November 11th was a raw, gray day; the cold sunlight barely penetrating
the mist that hung over the city and the distant tree-clad hills. The
"parade" assembled at the City Park. Lieutenant Cormier was marshal.
Warren Grimm was commander of the Centralia division. In a very short time
he had the various bodies arranged to his satisfaction. At the head of the
procession was the "two-fisted" Centralia bunch. This was followed by one
from Chehalis, the county seat, and where the parade would logically have
been held had its purpose been an honest one. Then came a few sailors and
marines and a large body of well dressed gentlemen from the Elks. The
school children who were to have marched did not appear. At the very end
were a couple of dozen boy scouts and an automobile carrying pretty girls
dressed in Red Cross uniforms. Evidently this parade, unlike the one of
1918, did not, like a scorpion, carry its sting in the rear. But wait
until you read how cleverly this part of it had been arranged!
The marchers were unduly silent and those who knew nothing of the lawless
plan of the secret committee felt somehow that something must be wrong.
City Postmaster McCleary and a wicked-faced old man named Thompson were
seen carrying coils of rope. Thompson is a veteran of the Civil War and a
minister of God. On the witness stand he afterwards swore he picked up the
rope from the street and was carrying it "as a joke." It turned out that
the "joke" was on Wesley Everest.
"Be ready for the command 'eyes right' or 'eyes left' when we pass the
'reviewing stand'," Grimm told the platoon commanders just as the parade
started.
The procession covered most of the line of march without incident. When
the union hall was reached there was some craning of necks but no outburst
of any kind. A few of the out-of-town paraders looked at the place
curiously and several business men were seen pointing the hall out to
their friends. There were some dark glances and a few long noses but no
demonstration.
"When do we reach the reviewing stand?" asked a parader, named Joe Smith,
of a man marching beside him.
"Hell, there ain't any reviewing stand," was the reply. "We're going to
give the wobbly hall 'eyes right' on the way back."
The head of the columns reached Third avenue and halted. A command of
'about face' was given and the procession again started to march past the
union hall going in the opposite direction. The loggers inside felt
greatly relieved as they saw the crowd once more headed for the city. But
the Centralia and Chehalis contingents, that had headed the parade, was
now in the rear--just where the "scorpion sting" of the 1918 parade had
been located! The danger was not yet over.
"Let's go! At 'em, boys!"
The Chehalis division had marched past the hall and the Centralia division
was just in front of it when a sharp command was given. The latter stopped
squarely in front of the hall but the former continued to march.
Lieutenant Cormier of the secret committee was riding between the two
contingents on a bay horse. Suddenly he placed his fingers to his mouth
and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately there was a hoarse cry of "Let's
go-o-o! At 'em, boys!" About sixty feet separated the two contingents at
this time, the Chehalis men still continuing the march. Cromier spurred
his horse and overtook them. "Aren't you boys in on this?" he shouted.
At the words "Let's go," the paraders from both ends and the middle of the
Centralia contingent broke ranks and started on the run for the union
headquarters. A crowd of soldiers surged against the door. There was a
crashing of glass and a splintering of wood as the door gave way. A few of
the marauders had actually forced their way into the hall. Then there was
a shot, three more shots ... and a small volley. From Seminary hill and
the Avalon hotel rifles began to crack.
[Illustration: Elks Club, Centralia
It was here that the Centralia conspiracy was hatched and the notorious
"secret committee" appointed to do the dirty work.]
The mob stopped suddenly, astounded at the unexpected opposition. Out of
hundreds of halls that had been raided during the past two years this was
the first time the union men had attempted to defend themselves. It had
evidently been planned to stampede the entire contingent into the attack
by having the secret committeemen take the lead from both ends and the
middle. But before this could happen the crowd, frightened at the shots
started to scurry for cover. Two men were seen carrying the limp figure of
a soldier from the door of the hall. When the volley started they dropped
it and ran. The soldier was a handsome young man, named Arthur McElfresh.
He was left lying in front of the hall with his feet on the curb and his
head in the gutter. The whole thing had been a matter of seconds.
"I Had No Business Being There"
Several men had been wounded. A pool of blood was widening in front of the
doorway. A big man in officer's uniform was seen to stagger away bent
almost double and holding his hands over his abdomen. "My God, I'm shot!"
he had cried to the soldier beside him. This was Warren O. Grimm; the
other was his friend, Frank Van Gilder. Grimm walked unassisted to the
rear of a nearby soft drink place from whence he was taken to a hospital.
He died a short time afterwards. Van Gilder swore on the witness stand
that Grimm and himself were standing at the head of the columns of
"unoffending paraders" when his friend was shot. He stated that Grimm had
been his life-long friend but admitted that when his "life-long friend"
received his mortal wound that he (Van Gilder), instead of acting like a
hero in no man's land, had deserted him in precipitate haste. Too many eye
witnesses had seen Grimm stagger wounded from the doorway of the hall to
suit the prosecution. Van Gilder knew at which place Grimm had been shot
but it was necessary that he be placed at a convenient distance from the
hall. It is reported on good authority that Grimm, just before he died in
the hospital, confessed to a person at his bedside: "It served me right, I
had no business being there."
A workingman, John Patterson, had come down town on Armistice Day with his
three small children to watch the parade. He was standing thirty-five feet
from the door of the hall when the raid started. On the witness stand
Patterson told of being pushed out of the way by the rush before the
shooting began. He saw a couple of soldiers shot and saw Grimm stagger
away from the doorway wounded in the abdomen. The testimony of Dr.
Bickford at the corner's inquest under oath was as follows:
"I spoke up and said I would lead if enough would follow, but before I
could take the lead there were many ahead of me. Someone next to me put
his foot against the door and forced it open, after which a shower of
bullets poured through the opening about us." Dr. Bickford is an A.E.F.
man and one of the very few legionaires who dared to tell the truth about
the shooting. The Centralia business element has since tried repeatedly to
ruin him.
In trying to present the plea of self defense to the court, Defense
attorney Vanderveer stated:
"There was a rush, men reached the hall under the command of Grimm, and
yet counsel asks to have shown a specific overt act of Grimm before we can
present the plea of self-defense. Would he have had the men wait with
their lives at stake? The fact is that Grimm was there and in defending
themselves these men shot. Grimm was killed because he was there. They
could not wait. Your honor, self defense isn't much good after a man is
dead."
The prosecution sought to make a point of the fact that the loggers had
fired into a street in which there were innocent bystanders as well as
paraders. But the fact remains that the only men hit by bullets were those
who were in the forefront of the mob.