than one man. To him the language of those stricken dumb is plain. With the black cap ready to adjust he stood and awaited the will of one who was to die. Then the prisoner began his message to a world not prepared to receive it. When he had declared his innocence the father made a gesture as if to bid him cease. But he was beyond heed- ing any message. He did not see his father; he did not see the faces up- turned to his. The priest, leaning to- ward him, sought to stay his lan- Father nor priest was naught to the man who, from the border of eternity, was sending the message he hoped would be believead. The speaker ended only when he had exhausted the phrases which he had stored up for the occasion, the phrases he had dinned into the guards until they were as familiar with them as was he himself. Then he would have proceeded. He knew that when he could say no more, when his voice should reach a period, it would never again be heard. Lunt stood by with the sable cap. He raised it so that ‘sired to see “Theo.” Durrant saw it. Then a spasm passed over the white face. As the cap went over the brow the glassy eyes rolled. It was the superlative or despair—that picture imprinted on the memory of each one present, each one at least who had not turned away. A hand was raised, the trap fell, the jar reverberating to every corner. The body dropped untif the rope stopped it with a strain. There was no convul- sion, no tremor. The limbs did not | writhe. Not an indication of any at- tempt at respiration could be detected. Theodore Durrant had met a fate more merciful than he had granted his vic- tims. It is true that for nearly a quar- ter of an hour the doctors lis- tening at his chest detected signs of life. It is as true that from the second the trap fell Durrant was dead to all sensation. His neck had been snapped. As the body hung there all attention was riveted upon it. The hands fastened to the sides, the cruel hands that had strangled inno- cence seemed to be just as before, pur- ple with blood. Durrant, the father, had said noth- ing. He had seemed to try to check the son, yet when the body fell he was suddenly aroused. “Stand back!” he shouted to the spectators, who just at that moment pushed nearer. When Theodore had finished speaking the fa- ther had said: “How’s that for a brave boy?” Other than these two outbreaks he was silent throughout. When he made the second one his head sank again on the shoulder of Smythe, a man from the office of Deuprey. | After a time the Warden announced | the verdict of the doctors that the body was lifeless and the crowd retired, leav- | ing the father and a chosen few. The | corpse was cut down, and, with the | kindly mask of black unmeoved, placed in a rude box. Soon it was carried to another room and transferred to a cas- ket. Then the mother, who had been | waiting below, sent word that she de- The undertakers did what they could to make the body presentable, but without much success. | The face was black and distorted, the . eyes would remain open. But the mother came. She looked and shed | tears. Then a kindly convict suggest- | ed that a cup of tea would strengthen | her. She thought it would. The convict brought not only tea but a hearty meal, and beside the casket containing the unsightly body of their son the parents ate heartily. The con- victs kept at a respectful distance. Yet a sigh | They did not hear much, but when | RRANT'S LAST WORDS . - . Do you wish me to say anything? one, nor even against those who have persecuted me and who have hounded me to my grave, innocent as I They will receive their justice from the holy God above, to whom I now go to receive my justice, which will be the justice given to an innocent boy who has not stained his hands with crimes that have been put upon him by the press of San Francisco; but I forgive them all. I do not hold anything against the reporters. as T expect to be forgiven for everything that I have done, but the fair name of California will forever be blackened with the crime of taking this innocent blood, and whether or no they ever discover the commit- ters (sic) of this crime matters little to me now, for I before the whole world announce last time, and to those who have insinuated that I was going to spring a sensation of any kind, I must say there is no sensation other than that which I have said. s0, but I am innocent of the crimes charged to me before God, who knows the heart and can read the mind. Well, T would like to say this. they heard the mother say, “Papa, I'll ] take some more of that roast,” they could but wonder. Having satisfied their appetites the | parents went away in a hack, paid for | by the Examiner, and accompanied by i | representatives of that paper, who perfect in every respect. neck was broken. utes. make a specialty of executions and dabble in the morbid with a truly ar- tistic touch. Not long ago Durrant, the father, tried to get Warden Hale's consent to the use of a kinetoscope, the scn fur- nishing the subject. On Theodore’s last night on earth the mother intimat- ed that anything he might say was worth money to the listener. These facts dull the inclination to express condclences. | Theodore Durrant had boasted that he would die like a Durrant. He seems to have done so. As to his relig- ious views and their sudden changes, | surely a man about to die may be his | own counselor. There are phases of | itne matter not here to be discussed, and | | as to speculation as to whence came the traits which made of him a mon- | ster, a thing of memory to be abhorred, | pity draws the veil. The man deserv- ed to die; he is dead. So far as the world may know, he died without re- morse, upheld to the last by a bravery that was perversion, a stoicism repel- lant and® abnormal. To the writings he may have left the healthy mind will attach no value, the decent journal glive no pnbuc\}y. Durrant retired at 1 o’clock yesterday morning and awakened at 6:20 o'clock. The decision made with the approval of his mother late Thursday night that he would join the Catholic Church, in | the bosom of whose conféssional the guilt of mankind is forever hidden, had produced gn him a stimulating effect. Between the time his mother departed I do not look upon them now as enemies. Those who wish to consider it a sensation may do ing after witnessing the execution of Durrant. made his talk without a tremor, unless at the close his voice faltered a little. the man, his looks and appearance, Dr. Carpenter is more firmly convinced of his guilt, as no one but a man with such a character as Durrant could have committed the crime he expiated to-day. and he went to bed, he paced the floor and rehearsed the speech he uttered from the scaffold. - Such is the state- The question of circumstantial evidence has played an important part in the discussions of the Durrant case, and much stress has been laid on the fact that since there was not absolute testimony showing that the condemned man Wwas seen in the actual commission of the crime, the Governor should have reprieved him or commuted the sentence. There is one line of testimony that was taken in the trial and which is in the stenographic reports, that 1s as near absolute proof of the murder as can be had except the actual sight of the deed. It was conclusively shown that four different persons, at different places, saw Durrant and Blanche Lamont going toward the church on the last day on which she was seen alive. They were seen going to the church together, an hour later Durrant was seen coming from the belfry where the body was found, he Jbeing “pale, exhausted and much excited.” He accounted for his condition to King, the organist, by saying that he had been fixing the gas jets and had the gas turned half on. He had inhaled the gas and was almost overcome by it. He had placed on the stand Dr. G. C. McDonald, his family physician, who, in answer to a hypothetical question > regarding the action of the gas on the human system under similar circumstances, said that it would have rendered the man unconscious within three minutes. have been pale. He had had no experience with water gas and said that the man would Thomas Price, who is accepted as a scientific chemist, testified that the water gas, which at that time was used in the church for illuminating purposes, would cause unconsciousness within three minutes; and the face of the per- son inhaling it would have been flushed and red, which condition would continue for at least half an hour. Dr. Willlam H. Mays testified to the effects of the gas and fully corroborated the opinion of Mr. Price. He said the face and mucous membranes would remain in a reddened and flushed condition for fully half an hour, and the victim would become unconscious within three minutes. Dr. Julius Rosenstirn testified to the poisonous character of the gas and said the face would become flushed and red and the man would become unconscious within two or three minutes. murder as near positive proof as could ment of his guards who stood near him | on the gallows. Captain Edgar had provided a brown sack coat suit of clothing, fetched from the wardrobe at the home of the Dur- rants, and the regulation slippers. ‘When dressed Durrant asked for black | to wear a | stockings and permission standing collar and white cravat. It was explained that the wearing of col- lars would not be allowed, whereupon he volunteered to take it off before the | execution. This last expression of his love of display was gratified. Black | stockings were procured by Captain Edgar, as were the collar and white necktie. 1 have no animosity against any I forgive them y innocence for the taciturn, but evidently resigned. He ate heartily of beafsteak, ham, eggs, fruit, crackers and tea. Meanwhile the buses had' arrived from the early trains and the area in front of the prison was crowded with Of all the executions I have witnessed the one of to-day seemed to me to be the most successful The doomed man must have died without experiencing any pain. One thing peculiar was that after the drop his respirations ceased. occurs, as there are usually a few respiratory movements after. The man’s physical condition was good, notwithstanding his long confinement in prison. markable feature of the execution was the prisoner’s great mental strength, which was displayed by his steady nerve and strong will power, without the aid of stimulants. reporters, persons who had cards of admission to the execution and per- sons who had none but begged to be favored. The Warden positively re- fused to issue’another one. He briefly warned everybody not to carry any be obtained without eye-witnesses. | firearms or use prison walls. Father Lagan was admitted to the tobacco within th= | cell of the condemned man about 9 | o’clock. The guards withdrew to a | | corner, and the Catholic priest bap- | tized and confessed Durrant and ad- | ministered extreme unction. At the conciusion of these ceremo- nies the parents of the condemned | man were taken to him. As they en- tered the cell he kissed first his father, then his mother. After repeated expressions of fare- well Mrs. Durrant threw herself into her son’s arms and clung to him, kiss- | ing him the while. He finally disen- | gaged her arms. hands he placed them in the hand of his father, and gently, though r lutely, thrust them to the door of the cell and out as the guard threw it open. Mrs. Durrant was placed with the matron in Captain Edgar's office. The father staid In the corridor of the cell- room and was there joined by Charles | W. Smith and F. N. Cook, friends of the family. | Shortly after 10 o'clock the specta- | tors were admitted to the ante-cham- | ber of the gallows-room, where they waited until all was in readiness for the execution. |YELLOW JOURNALISM UNDERTAKERS. |How the Body Was Escorted to the Home of the Durrants. haste to catch the first train back to the Tiburon ferry, and by 12:30 o’clock only a few reporters hovered about the | prison. Mrs. Durrant meanwhile had and At the drop his This very rarely The pulse beats ceased after eleven min- The most re- FRANK T. FITZGIBBON, M.D. I have witnessed a number of executions, “and must say that for neatness of work and for exhibition of personal courage the one of to-day will take precedence. point of view,was the absolute cessation of respiration, or attempts, from the instant of the drop. pulse ran a very steadily decreasing course up to the seventh minute, then, taking a very rapid jump to nearly twice the preceding, was contrary to the usual experience. instantaneously, there being little or no suffering; in my opinion none. One peculiarity noticed from a physiological The The neck was broken and death took place F. STEVENS COOK, M.D. VALLEJO, Jan. 7.—Dr. L. Carpenter, President of the Board of Health of this city, returned this even- He thought he was exceedingly calm and composed and From the general make-up of | been escorted by a guard to the furni- | ture building, and seated in the rear | room to which the elevator ascends un- | il the body of her son was brought out | frem the cell corridor. After having | dined complacently with her husband The People of the State of California vs. William Henry Theodore Durrant. To the Honorable the Superior Court of San Francisco, California: I, W. E. Hale, Warden of the California State Prison at San Quentin, do hereby certify that I received the annexed death warrant on the 15th day of December, 1897, and that at the same time the body of William Henry Theodore Durrant Taking both her | The larger part of the visitors made | It was further shown that the gas jets were not out of order and that no one had told Durrant to attend to them. . The janitor of the church said there was no trouble with the jets and that they did not need fixing. As Durrant was in the belfry at about -the time of the murder, and as he gave an erroneous excuse for his condi- tion and appearance, the natural and unavoidable conclusion must be that he was not there for the purpose of fixing the gas jets, but must have been there for some other purpose which he wished to hide. There was no effort on the part of the accused man to controvert or contradict the evidence given by the scien- tific men regarding the gas, nor was there any effort to prove that there was a necessity to repair the gas jets, or to show that Durrant had been asked to attend to them. y While there was much evidence introduced which has been considered extraneous and without bearing on the ; case, all had direct connection fixing positively in a circumstantial way the crime upon the man who yvesterday paid the penalty for it, and making the testimony regarding the presence of Durrant in the belfry at the time of the alongside the remains she led down and out of the prison. Yellow journalism then took posses- sion of the body of the dead murderer at 2:30. In its coffin the remains were placed in an undertaker’s wagon drawn by two white horses. The impression was given out that the coffin would be taken across the bay to the city by the Tiburon boat, and when Mr. and Mrs. Durrant and the reporters of the yel- low journal were seated in a carriage provided for the family and intimate friends, a start was made from the prison. The undertaker’s wagon went first, with the carriage following closely. ‘When near Ross station a stop was made at a roadside inn to water the horses and. for refreshments for the passengers. At a point near Larkspur the road forks, one branch leading to Tiburon and the otlier to Sausalito. The driver of the undertaker’s wagon, believing that the funeral procession was to cross the bay by way of Tiburon, turn- ed his horses down the road leading that way. He had not gone far before he was hailed by one of the mourners in the hack, who informed him that he was in the wrong road. The carriage had gone ahead on its way to Sausalito, and when the pro- | eession was formed again the corpse | was in the rear. It had gone in that order for some time, when the mourn- | ers realized that the procession was not | in dignified order, and a halt was call- | ed. Emissaries were sent back to the | undertaker’s wagon and the driver of i it was told to taKe the lead. | was He protested that he did not know the way, and so a decision that the hack should go in the lead until the road became plainer was reached. | After proceeding about four miles a place was reached where a cluster of | telephone wires ran aleng the roadside, | and the driver of the undertaker's wagon was told to follow the wires. Then the procession was reformed, and the corpse went ahead once more. ‘When near Waldo Point, about a mile | from Sausalito, a train came thunder- | ing along bcund toward the ferry. It | gave warning that the time was short for reaching the boat in time, and a | sudden race to catch the ferry began. Over the rough road the corpse and the mourners jolted with the horses at {a brisk trot, and the procession went | clattering down the whart and down | the gangway to the boat, with only a | few seconds to spare. There were few people at the ferry on the San Francisco side to meet the | body, and there was no display of cur- | losity. The procession went up East | street to Mission and up that thor- | oughfare to Fourth, then crossed Mar- ket street to Ellis and on to the parlors | of the undertaker. There some stands | on which to place the coffin were put on the wagon carrying the corpse, and the procession started for the home of the Durrants in Fair Oaks street. After the body had been carried into the house one of the Examiner report- ers, who had testified in the trial, giv- | ing evidence which tended to send Durrant to the scaffold, was placed in charge of the home of the Durrants. A squad of police in citizen's dress had been detailed to watch about the premises and preserve order should there be any demonstration. The ser- geant who was in charge of the squad was delivered into my custody by the Sheriff of San Francisco County, California. I further certify that pursuant to law I invited a physician of good standing, the reverend chaplain of the prison, the Attorney-General of the State and such friends of the defendant designated by him, not ex- ceeding five, and more than twelve reputable citizens of California to be present at and witness the execu- tion, together with such peace officers as I deemed expedient. 1 further certify that on the 7th day of January, 1897, at 10:35 o’clock a. m. of that day, the annexed warrant was duly executed within the walls of the State Prison at San Quentin, as designated by the court in which judgment was rendered, by hanging the said William Henry Theodore Durrant by the neck until he was dead. The names of the physicians and twelve reputable citizens present I hereto attached and made part of this return as witnesses of said execution, and I further certify that no other persons than 'those mentioned in section 1229 of the Penal Code were present at said execution. _Respectfully submitted this 7th day of January, 1898. We, the undersigned citfzens State Prison on the 7th day of January, 1898, and witnessed the execution of William Henry Theodore Dur- rant, as provided by law. (Signed) W. E. HALE, ‘Warden California State Prison at San Quentin. CALIFORNIA STATE PRISON, SAN QUENTIN. R 5 of the State of California, certify that we were WILLIAM M. LAWLER, M.D. SOHN G. FITZGERALD. 3. F. WARDELL. R. I. WHELAN. 4. K. SMITH. SATTLER. A. T. O'BRIEN, M.D. present at the California WILLIAM J. SCHNUR SAMES MARKLAND. J. BARSOTTI, M.D. A. SERAFINL FRANKLIN F. LORD, M.D. ERNEST HEYMANS.