by Jon Wilkman
After Rising left the stand, Coroner Nance read a list of victims found in Los Angeles County. The roll call included people whose names repeatedly appeared in the press, perhaps for the first and only time in their lives. If avid newspaper readers knew who they were in March of 1928, few would remember them only a short time later. Anonymity came early to “JANE DOE, about 75,” “a boy, 4,” and “an unidentified Jap.” The name of Leona Johnson, dam keeper Tony Harnischfeger’s girlfriend, was read, but Tony’s wasn’t.19 Since his body was never found, Harnischfeger’s death couldn’t be confirmed, leading to unsubstantiated rumors and conspiratorial speculation. Had the dam keeper escaped and gone into hiding, fearful for what he knew?
To set the stage for the legal and forensic engineering drama to come, a large screen was brought in and lights dimmed in the hearing room. Hollywood mini-mogul Nat Fisher was asked to project the movie he’d made showing the ruins and floodpath of the St. Francis Dam. The Tombstone was the star of his flickering presentation, standing alone with jagged edges and streaked with mud. The only sound was the whirr of the projector as the judge, jury, lawyers, and assembled observers sat transfixed until the lights came up. Later, Fisher would hold a screening for the Governor’s Commission, but it wouldn’t be long before the footage was forgotten, all but a few fragments lost or destroyed.
In the days that followed, investigators questioned DWP engineers, construction workers, flood survivors, visitors to the dam site before the collapse, and independent experts. The idea of sabotage lurked in the background, but the majority of questions focused on the geology of San Francisquito Canyon and how the St. Francis Dam was constructed. Were the surroundings appropriate, and was the dam securely anchored to the site? As with the Aqueduct, the quality of the Chief’s concrete was questioned. Was it strong enough to hold back 12.4 billion gallons of water, and were the cracks and leaks normal, or justification for alarm, and, more important, a good reason for immediate action?
Coroner Nance cut to the chase and called his star witness. Wearing his familiar dark three-piece suit, winged collar, and a light-colored tie, William Mulholland stood slowly. “The white-haired engineer walked to the stand with feeble steps,” one newspaperman reported.20 Assistant District Attorney Dennison began the questioning, often addressing the old man with the nineteenth-century honorific “Colonel.” At one point, with a mix of dry humor and pride, the Chief reminded his interrogator that he had never served in the military, but had an honorary degree from the University of California. “Dr.” Mulholland was perhaps a more justified title, but he never used it.
Colonel or not, like a battle-hardened combat commander who experienced a defeat with hundreds of casualties, Mulholland kept his answers straightforward and to the point. Still, it was hard to keep emotion and defensiveness from creeping in. The Chief briefly described the site-selection process, planning, construction, and general specifications of the St. Francis Dam. It was a “massive” dam, he told the jury, adding that the arch in the structure wasn’t essential to the design. He included it for “supplying a factor of safety.”
Dennison wanted to know about the geology of San Francisquito Canyon, and especially the dam site. The Chief replied that he had studied the terrain closely both before and during the construction of the Owens River Aqueduct, especially while the five-mile-long Elizabeth Tunnel was being excavated. He identified the geological formations on each abutment as “schist” on the east, and “solid indurated conglomerate” on the west.
William Mulholland testifying at the Los Angeles County Coroner’s Inquest (Author’s collection)
Dave Mathews had told anyone who would listen that the conglomerate was far from solid, saying, “The whole hillside was saturated and it was soaking out like water from a sponge.”21 With fifty years of experience in the field to back him up, Mulholland confidently testified otherwise. He found the conglomerate “quite solid and impervious” and the schist even harder.
To confirm the suitability of the site, Mulholland told the jury he ordered “percolation” tests in the conglomerate. Holes were bored and filled with water. The water “was there about two weeks,” the Chief reported, “and the conglomerate was no softer than it was afterwards, [we] had to bail the hole out.”22
In addition to percolation tests, Mulholland testified that he ordered excavations to determine the nature of the geological formations beneath the dam site. Since the east abutment was too steep for small holes, the geology was explored with a thirty-foot tunnel. Core samples, he reported, showed that the terrain was solid and safe. Could the jury see the samples for themselves? Unfortunately, they had been stored in a construction shack an eighth of a mile below the dam and had been washed away by the flood.23
Even when he wasn’t on the stand, Mulholland remained in the hearing room, carefully following the course of the Inquest and making comments when asked. Sometimes he quietly shook his head when he heard information or opinions he considered false or ill informed. In the difficult days that followed, as others testified and evidence added up, the questions kept coming, and sometimes the answers were hard to take.
A disturbing feature of the dam site was clearly exposed after the collapse—an earthquake fault paralleled the reservoir and west abutment, with layers of schist below and conglomerate above. The Chief said he knew about it and wasn’t concerned. “You can scarcely find a square mile in this part of the country that is not faulty. It is very rumpled and twisted everywhere.” D.A. Keyes asked if that characteristic of the terrain didn’t require “special precautions.” Mulholland explained that in his opinion the weight of the water was enough, combined with structural anchoring against the abutments, to hold the dam in place. “Engineers have to build them [dams] so as to make them fault-proof, don’t they,” the District Attorney persisted. “They try to,” the Chief responded quietly.
By then, Mulholland had seen the initial results of the DWP’s “secret” geology report. The preliminary conclusions also had been shared with Coroner Nance and District Attorney Keyes. The field examination and analysis were detailed and thorough. The geologists hired by the city confirmed that the landscape of San Francisquito Canyon was hazardous but offered no opinion as to why the St. Francis Dam collapsed. If Mulholland hoped for information that would explain and offer a defense, he was disappointed. During the Inquest, the Chief kept his frustration private. He would face attacks on other decisions he made, some dating to his work on the Owens River Aqueduct.
Asked about the quality of the concrete, Mulholland defended his choice to use sand and gravel from the canyon floor rather than add the time and expense to truck it from a more distant source. It may have been cheaper and timesaving, but a juror was concerned that creekbed clay or dirt could have got into the mix and weakened it. The Chief shook his head. He tested batches and they proved satisfactory. “We had used it in the lining of the tunnel and building the power plant—had about twelve years’ experience in its use, built large and important structures with it …” Echoing his testimony during the 1912 Aqueduct Investigation, the Chief was proud, if not defiant: “I am satisfied that it will run as high as any structure in this city.” Later, he added, “Every engineer who comes in gives a sigh of relief that it wasn’t the concrete.”24
Coroner Nance seemed impatient with Mulholland’s self-assurance: “Did you consider the dam absolutely safely anchored to the sides of the canyon as well as firmly based on a foundation?” The Chief responded slowly, his voice quiet but firm: “I surely did. I have built nineteen dams in my day, and they are all in use, and I have always had in mind the hazard attending to the construction of a dam. I certainly took all the care that prudence suggested.”25
What about after the dam was completed? Assistant D.A. Dennison wanted to know more about Mulholland and Harvey Van Norman’s visit to the St. Francis Dam during the morning of March 12. The Chief was unequivocal when he described the leak that worried Tony Harnischfeger. The water “was not dirty and
had not been dirty.” Later he described it as “clear as glass.”26 Mulholland said the water became muddy after it mixed with soil from nearby road construction. “Like all dams,” he added, “there are little seeps here and there, and I will say as to that feature of it that of all the dams I have built and all the dams I have ever seen, it was the driest dam of its size I ever saw in my life.”27 Dennison was less than convinced. After Mulholland observed the seepage, he must have had some concern. The Chief replied without hesitation: “It never occurred to me that it was in danger.”
When grim and gaunt-looking Dave Mathews took the stand, he told a very different story. He testified that Harley Berry told him, “Dave, I will tell you something. The dam’s not safe.”28 Fighting back tears, he described pleading with his brother Carl to leave the canyon. Sobbing and momentarily unable to continue, he covered his face with his hands.
Questioned about Mathews’s emotional accusation that the Chief knew the dam was in jeopardy and was trying to save the situation by lowering the reservoir without telling anyone, Mulholland responded that there was no way to quickly reduce the hydrostatic pressure behind the dam. “With all gates wide open,” the level of the reservoir would only fall “about a foot a day,” he explained,29 assuring the jurors and assembled press that if the danger was real and imminent, “I would have sent a Paul Revere alarm up and down the Valley.”
The D.A. interrupted. If there was no apparent danger, what caused the St. Francis Dam to collapse? “We overlooked something here …” Mulholland began, then paused. The room was “silent as a tomb” when the old man continued. His voice shook and his hands trembled.30 “This inquiry is a very painful thing for me to have to attend, but it is the occasion of it that is painful. The only ones I envy about this thing are the ones who are dead.” He ended in a whisper.31
The Coroner, attorneys, and the Inquest jury listened intently, but despite the Chief’s evident grief, they were unwilling to accept his assurance as the last word. Nor were Mulholland’s persistent critics in the press. After learning about the renewed theories about dynamite, and hearing the first day of testimony, on March 22, the editor of Los Angeles Record printed a seething prose poem on the paper’s front page.
Tony Harnischfeger is dead.
So is Tony’s little boy.
And so is the woman who mothered that little boy.
They all died in the avalanche loosened by the St. Francis dam.
Tony was just the watchman at the dam. He didn’t claim to be an engineer, with 19 dams to his credit.
And, like some of the engineers who built that dam, he probably didn’t know the difference between shale and schist.
But—the day before the dam failed—HE knew that something was wrong.
And—the day before the dam failed—he telephoned his superiors that the dam was leaking muddy water.
And—the day before the dam failed—his superiors, engineer William Mulholland and engineer H. A. Van Norman, inspected them. And—they went away.
And they did nothing to relieve the pressure on the dam.
And they did not warn the people living below the dam.
And at least 234 of those people are dead now.
Including Tony.
And Tony’s little boy.
And the woman who mothered Tony’s little boy.
Tony Harnischfeger can’t talk.
But John R. Richards can talk. Richards is vice president of the water and power commission. He is a lawyer, from Illinois. Talking is part of his business.
So Richards gives out interviews, sponsoring the theory that the St. Francis dam was dynamited by Owens Valley farmers.
The main proof of this seems to be that somebody found a dead fish.
We are inclined to believe that there may be a dead fish involved in this matter—a fish so dead that it smells to high heaven.
And we think that this dead fish may be a red herring the water board likes to drag across the trail that leads to the doors of those responsible for the St. Francis dam disaster—responsible because of their ignorance and their incompetence and their autocratic disregard of the rights and lives of human beings—the Los Angeles Board of water and power commissioners and some of its highest officials.
The Record has no sympathy with dynamiting. It believes that dynamite should be punished.
Likewise, it has no sympathy with official incompetence, stupidity and arrogance. We believe such officials should be kicked out.
By long course of mismanagement, the water and power commissioners alienated, then aroused, then crushed the farmers of Owens Valley. Many months ago the law took its course and sending to the penitentiary the bankers of Owens Valley. But the waterpower commissioners were not satisfied, although the Valley lay crushed and helpless in their hands. They sent many detectives to sleuth for dynamite. And the end of all that was a fiasco hard on the heels of the St. Francis dam disaster. The charges against 6 men arrested were thrown out of court at the plenary hearing.
However, this belated effort to blame St. Francis dam upon the farmers of Owens Valley leaves a very disagreeable taste in our mouths—the taste of rank red herring.
But we agree with Commissioner Richards about one thing—his demand that all this be brought before the Los Angeles County grand jury.
The sooner the better, Mr. Richards.
Meanwhile Tony Harnischfeger is dead.
So is Tony’s little boy.
And so is a woman who mothered that little boy.
But none of them are engineers, with 19 dams to their credit.
And all they knew was that something was wrong with the dam.
In a defense that wasn’t as emotive, an open letter from California Progressives mourned for the victims of the St. Francis flood, but also expressed sympathy for William Mulholland, praising his dedication to public service and his accomplishments on behalf of municipal utilities. At the same time, operating behind the scenes, the Chief’s influential socialist supporter and Board of Water Commissioners member John Randolph Haynes was hard at work responding to reinvigorated assaults from Southern California Edison and advocates of privately owned water and power. The County Coroner’s Inquest had hardly begun, but clashing points of view and old hostilities based on politics and personalities were influencing questions about dam design and engineering.
On Friday, March 23, two days after the first round of questioning, the Inquest jurors took a field trip to San Francisquito Canyon. At the site, the men gathered solemnly beneath the Tombstone. Some brought picks and hammers to extract and test soil and rock samples.
During their visit to San Francisquito Canyon, the jurors focused most of their attention on the west side of the canyon. High above them, Mulholland’s wing dike (derisive D.A. Keyes referred to it as “a spoon handle”32) had been snapped clean. The geology on the west abutment was primarily red conglomerate and sandstone belonging to the Sespe, or Vasquez, formation, named for the famous 1870s Mexican bandit Tiburcio Vásquez, who had a nearby hideout in a striking landscape of angled rock formations. Since the 1920s, moviemakers used the location for Westerns, sci-fi serials, and prehistoric adventure films.
Los Angeles County Coroner’s Inquest jurors visit the dam site March 23, 1928. (Los Angeles Department of Water and Power)
Well before that, the flow and pressure of water molded sediment, rocks, and small particles into what would become, forty million years later, the west abutment of the St. Francis Dam. Looking closely at a sample of conglomerate, one juror was heard to comment, “This is certainly different from what they’ve been telling us.” The others nodded in agreement.33
The east abutment of the St. Francis Dam site consisted of layered rock called Pelona Schist. It’s likely that Mulholland, with his self-taught enthusiasm of arcane information, knew the word schist derived from the Greek “to split.” In Spanish, Pelona means “bald” or “dead.” Both are apt descriptions. In Precambrian times, as long as 4.6 million years ago, grea
t inland seas covered the site of San Francisquito Canyon. During the late Jurassic Period, the age of the dinosaurs, intense heat and movement deep inside the earth created hard and thin bluish- or brownish-gray slabs as the geology of San Francisquito Canyon was pushed to the surface.
As the rocks aged, weathered, and shifted, the stone sheets cracked into irregular overlapping sections that were angled steeply, like a tilted deck of cards, toward the canyon floor. The hillside was so steep—as much as 45 degrees—that loose rubble continued to roll down for days after the collapse, collecting around the enormous fragments of the dam piled beneath the Tombstone. The Chief knew that Pelona Schist is susceptible to landslides. That’s why he buried the Aqueduct into unstable sections of San Francisquito Canyon rather than hang it on the hillside.
Despite this, when Mulholland built the St. Francis Dam he was confident that hydrostatic pressure from the reservoir and the weight of the concrete would compress the layers of schist and make the abutment stronger, not weaker. Other dams had been successfully built against schist and conglomerate, but acerbic District Attorney Keyes scorned the abutment geology as “rotten rock.”
Back in Los Angeles, the Inquest was gaveled to order. Testimony from construction workers, canyon residents, and visitors to the dam site raised questions about Mulholland’s assurances that the geology of San Francisquito Canyon was safe, and that the St. Francis Dam was strong and firmly anchored to the hillside abutments. None of those who testified had built nineteen dams, but what they claimed to have seen raised troubling doubts.
