An interesting parallel in disasters and mob response

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From Sunday's San Francisco Chronicle.

As San Franciscans prepare to celebrate the centennial of the city's triumph over the great earthquake and fire of 1906, we are reminded by events in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina of the darker side to such cataclysms.

When San Francisco Mayor Eugene Schmitz made his way down Market Street on April 18, 1906, on the morning of the disaster, he observed saloons in full swing and evidence that looting had already taken place. He ordered that all alcohol sales be suspended.

Army Gen. Frederick Funston, realizing that the disaster was beyond the ability of city officials to deal with, immediately -- and on his own initiative -- ordered 2,000 troops from the Presidio into the city to maintain order. Mayor Schmitz issued a written proclamation later that day declaring that looters should be shot on sight.

The first looter was shot while trying to break into Shreve's Jewelry Store at Post and Grant streets at 10 a.m. on April 18. During the next few days, according to official counts, nine men were shot by military and volunteer forces. Not all were looters.

A relief worker returning from a visit to his family in San Mateo with a Red Cross flag prominently displayed on his automobile was shot dead by a group of volunteers at 22nd and Guerrero.

Joseph Mayer, superintendent at the Children's playground, was killed by a National Guard corporal at Eighth and Harrison streets in what appears to have been an altercation about whose authority should prevail.

A retired National Guard captain killed a man carrying a chicken -- the captain incorrectly thought it was stolen -- at Lombard and East Street (now the Embarcadero). Frank Riordan was shot and killed on Cedar Street by a National Guardsman with whom he had a verbal confrontation.

Cadet Irvine Aten, who had come from Berkeley with the UC Cadet Corps to help with relief, was shot by a drunken soldier at Polk and Eddy streets, but he survived. Police Officer John Alpers was shot in the arm by a group of volunteers when he questioned their authority to carry firearms.

Some reports were exaggerated. One survivor claimed that 10 looters had been shot at the Shreve's break-in. A contemporary Oakland Tribune account of 14 killed while attacking the Mint at Fifth and Mission is known to be false.

Still, it's probable that substantially more were killed than official counts recorded.

Despite the shootings, order was reasonably well maintained during the three days of the cataclysm, according to most accounts.

But afterward, the city suffered a crime wave.

Immediately after the quake, thousands of San Franciscans left town. Almost 200,000 of them took advantage of the free transportation furnished by the Southern Pacific Railroad. An additional 100,000 camped in the parks and graveyards in the less-damaged western portion of the city.

In a stroke, the city's population was reduced by half. And with no tax base to pay them, 20 percent of the city's police officers were forced to take leaves of absence.

By summer, the military was withdrawn, and the saloons reopened. With the infusion of ready money in the form of insurance payments, an attitude of "Eat, drink and make merry" seized the town. The ferries that had transported San Francisco families to Oakland a few months earlier returned with a less savory passenger list.

Rumors "of a thieves' paradise," says chronicler Walton Bean, "had increased the number of criminals, by attracting newcomers from all over the country." Human scavengers prowled the unlighted downtown ruins, looking for targets of opportunity. The St. Francis Hotel warned its guests not to venture more than a block from the building after dark, for fear they would be robbed.

"That this city has become a refuge for desperate criminals is evident," bristled a contemporary editorial. "The city is infested with people who do not work and are well supplied with money. Brutal robberies occur in broad daylight and in crowded streets."

"Hardware dealers sold an estimated 20,000 pistols in one month," says writer Lately Thomas, "and women walked the streets clutching long hatpins." Their fears were not unfounded.

On Oct. 9, 1906, The Chronicle reported on a "Crimson Record of Two Months of Unchecked Crime in San Francisco," enumerating a long list of unpunished violent crimes occurring in all sections of the city. Most vicious was a series of commercial robbery/ murders committed by the "gas pipe gang," so named because of the weapon they used to bludgeon their victims.

In response to the crisis, officers placed on leave were returned to duty. At a special meeting of the Police Commission on Oct. 10, Chief of Police Jeremiah Dinan was given his marching orders. "His tenure of office will be short," predicted the commission," unless he proves himself able to cope with the present situation."

Dinan didn't flinch. He ordered his men to take their guns and clubs to "idlers and criminals around the refugee camps." Every man or youth who could not give a satisfactory explanation of his activities, the chief said, was to be put on a ferry to Oakland

Historians have criticized Gen. Funston for moving his forces into the city without legal authority. And Mayor Schmitz has been roundly criticized for his order to shoot looters. Chief Dinan has been faulted for his crime prevention methods as well.

But if the lawlessness that followed the earthquake and fire is illustrative of how people act when the social fabric is torn, the citizens of New Orleans might benefit from the presence of such men today.