Killer executed at San Quentin
Here is a look at the past. Items have been culled from The Chronicle’s archives of 25, 50, 75 and 100 years ago.
1992
April 22: I don’t have much good to say about Robert Alton Harris. He was a cruel multiple killer, a monster who earned his way into San Quentin’s gas chamber where I watched him choke to death yesterday four minutes before a beautiful sunrise. I knew it wouldn’t be pretty. I just didn’t know it would be that ugly. They toyed with Harris before they killed him, the way Harris toyed with the two boys before he killed them. The way a mean cat toys with a bird. They strapped him into the chair and made him sit there for 12 minutes. Then they unstrapped him and made him think he was going to live. Then two hours later, they strapped him in again and dropped the cyanide. Whatever your feelings about the death penalty — and I don’t oppose it, or didn’t — the brutal, clumsy way Harris was snuffed was an obscene business. The way he died gnaws at me.
Harris was first strapped in Chair B, one of two in the chamber, at 3:49 a.m. Two minutes after the door had been closed there was a single telephone ring. It was a call from Appeals Judge Harry Pregerson with the fourth stay of the night. Harris was hauled from the chamber and escorted back to the deathwatch cell. It was almost as if Harris was forced to endure the ordeal of his execution twice; once when he was strapped into the chair at 3:49 a.m. only to get a brief reprieve, and then again when the big, airtight steel door slammed shut on him for good. Maybe it was true justice for the cold-blooded murders of two 16-year-old San Diego boys, John Mayeski and Michael Baker. But somehow the execution and close calls seemed closer to torture.
It was a sloppy, mean and inept procedure that stained everyone involved.
— Kevin Leary
1967
April 19: The first 103 days of 1967 in San Francisco’s hippieland were busy for Police Captain Dan Kiely and his officers at Park station. Kiely reported yesterday that from January 1 to April 13 his men: Picked up 111 runaway juveniles in the Haight Ashbury district. Some were from homes as far away as Canada and Mexico. Took 87 juveniles to the Youth Guidance Center for curfew violation, narcotics offenses and other charges. Took in 181 persons above the age of 18 on various narcotics charges, most relating to possession or being under the influence of marijuana or LSD. “We’re averaging 50 teletypes a week to look out for runaway juveniles,” said captain Kiely. “We’re so swamped now we couldn’t possibly remember the description of every one of them.”
1942
April 17: Hashish, a powerful Indian narcotic, was found for the first time in this country when Federal agents yesterday arrested Fred Shirar, 30, a seaman, who arrived here from Bombay six weeks ago. The story of Shirar’s arrest starts in a Turk Street tavern, runs to the Mexican border and involves undercover agents, B-girls, white slavers and marijuana smokers. According to Federal authorities, agents had been watching the tavern at 301 Turk Street for some time. They said the proprietor was Eugene Ginaola, 39, who maintained a “smoking room” in the basement where marijuana cigarettes were sold to customers.
At this tavern, Federal agents said, they encountered James Littell, white slave probationer from San Diego, and Howard McGavick, a seaman. The two men were trailed to San Diego. There the agents said the pair met Shirar. Agents said Shirar came to San Francisco, met Ginaola, and arranged to have the hashish rolled into marijuana cigarettes. The two men were arrested and bail for Shirar set at $5000 and for Ginaola at $2500. Shirar is now being held in the City Prison. Shirar said the hashish cost him $250 in Bombay, but that he had been unable to buy the special pipes needed for its consumption.
1917
April 18: Taking into their ranks a number of prominent citizens, the three California Naval Militia departed for their mobilization camps shortly before noon yesterday. The scene at the armory, Fourteenth and Mission Streets, before the departure of the troops, provided the first real “off to the war” effect the city has had. Headed by Mayor Rolph, a large crowd of relatives and friends lent color and cheer to their leave-taking. After leaving the armory, the militiamen paraded down Market Street. With band playing and flags flying gaily, they formed a true wartime procession, and the Sunday morning promenaders gave them a vociferous send-off. The men of the base camps of the Second and Fifth Infantry in the Presidio, however, spent most of their Sunday looking over and appraising the mules received by the supply companies the day before. Each of the two supply companies received fiftytwo wheel mules and four saddle mules, and there is considerable speculation as to which is which. So far, a private of the Fifth is in the post hospital because he guessed wrong.