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The Great Tong War

Warren-Hill

@WarrenHillFilms

...The deed providing that the transferee (Bollinger) and his heirs, etc., not permit “Africans, Chinese, Japanese or Indians” to acquire the property or “Occupy” it: Period. No “If’s, And’s or But’s”...

(Original article written in 2004, Published in Kingman Daily Miner.) Ah, life in Kingman: a counter-culture within a culture. Daily we travel between “Our Time” and everyone else’s. Our time travel machine runs along Andy Devine just Northeast of the Beale Street intersection.  There through the power and force of our 1972 Dodge pickup we are thrust (maybe not “thrust” so much as “Clunk”) into the past as we round the road and turn into Old Town: Historic Kingman.

For the period of time we have lived here, Old Town has held just an overwhelming charm to us. There is something about the mix of people, architecture and atmosphere that is so gravely different from the “Stucco’d” world of the new developments that mark up the countryside North of us – over the hill on the other side of “Time”. One has many choices when considering Kingman as home.

Our home until a few months ago remained the step sister that was always absent from the family photographs: nearly every picture buried in the Mohave Museum archives renders a vast pallet of history from the 1800’s through the 1960’s. Conspicuously absent: our home. Built in 1914, only one photograph taken in 1920 actually displays any trace of our structural existence. Otherwise, we have always remained the runner up to the Prom Queen position, “O-ma-gosh: If the cameraman would have taken a little more to the right you would see me there, really…”

Some time ago we began looking into the historic homes of Kingman – those registered either with the State or National registries. In both cases, naturally, we drew blanks. Why? Because our house on Court Street is on a street that no one has ever heard of. Here’s an example: earlier this year I was on the phone with the very nice man who put together the original recommendations for the Historic registry. Let’s call him, “Lauren” (because that’s his name). For 37 years he had lived in Kingman and didn’t recall the street. It’s worse than that, really, because he worked for the Tax Collector’s office. After some prodding, he remembered the street, but couldn’t understand why the home never found it’s way to the listing.

With the help of the Mohave County Assessor and Recorder’s offices, whose zest for cooperation is staggering to me as a former Californian, we uncovered the truth about our little home. This was no easy task though because the automated records don’t begin until the 1990’s. Prior to that they are logged entries supported by microfiche records of original documents.

So, if you have the time it can be done, the assessor and recorder’s offices will be glad to help you begin your search. They’re busy though with other things, as well, like serving the public who wish to do little things like pay taxes and record deeds and so on, as bothersome as that is.

What did we find in our quest for historic relevance? A well-known Kingman company, Lovin and Withers sold the land and home to someone we had never heard of, E. Elmo Bollinger. (Not a very romantic name, so I was fairly certain that it would be a pretty bland person behind it.)  Armed with a copy of the original deed we began our research.

The language of the deed itself was fairly straightforward granting Mr. Bollinger rights, title and ownership. It’s dated 1916 but the Notary, R. L. Anderson (seemingly the only Notary in these parts back then) had a hard time letting go of the Territorial thing and wrote “…of the Arizona Territory” anywhere “State” might have gone (old habits die hard, I guess).

Of most interest, other than the transfer information, was the clause with the deed providing that the transferee (Bollinger) and his heirs, etc., not permit “Africans, Chinese, Japanese or Indians” to acquire the property or “Occupy” it: Period. No “If’s, And’s or But’s”. This means that of the three of us currently living here, Sue, our Australian Shepherd, is the only one with a clear and distinct right to remain in the house, since both Greta and I are of unclear genetic backgrounds – she, Native American and me, confused Southerner, if you get my drift, with an Italian thrown in for good measure.

So, who is Mr. Bollinger? There’s an extensive biography on line, but here’s a summary: he came to Kingman in 1914 as a lawyer nearly straight from Tulane University. By 1919 he began the position of Superior Court Judge that he would hold for two terms until electing to return to private practice. After some time he resumed public service as Mohave County Attorney – a fairly distinguished legal career, especially considering that as Superior Court Judge, he tried one of the most notorious murder cases in Mohave County history – a Tong War murder in 1926 of a Chinese restaurateur (who couldn’t live in Mr. Bollinger’s house if he wanted to) by five Chinese men (couldn’t live here, either) who were members of an opposing gang, seemingly based in Los Angeles. The Judge (our Judge Bollinger) sentenced all five to death by the Noose.

Here’s what happened according to the Arizona Department of Corrections and the Mohave County Miner (rhetorical flourishes added by me):

It was 8:45 at night on October 26, 1926 when a high-powered Chrysler Touring car roared down the alley behind the Commercial Hotel on East Front Street, now a parking lot next to the Frontier Communications building on Andy Devine (formerly Front Street).

The Commercial Café was the local eating-place for guests in the Hotel. Don On and Tom King owned the Café. Tom and Don were both young men. They were both Chinese Americans, or “Chinamen” as they were reported then. (Kingman’s China Town was small but well established by the 20’s owing to the Railroad’s influence.)

The Chrysler screeched to a stop and from the car four Chinamen emerged, at least three of which had guns in hand – two .38 Smith & Wesson’s and an automatic, the caliber of which was unreported (probably a .45 back then). The getaway driver stayed with the car, engine running: it wouldn’t take long. A “Lame Chinaman from Needles with a none too savory a reputation” according to the Mohave Miner led the group through the back door, behind him a cadre of armed, angry Tong warriors awaited identification of their victim.

“Hello, Tom” were the last words Tom King heard as a barrage of bullets found there way to his head and torso, leaving him immediately dead as a “door nail” which must be very dead I suspect. Tom had been peeling potatoes for the next day’s dinner: a special of Roast Beef and Mashed Potatoes was scratched onto the blackboard with chalk.

Don On didn’t open his doors the next day, nor for many days thereafter. Don On, Tom’s long-time friend and partner vanished: unseen, unheard, unknown. The State’s witness (one of a few, but the only one who was Chinese) feared terribly for his life. He wired his godfather in San Francisco for help. When he arrived on the train the following Wednesday morning, On was gone. Had his godfather arranged it? Had the rival Tong gang found On and silenced an embarrassing left over from the Café? No one knows.

One other key witness remained, though: one they didn’t know about, Frank Craig, who was stocking the shelves of the refrigerator at the Café with milk at the time of the shooting – around the corner and not visible to the gunmen. Frank Craig and other Kingman witnesses (after the fact) were to be the undoing of the Tong gunmen.

The Chinese community was collectively reluctant to testify fearing for their own lives, but working quickly with County Attorney Blakely and Judge Miller a heap of evidence and testimony was documented before any of them could be shot or merely intimidated into not testifying. Most instrumental during this initial period and during the trial was a young Los Angeles man named Roy Lynn. The Miner reports his named spelled with one “n” and with two “n’s” and doesn’t describe his ethnicity: important for many reasons, obviously as a translator for a murder trial where dialect and clear translation is critical.

Regardless of his ethnicity, Mr. Lynn feared substantially that he too might find himself spilled milk on the floor of life during the trial, and at his request was moved from the Hotel Brunswick to the Greystone Inn and finally settled in to “…sleep with Under-sheriff Tom McNeeley at the Courthouse…” on the final night of the trial. Now, that’s what I call “Arizona Friendly”.

So, the trial moves into completion. The Tong War scenario is laid out eloquently by the County Attorney on behalf of the State: Tom King was a declared member of the Bing Kong Tong while the gunmen represented the Hop Sing Tong (no, not that Hop Sing). Why Tom King was executed by the rival Tong was never clearly stated. The fact remained though, that there were 15 known deaths in total from a brief Tong war that began in Santa Barbara, California, and ended – very decisively – with the death of Tom King in Kingman, Arizona. Shortly after his death a truce was signed between the rival Tongs and the “War” ended.

Counsel for the Defense, Mr. L. L. Wallace of Kingman appealed the verdict to the Supreme Court where the findings of the Jury and the subsequent sentencing order of Judge Bollinger were sustained. Gew Long, Jew Har, By Sam, Wong Lung, and Shew Chin were taken to Florence by Sheriff W. P. Mahoney where they faced the noose.

It is said that the ghost of Tom King retraces his last footsteps in the shadow of where the Commercial once stood next to the Frontier Communications building on Andy Devine precisely at about 8:45 PM every October 26. This year Greta and I will be observing the alley and the lot where the Commercial stood, camera in hand. It’s important for many reasons: to give Tom peace, he must be remembered. He must know that his killers were found and that justice was completed. It will release him from this earthly grip and, as far as Judge E. Elmo Bollinger is concerned, Elmo will be tickled.

Join us, unless anything of greater importance occurs, like, say, laundry.