by Sarah A. Peterson-Camacho

You can read part 1 here.

Sunday, July 9, 2023

Cradling the rose quartz pendulum in the palm of my hand, I gingerly picked my way across the dusty, uneven terrain of Sanger’s Bethel Cemetery, my darting eyes peeled for gopher holes. It was a beautiful day for a séance in a deserted country graveyard: a breezy, cloudless summer afternoon, unseasonably cool for the middle of a Central California July. And yet my palm was sweaty, sticking to the pendulum, and I felt oddly self-conscious.

So much painstaking research had brought me to this very moment—a year and a half of intense cyber-sleuthing: surfing through digital archives, poring over the musty pages of century-old high school yearbooks. Despite over ten decades separating me from the unsolved 1922 murder of Pauline Grass and Alexander “Alex” Winter, my heart and soul yearned for justice, for both them and their star-crossed love. Which is why I let that pendulum drop from its silver chain, swinging down over the dry, powdery earth. “What is yes?” I asked the open pendulum’s rosy point swung in a circle, counterclockwise, of its own volition.

“And what is no?” It changed direction, shifting from side to side in a straight line.

“Am I standing on Pauline Grass’ grave?” I asked, standing still on one of Bethel’s many sandy patches. (Most of the flat gravestones remain completely obscured, including Pauline’s and Alex’s, after last spring’s torrential rains unleashed their rivers of mud.) The dangling chain swung back and forth, a definitive no.

I ambled my way over the parched, gritty landscape, deeper into the cemetery. “How about now?” Still a no.

I whipped my phone out and scrolled through some cemetery photos I’d taken here last year. She should be nearer the back fence, close to a massive tombstone of sun-bleached granite. “What about now?” I asked again, patting still another sandy patch with one sandaled foot.

The pendulum swung itself in a counterclockwise circle. A yes. Now the séance could begin, on this 101st anniversary of the double homicide.

Tuesday, July 11, 1922

“I know who committed that crime, but I am afraid to tell, because they will make trouble for me if I do.” Her voice was soft on a sweltering July morning in the little country graveyard, as slain sweethearts Pauline Grass, 15, and Alexander “Alex” Winter, 21, were laid to rest outside Sanger. Vineyards stretched greenly for miles into a sunny azure horizon. Just who was this mysterious young woman, allegedly overheard by mourners that morning?

As family and friends of the murdered couple gathered to pay their last respects, local farmer Alex Flack and Mrs. Margaret Steinert, wife of a Sanger merchant, heard the mystery woman utter this graveside confession, as they would both later report to Fresno County Sheriff William F. Jones. “Flack told the authorities that he had heard the woman say she knew the murderer, but that he was unable to give her name,” reported The Sacramento Bee two days after the funeral. “He expressed the opinion that she did not live in Sanger. He furnished the officers with a meager description of the woman, upon which the authorities are pinning their hopes of locating her.”

Mrs. Steinert concurred, providing such a vague description that the investigating officers had very little to go on. It wasn’t much of a surprise when efforts to track down the young woman proved fruitless.

Why come forward at all if they were afraid enough for this girl’s safety to provide such a hazy description that officers were almost certain to fail in their search? Perhaps the farmer and the merchant’s wife felt it their civic duty to report what they’d overheard, but were afraid to reveal her identity because they in fact knew her.

Mrs. Steinert, it turned out, was none other than the mother of the murdered Pauline Grass’ estranged best friend, Elsie Steinert. The two teen girls had quarreled and parted ways about six months before the murders, and Elsie was one of dozens of local youths questioned by authorities in the wake of the double homicide.

By Friday, July 14th, the youngest Steinert daughter’s visage was splashed across page 3 of The San Francisco Examiner: Elsie, almost 15, and Gladys Turner, 16, another of the Grass girl’s close friends, found themselves the faces of California’s latest high-profile murder investigation, between whom a haloed Pauline Grass was sandwiched like some sort of Jazz-Age martyr.

Could her daughter’s sudden media exposure have anything to do Mrs. Steinert’s abrupt retraction of her witness statement on the very day Elsie’s part in the investigation was made known? And did the Sanger merchant’s wife know more than she would care to admit?

Born in Russia in 1879, Margaret Hoveiler was the youngest daughter of the large Hoveiler clan, immigrating with her family to America as a young girl. The Hoveilers settled on the Great Plains of east-central Kansas, where Margaret married a young grocer named Gottfried Steinert in 1899. A decade passed, and Margaret, now a mother to three children of her own, was ready for the next big adventure. Her older brother, Fred Hoveiler, had settled with his own growing family in the agricultural heart of California’s Central Valley, and a plan was set in motion to start fresh in the small farming community of Sanger. Margaret’s older sister, Catherine Hoveiler, had met and married Fred Ebel, a widowed farmer with two young daughters, Mollie and Mary, and was having a child of her own every other year. The Steinerts and the Ebels—brought together by the two Hoveiler sisters—formed a tight-knit bunch, celebrating each other’s special moments and milestones, even as dark thunderclouds rumbled on the horizon of their lives.

Catherine’s stepdaughters, Mollie and Mary, had each married into local farming families, but Mary’s husband was something of a black sheep. Trouble had a way of finding Joseph “Joe” Krieger, whether in the form of drinking, bootlegging, stealing, or “maintaining a nuisance” at the hotel where he worked. So when the opportunity to move to sunny California presented itself, the Ebels and the growing Krieger brood jumped at the chance to put the past behind them. “Fred Ebel and family, and Gottfried Steinert and family, started for California Friday,” informed The Marion Record of Kansas on Thursday, October 21, 1909, “where they expect to make their future home.”

But no sooner had they left than Fred Ebel’s father Friedrich dropped over dead of a heart attack while milking a cow in his barn, perhaps foreshadowing the turmoil that was yet to come.

If California had beckoned to the three families as a promised land of opportunity, only one of the trio would go on to fulfill that promise. Gottfried Steinert settled easily back into his trade as a grocer, while Margaret minded their three young children: Tillie, Alvin, and Elsie.

Their brother-in-law Fred Ebel bought and sold local properties but seemed more adept at managing real estate than he did his five sons by his second wife, Catherine Hoveiler: Fred, Jr., James, George, Victor, and Theodore “Ted” Ebel. (A lone daughter, Katie, was their firstborn.) “Fred Ebel was arrested yesterday for disobeying the school law by not sending his son to school,” The Fresno Morning Republican noted on Wednesday, March 22, 1911. “He pleaded guilty to the charge, and was given a sentence of ten days in jail.”

It wasn’t long before the Ebel boys ended up in court themselves. “A novel form of punishment was meted out yesterday by Judge Austin in the juvenile court upon a little fellow, George Ebel, who pleaded guilty to stealing a dollar out of the till of C.C. Howard’s store at Sanger,” reported The Fresno Morning Republican of Tuesday, January 28, 1913. “George promised to keep his fingers off other people’s property hereafter and was ordered to borrow a dollar from his father, work to repay him that loan, proceed to Howard’s store and return the dollar, making restitution while obligating himself on his honor never to offend again in like matter.”

But little George Ebel failed to learn his lesson. “The three Ebel boys from Sanger were before Judge Austin yesterday, once more as juvenile delinquents,” The Fresno Morning Republican declared just six months later, on Tuesday, July 8, 1913. “Judge Austin recognized [Fred] Ebel and his boys because of their previous appearances in court…and gave the parent warning that on the next complaint in the juvenile court against his sons, he, and not they, would be sent to jail.”

And it only got worse as the summer of 1913 wore on. By August of that year, “…the boys had committed six burglaries of houses and a winery,” the Republican mentioned Thursday, August 14th, “stealing money and assorted articles, including firearms, besides a valise or two in which to carry their plunder.” For the burglaries—and for threatening to kill any officer who dared to arrest them—George and James Ebel, ages 12 and 14, were sent off to the Preston School of Industry in Ione, while eldest brother Fred, Jr., 16, was released into the custody of his parents.

Always more successful at real estate than at parenting, Fred, Sr., had just sold a plot of land to one Henry Isheim, right next door to a Sanger grocer by the name of Christian Grass.

As for the Krieger family, the twin demons of crime and addiction wreaked their dual havoc. Young Mary Ebel Krieger struggled to raise her own three children—Rachel, William, and Violet, on her husband Joe’s spotty salary as an erstwhile plumber. More often than not, however, Joe Krieger could be found either at court or in jail: for burglary (in 1916), bootlegging (in 1920), and drunk driving (also 1920).

“Krieger, who is in jail, will obtain release at the expiration of a 75-day sentence for bootlegging,” revealed The Fresno Morning Republican on Halloween 1920. “The conditions of his two-year probationary term are that he shall get his family, who are now a charge on the county, together and take care of them, refrain from the use of intoxicants, and get work in the country.”

But Krieger was never sober for very long, as his own son would later attest, and unfortunately, William “Will” Krieger would follow in his father’s footsteps. While on trial for murder in 1928, the Kriegers’ only son told a Fresno Morning Republican reporter that one night when he was in the sixth grade, when his father had been drinking heavily, the father robbed a man on the street while his son, also dazed from liquor, sat in the backseat of an automobile, less than 100 feet from the crime.

As the Roaring Twenties dawned, the Volstead Act of 1919 drove Prohibition onto a national stage, as well as the dual vices of speakeasies and bootlegging (which would become Fred Ebel, Jr.’s particular specialty).

The Steinerts, meanwhile, found themselves running in the same local circles as the Grass family (both being in the grocery business), and the youngest Steinert and Grass daughters—Elsie and Pauline—struck up a fateful friendship.

As the Grasses were sucked into the Steinerts’ family orbit, love began to blossom. Pauline’s older sister Louise fell in love with Elsie’s first cousin, Fred Hoveiler, Jr., and the two became engaged early in 1922. A wedding followed soon after Louise’s 18th birthday that February.

Pauline, who had begun a secret romance with Alex Winter the previous year, was eager to set her own wedding plans in motion, as she and Alex began to talk of their future. And when the youngest Winter son moved to Sanger in May, bringing his new automobile with him, the future seemed rosy, indeed.

By this point in time, Pauline and Elsie Steinert were no longer speaking; a quarrel had parted them earlier that year. (Could it have been about the Grass girl’s burgeoning relationship with the older Alex? We will likely never know.)

The young couple’s weekend trysts off Greenwood Avenue—out by Haig Tusoosian’s vineyards—were quickly becoming the fodder for local gossip, and it seemed only a matter of time before it got back to Pauline’s family. (If Elsie or Pauline’s close friend Gladys Turner, with whom the couple spent the Fourth of July in Hanford, knew anything at all about these clandestine rendezvous, both girls took this secret to their respective graves.)

The double murder of Pauline Grass, 15, and Alex Winter, 21—on the full moon-lit night of Sunday, July 9, 1922—rocked the small farming community to its core. “All of Sanger is talking about the Grass-Winter double murder,” reported The Los Angeles Times on Friday, July 14, 1922.

“During the daytime, women and children congregate at the various homes and talk over the affair. At evening time, men and boys are to be seen standing around the business section of the village in small groups, endeavoring by exchange of opinions to solve the mystery. But because of this very fact, rumors run rampant, and the country is full of fantastic theories as to how the crime was committed, and who may or may not have been connected with it,” the Times continued. “All of these rumors must be investigated, some of them leading to new developments, while other prove to be falsehoods.”

By the very next weekend—a full week after the murders took place—the story of the brutal double slaying that had morbidly captivated the entire Golden State had played itself out in the papers. A close-up shot of Alex Winter’s boyishly handsome features appeared almost as an afterthought, accompanied only by a short blurb in The Fresno Morning Republican of Sunday, July 16, 1922.

Sheriff Jones and his investigating officers had followed all of their leads to the end of the line, but as witnesses began retracting their statements, there wasn’t much more the police could do. It was plainly obvious to the Fresno County Sheriff’s Department that the truth was out there, but that a collective fear had shut down every single avenue to justice.

The Grasses and the Steinerts found themselves in the eye of a tragic storm, one whose aftermath would leave them reeling, with many more questions than answers.

Elsie Steinert turned fifteen two weeks after the double tragedy, and perhaps felt Pauline Grass’ loss doubly. Not only was their friendship dead, but now Pauline was as well, so there was now no hope of ever making peace, nor of ever mending their broken bond. She clung to the Grasses in their collective grief, eventually falling in love with Pauline’s older brother Henry, who was one of the last people to ever speak to Alex Winter. As for Elsie’s mother Margaret, retracting her witness statement the same day her youngest daughter’s face appeared on page 3 of The San Francisco Examiner could not have been a coincidence. But what could Mrs. Steinert have possibly been so afraid of that she would purposely hinder a murder investigation? Unless she knew far more than she would ever admit to, and feared for the lives of those she loved most.

Her troubled relations, meanwhile, managed to stay off of the police’s radar—and out of the papers—from 1922 to 1923…for the most part. Fred Ebel, Jr., 26, was arrested for bootlegging that January, and James Ebel, 24, was given a 20-day jail sentence for choking his wife Kathryn late in 1923.

As 1924 dawned, the clandestine criminal activities of the Ebels and the Kriegers came roaring to the surface, catching up with them at last. “With four men, all alleged by officers to be confessed highwaymen, and one woman, in the county jail charged with burglary,” The Fresno Bee reported on Monday, January 14, 1924, “Sheriff William F. Jones declared that probably the last of the criminal gangs that have been operating throughout the county has been wiped out.” During an early-morning raid of a house near Sanger, “Sheriff Jones and his deputies compelled, at the point of their guns, the four desperadoes to surrender and drop the weapons that they had partly drawn,” continued the Bee. “More than $1,000 worth of supposed loot was taken in the raid. This second blow at organized crime in the county is expected to bring to a close a long series of crimes which have been committed and marks the climax to weeks of investigation by the sheriff and his deputies.”

Captured in that raid were Joe Krieger; his wife Mary; his only son Will, 16; and Mary’s younger half-brothers, George and Victor Ebel. Within a week, the elder Krieger and George Ebel were transferred to San Quentin; Mary Krieger found herself committed to the state asylum in Stockton, after an apparent nervous breakdown brought on by the arrests; and her son Will was packed off to reform school. Victor Ebel, however, would plead guilty and receive probation.

What grief the Ebel brothers’ long-suffering parents, Fred and Catherine, must have endured, with a son and son-in-law in prison, a daughter locked up in an asylum, and a grandson well on his way to becoming a convicted murderer. And yet there was only more turmoil yet to come.

In June, James Ebel again found himself in jail for beating his wife, and by 1924’s end, Fred Ebel, Jr.’s bootlegging had landed the eldest Ebel son a warrant for his arrest. But instead of surrendering, Ebel, Jr., fled town in early 1925 for parts unknown, leaving his wife Anna and his business partner Edward “Ed” Peterson to answer for his crimes.

Mrs. Anna Ebel managed to secure for herself an acquittal on all charges, but Peterson—whose missing .25-caliber, nickel-plated automatic pistol had emptied three bullets into the skulls of Pauline Grass and Alex Winter one night in July of 1922—received a one-year sentence in the county jail for selling liquor to minors on myriad occasions.

The year 1926 dawned with the wedding of Elsie Steinert, now 18, and Pauline’s older brother Henry, 23, joining the Steinerts and the Grasses for all eternity. What secrets did the mother of the bride hold close to her heart as she watched her youngest daughter marry into the family of the murdered Pauline Grass?

The years were kind to Margaret Hoveiler Steinert, blessed with a long life, a happy marriage, and many grandchildren yet to come. The same could not be said of her older sister, Catherine Hoveiler Ebel, however. After watching her grandson, Will Krieger, join his father Joe at San Quentin for murder in 1928, she would cradle her middle son George in her arms as he bled out on the floor of her living room in 1943, stabbed in the heart by her second son James. She herself would be hit by a car while crossing the street only a few years later, lingering for eight agonizing days before dying on Friday, June 28, 1947, at the age of 78.

So life went on in the little town of Sanger: couples were married, babies born, and elders passed from this life to the next. But beneath the surface of the engagement parties, the baby showers, and the wakes hummed the unceasing ache of grief. It made itself known in small ways: when a niece of Pauline’s was born just shy of the second anniversary of the murders, in 1924. Pauline’s older sister, Mollie Heintz, named her sixth-born Eleanor Pauline.

And then there was a letter to the editor of The Fresno Bee, dated Wednesday, October 18, 1922. “Through the columns of your paper, I would like to ask how much time Sheriff Bill Jones has spent—and how much sleep he has lost—in running down the murderers…in the Alex Winters [sic] and Miss Grass murders close to Sanger. All the parties who committed these murders are still at large, and it seems, as far as I can find out upon investigation, that these cases are dead issues as far as the sheriff’s office is concerned.” This stinging indictment of the Fresno County Sheriff—written by none other than Alfred Steven Wrightson, one of Alex Winter’s brothers-in-law—garnered a hasty response from Sheriff William F. Jones himself, printed in the Friday, October 20, 1922, edition of The Fresno Bee.

“Mr. Wrightson says that all of the persons who committed these crimes are at large, and that the cases are a dead issue,” Jones wrote. “In this, he is not correct…As to these cases being dead, all I can say is that I do not, for obvious reasons, proclaim to the world what I am doing in any particular case, or what clues I may have. Nor has Mr. Wrightson consulted me as to what I may be doing in these cases…” Jones concluded with an open invitation to Wrightson to visit the Fresno County Sheriff’s Office, at his convenience, to discuss the cases about which he had questions.

Less than a year after Sheriff Jones’ guarded response to Wrightson’s imploring letter, The Fresno Morning Republican published what amounted to the only answer Alfred Wrightson would ever receive. Appearing in the Sunday, September 2, 1923, issue of the Republican, in a piece titled “Murder Mysteries Still Unsolved,” reporter John D.K. Perry rounded up the most baffling unsolved homicide cases of the previous few years, including that of Sanger’s 1922 double slaying.

“Alex Winter and Pauline Grass, officers learned, were sweethearts, meeting clandestinely because of parental objection to their association from her family,” Perry wrote. “Speculation was rife as to the identity of the murderer, and members of her family were questioned for days by Sheriff William F. Jones…It was without avail, however, as the officers were unable to obtain any damaging admissions from any of the persons they questioned. For months, the case consumed most of the spare time of members of the sheriff’s staff and the district attorney’s office, [as] they sought some remote fact which might lead to discovery of the murderer.”

Sheriff Jones and his officers had continued working the unsolved case after media interest had dropped off, questioning members of Pauline Grass’ family for days on end, but all to no avail. In fact, what the investigators did manage to uncover raised even more troubling questions. If Pauline’s family did indeed know the extent of her relationship with Alex Winter, which they objected to, did they have anything at all to do with the murders? Could the Grasses objection to the love match—and any potential embarrassment it might have caused their family—have been strong enough to warrant the violet death of their own flesh and blood? Is this what Jones had suspected all along?

Or was it something—and someone else—entirely? Jones had ruled out a romantic rivalry early on in the investigation, as no enemies or rivals for either Pauline’s or Alex’s affections ever came to light. But if witnesses were retracting their statements out of utter fear, then maybe no one else was coming forward for the same reason.

The sheer brutality of the double homicide—the tracking down of the couple, the lying in wait, the cold and calculated dispatching of each victim when each at their most vulnerable—points to a cool-headed killer who was an expert shot. A killer with plenty of practice under his belt.

There is no doubt in my mind that the person(s) responsible for this heinous crime were the seven rowdy young men seen turning down Greenwood Avenue the night of Sunday, July 9, 1922, at the approximate time the murders occurred, 10:30 p.m.—five men in one auto, two in another—by the anonymous Sanger couple who had pulled over to eat their watermelon—and who later retracted their story.

But who were these “gangsters,” as reporter Ernest J. Hopkins called them in The San Francisco Examiner of Friday, July 14, 1922, right next to a photo of Elsie Steinert on page 3, published the same day Elsie’s mother Margaret retracted her own witness statement?

Will we ever know?

This is how I found myself in a little country graveyard on the afternoon of Sunday, July 9, 2023, the 101st anniversary of this unsolved 1922 double homicide, literally standing over the graves of the two long-dead victims, with a rose quartz pendulum in my hand.

I decided to ask the spirits themselves.

Did Joseph “Joe” Krieger kill Pauline Grass and Alex Winter the night of Sunday, July 9, 1922? Yes.

Did he kill them with Ed Peterson’s 25-caliber, nickel-plated automatic pistol? Yes.

Were the Ebel brothers—Fred, Jr., James, Victor, and Ted—some of the seven “gangsters” who turned onto Greenwood Avenue at the approximate time of the double murder? Yes.

But was [middle brother] George Ebel with his brothers that night? No. (George, in fact, was incarcerated in a Canadian prison for all of 1922.)

Was one of the Ebel brothers in love with Pauline Grass? Yes.

Was it James Ebel [a married 23-year-old wife-beater at the time]? Yes.

Did Pauline Grass return James Ebel’s feelings? No.

Is this why Joe Krieger [the Ebels’ brother-in-law] killed Pauline Grass and Alex Winter? Yes.

Did either Pauline or Alex see their killer’s face before each was shot dead? No.

Did the Grass family know who killed their daughter and her sweetheart? No.

Did the Ebels and the Kriegers know who killed the couple? Yes.

Did Elsie Steinert know who killed them? No.

Did Elsie’s mother Margaret Steinert know who killed them? Yes.

Works Cited
“Lehigh Offenders Arrested.” The Marion Record (Kansas), Thursday, May 27, 1909, p. 8.
“Fred Ebel and family…” The Marion Record (Kansas), Thursday, Oct. 21, 1909, p. 5.
“Found Dead on Barn Floor.” The Salina Evening Journal (Kansas), Wednesday, Oct. 27, 1909, p. 6.
“Arrest Sanger Man for Neglect to Son.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Wednesday, March 22, 1911, p. 3.
“Juvenile Offenders Before Judge Austin.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Tuesday, Jan. 28, 1913, p. 5.
“Father to Be Jailed for Acts of Sons.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Tuesday, July 8, 1913, p. 7.
“Three Boys Go Out on Burglarious Raid.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Thursday, Aug. 14, 1913, p. 9.
“Youngsters Sent to State Reformatory.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Wednesday, Aug. 20, 1913, p. 3.
“Two Sanger Men Held for Trial.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Thursday, March 9, 1916, p. 15.
“Probation of Two Offenders.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Sunday, Oct. 31, 1920, p. 12.
“Trial of Fred Ebel Begins Before Jury.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Friday, Jan. 13, 1922, p. 2.
“Fresno Murder Clues Vanish.” The Stockton Evening and Sunday Record, Thursday, July 13, 1922, p. 16.
“Police Look for Mystery Woman in Murder Case.” The Sacramento Bee, Thursday, July 13, 1922, p. 1.
Hopkins, Ernest J. “5 Gangsters Hunted for Dual Killing.” The San Francisco Examiner, Friday, July 14, 1922, p. 3.
“Work on Murder Mystery.” The Los Angeles Times, Friday, July 14, 1922, p. 8.
“Asks About Sheriff.” The Fresno Bee, Thursday, Oct. 19, 1922, p. 12.
“Sheriff W.F. Jones Responds to Critic.” The Fresno Bee, Friday, Oct. 20, 1922, p. 16.
Perry, John D.K. “Murder Mysteries Still Unsolved.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Sunday, Sept. 2, 1923, p. 5.
“Sanger Man Arrested on Wife’s Complaint.” The Fresno Bee, Wednesday, Oct. 10, 1923, p. 10.
“Alleged Robber Gang Broken Up by Authorities.” The Fresno Bee, Monday, Jan. 14, 1924, p.5.
“Two Bandits Taken to Serve Prison Time.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Thursday, Jan. 17, 1924, p. 15.
“Bandit Pleads for Probation.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Sunday, Jan. 20, 1924, p. 6.
“Man Slapped in Face, Arrested, Put in Jail.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Sunday, June 1, 1924, p. 2.
“Liquor Dealer Flees Probe of Children’s Orgies.” The Fresno Bee, Wednesday, Feb. 25, 1925, p. 6.
“Mrs. Anna Ebel Acquitted of Charges of Contributing to Delinquency of Minors.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Wednesday, April 22, 1925, p. 11.
“Jury Convicts Man for Giving Minors Liquor.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Tuesday, June 2, 1925, p. 7.
“Peterson Gets Long Jail Term.” The Fresno Bee, Friday, June 5, 1925, p. 6.
“Murder Ends Brief Career of Banditry.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Friday, June 15, 1928, p. 13.
“Idleness, Movies, Bad Companions, are Blamed for Bandits’ Plight.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Wednesday, June 20, 1928, p. 9.
“Ex-Convict Killed by Fresno Brother.” The Fresno Bee, Thursday, April 15, 1943, p. 1.
“Fresno Woman Dies of Injuries.” The Fresno Bee, Saturday, June 28, 1947, p. 3.

All photos provided by the author.

Sarah A. Peterson-Camachois a library assistant with Fresno County Library, with a Bachelor’s in English and a Bachelor’s in Journalism from California State University, Fresno. In her free time, she makes soap and jewelry that she sells at Fresno-area craft fairs. She has written for The Clovis Roundup and the Central California Paranormal Investigators (CCPI) Newsletter.