“We Carried Out These Sacred Duties With the Utmost Solemnity and Reverence”: Some History of the Old Calvary Cemetery, Los Angeles, 1856-1896, Part Three

by Paul R. Spitzzeri

In the aftermath of a late June 1856 Calvary Cemetery controversy in which Rev. Vicente Llover filed a misdemeanor criminal complaint at the court of Justice of the Peace Russell Sackett against two men, Rafael González and Santiago Sánchez, who broke open the gate of the burial ground to inter a woman who’d been excommunicated from the Catholic Church and the jury’s decision that the defendants were not only innocent, but that Llover was guilty of a malicious prosecution bringing a hefty fine, commentary was offered in the two Los Angeles newspapers, the Star, published in English and the Spanish-language El Clamor Público.

Both were critical of the decision, though a letter to the editor of the former defended the actions in court. This third part of our post, however, finds that correspondents to the latter, and there were eight, were not only overwhelmingly on the side of Llover, but addressed broader concerns about the Angel City’s Latino community concerning the criminal justice system a decade after the United States seized Los Angeles during the Mexican-American War. This makes the commentary remarkable and instructive beyond the immediate concern involving the cemetery.

“A Christian” wrote to Francisco P. Ramírez, the 19-year-old proprietor of the paper, that “ecclesiastical burial is regarded as an extension of Christian communion—a bond that endures even after the death” and inquired “how could the Church—that loving mother—neglect her children after they have died.” They writer remarked that there were the “dutiful children” of the Church and “perverse, rebellious children who disowned their mother and died impenitent [and, therefore,] are excluded” from the state of grace in which Catholics in good standing died. Given this, the argument continued, “it is unreasonable to expect, at the moment of death, the benefits of a society one has scorned throughout one’s life.”

The prohibition against burial in a consecrated Catholic cemetery tied to communion included not just those outside the religion, but “manifest apostates, heretics, and schismatics” as well as the excommunicated and “those who commit suicide, unless it is established that the act was committed while they were insane,” along with duelists, “public usurers,” and thieves killed in the act. Notably, two decades later, Homestead owner William Workman, who took his life after the failure of his Los Angeles bank, was buried at his private El Campo Santo, which, though, was blessed less than a year after this letter, by Bishop Thaddeus Amat as St. Nicholas’ Chapel was being constructed.

“A Christian” continued that cemeteries were Church property and under the general authority of bishops, while consecration could not happen until an official deed was consummated and, it was remarked, “when cemeteries have been relocated outside of populated areas for reasons of public health,” or when full, hearkening to the 1844 removal of what was also called the Campo Santo from the south side of the Plaza Church to its current location, “the Church’s rights have not been altered.” Moreover, it was asserted,

Sacred burial grounds are profaned by the very act of interring a body unworthy of that privilege; they lose their blessing, and cannot be reconsecrated as long as that body remains within them.

Returning to Workman, his grandson Walter P. Temple renovated El Campo Santo from 1919 to 1921 and, when a mausoleum was completed where the chapel formerly stood, Bishop John J. Cantwell administered a blessing (as he did at the end of 1923 at La Casa Nueva, the Temple family residence, then in the early stages of building).

As to the defendants in the case, it was noted that

The perpetrators and accomplices of these flagrant violations—who have flouted illegitimate authority—deserve ecclesiastical punishment for desecrating a sacred place as well as civil penalties for breaking the locks on a cemetery gate—a site that even the most barbaric peoples know to respect through natural instinct alone.

The missive then concluded that “these rules and rights prevail throughout the Catholic world and are also upheld by the constitutions of the United States and the State of California.”

A correspondent, under the name of “Guadalupe Hidalgo,” pointedly referring to the treaty that ended the Mexican-American War and which included the assertion of rights conveyed to subjects of seized Mexican territory (this was 55% of México), found the decision in the Justice’s Court proceeding to be “a very strange and curious matter.” It was asked “who was the criminal? The person who broke down the gate, or the priest?” Additionally, it was asserted that the unidentified woman who was buried at Calvary “had been outside the Church for more than five years . . . and who unfortunately passed away without the last sacraments or confession, despite having ample time during their illness to request and receive them.”

Because of the ruling that Father Llover had to pay the defendant’s legal costs, it was inquired, “do the laws of this country not protect the Catholic religion and the property of Catholics just as they do any other sect or any other kind of property?” The short missive wondered if there was justice in the verdict and if the rendering of the decision was “truly in accordance with American law,” as the writer ended with,

We, the Californios, have never heard of such a thing before, and we wish to understand this peculiar procedure so that we may know how to proceed in the future. Please be so kind as to explain it to us.

Under the heading of “A Word to the Justices of the Peace,” a writer subscribed as Hijo del Pais, or Son of the Country, meaning a Californio, alluded to “my friend Guadalupe Hidalgo” having shown his letter, inspiring a response. There were rumors that Llover “did not file his suit correctly” because “his complaint was regarding one offense when it should have been regarding another, though what this latter was did not get explained.

Hijo del Pais then turned to a matter that was frequently cited as core to the issue of the challenges faced by Latinos with American justice soon after the taking of Mexican Alta California:

We Californios are not lawyers or clerks; generally, we are ranchers and farmers . You, gentlemen, were elected because we were told you were wise men who knew all the laws. We know very little about them—and for good reason. The laws are not printed in our language; consequently, we cannot read them. Yet, we do not believe we are exactly mad: we wish to follow the laws of eternal justice.

While there were a few Latinos in the criminal justice system, including former County Judge Agustín Olvera and attorney Manuel Clemente Rojo, during the earlier Fifties, there was definitely a reliance on Americans in positions of authority. The remark about occupations seems to show that the writer was from the upper classes of Spanish speakers in the Angel City, while the question of laws available in Spanish involves access, as California statutes were published in that language at the time and El Clamor Público frequently presented ordenanzas, or city ordinances, in its columns—whether Angel City Latinos were aware of these is one question, as well as the matter of rates of illiteracy at the time.

There were, however, more concerns, including another query of “what must we do when we appear before your august tribunals to lodge complaints against a murdered, a thief, or men committing depredations upon our properties?” as it was added, “thank God, we still have some possessions left.” Moreover, it was asked, “must we pay a lawyer double the value of our properties before you deign to hear us,” while hiring an interpreter, a very common part of court proceedings, involved, it was claimed, those who were “acting in bad faith.” After intimating that Los Angeles Latinos had to “spend days and nights studying before approaching your exalted courts,” the writer expressed further frustrations that likely reflected broader concerns in that community, comprising the great majority of Angelenos:

Is there a way to prevent a crime before it is committed? Or must we wait until our house is demolished or our herd of horses sold at auction before we say a word to our authorities? If that is the case, it would be better to sell everything we own as soon as possible—or to call a meeting of all the lawyers, justices of the peace, and so forth, in the Plaza next Sunday, and simply divide our property among you. We are fools to pay takes on it. In all sincerity, I am eager to know: what legal means exist in your courts to prevent the commission of crimes?

Defending the Rev. Llover, Hijo del Pais continued that “the Reverend Father speaks and writes very little English. How could he possibly know the contents of our law books? To whom should he have turned for advice when he appeared in court?” The Star noted that attorney William W. Handlin, who was tutoring the priest in English, was involved in the prosecution, so must have advised Llover, though how effectively is another matter.

Another notable comment dealt with the differences between the Mexican civil law system and that of American common law, as well as local practices before 1847, whether as stated or not is a fair question, as it was remarked that,

When we had alcaldes [a rough equivalent of an American mayor, but with greater judicial power] in Los Angeles, they listened to us patiently, carefully investigated all the facts in question, and courteously told us whether we could obtain justice for our grievances—or whether those grievances were real or imaginary. They did not issue orders haphazardly, nor did they fine us if it turned out they had been mistaken. In those days, crime was prevented just as often as it was punished. And why is it not that way now?

When it came to the Calvary case, though, the verdict of the jury and Sackett’s subsequent order was considered a miscarriage of justice, as the correspondent went on,

If the Justice of the Peace’s duty resembles that of our old-style magistrates—if he is guardian and preserver of the public peace, the foe of crime, and the protector of person and property against violent mobs—then who is to blame for failing to issue an arrest warrant for the offense committed by those disturbers of the public peace—those who insulted religion, decency, order, and our most cherished rights? If the honorable judge does not understand Spanish, why does he not have an interpreter? And if he does understand it, why does he not take care to fully grasp the nature of the complaint? I cannot comprehend how an error could have occurred in this matter had the officials performed their duties carefully and patiently, with the aim of preventing or punishing the outrage committed against the Reverend Father’s rights as parish priest. No, if there was any error, it lay with the Justice of the Peace.

As he wrapped up, Hijo del Pais exhorted the town’s judges to “ascertain all the particulars of the matter before issuing your orders and commencing proceedings; at the very least, grant us the opportunity to explain fully all we have to say.” His closing remarks could well have resounded throughout the Angel City’s Spanish-speaking community:

And if, through your own error, we fail to obtain justice, then—if you wish—let you pay the costs, gentlemen; but do not ruin us Californios through your negligence or mistakes. It is hard enough to lose our property or be insulted while exercising our rights. Yet it is harder still—and a greater insult—to be asked to pay the legal costs while the criminal and the magistrate laugh at our naivety for having trusted in your laws and the way you administer them.

A correspondent using the name “Public Vengeance” offered a powerful, observation under the title of “Let Justice Be Done, Though the Heavens Fall!” in which it was asserted that, in the Llover proceeding, “the jurors were young men, all selected with great haste in a matter of minutes, and, it seems, without much reflection on their part” as they rendered their verdict.

Because of this, it was flatly stated, “these decisions raised doubts as to whether American laws are just” because “injustice arises from their poor application” as “demonstrated in the present case.” The writer, who clearly was far more aware of statutes than was asserted above, then reviewed applicable state laws before asserting that, “truly, there seems to have been a clear determination to set the accused free” while “the entire proceedings reveal a certain attitude that reflects poorly on the authorities.”

“Public Vengeance” commented that “the most absurd part is that the jurors dared to claim the Father acted with malice!!!” and concluded

Everyone knows that the Reverend Father is a young man who has just arrived from Spain, is unfamiliar with American laws, and speaks very little English; he simply presented himself to the civil authorities and gave an account of what had occurred, without any malice or bad faith.

“Dos Amigos” provided an instructive and useful “Construction of the Cemetery” by noting that, “by 1843, the accumulation of so many corpses in the city’s only cemetery—located beside the parish church—had become a matter of concern for the local residents; fearing that putrid, noxious vapors might infect the population, a proposal was made to build a new church-affiliated cemetery at a location away from the city center.” It was added that “prominent citizens” petitioned the Ayuntamiento, equivalent to the Common (City) Council operating in 1856, for a new campo santo and that this governing body “forwarded the original document to the Most Reverend and Illustrious Bishop, seeking his approval.”

This as done and the grounds were established “at the municipality’s expense” and “handed over to the Church” in 1844 upon which “the Parish Priest blessed it in accordance with ritual formulas, accepted the keys, and assumed the exclusive possession that belonged to him, thereby establishing the new cemetery in place of the old one.” The letter ended with the explanation that a controversy then arose when “the parish priest demanded a fee—known as the fábrica or burial fee—established by the Bishop in accordance with applicable ancient regulations and intended for church repairs.”

The Ayuntamiento balked and the matter went to the Governor,” though whether it was Manuel Micheltorena, who was in office in 1844, or Pío Pico, who seized the office by force, in February 1845, was not stated. With consent of the Asamblea, or Assembly, of what was officially the Department of Alta California,

The Governor ruled definitively in favor of the Illustrious Town Council, thereby exempting Catholics from the fee and leaving the Church in peaceful possession of the current cemetery for the ensuing twelve years.

A correspondent denoted as “Pueblo” concisely requested city officials to “explain the authority” and “whether any purely civil order preceded” the breaking of the lock to the gate and the interment because, “it is widely rumored that you are fully apprised of the circumstances that led those responsible to commit this outrageous act.” The writer continued that, “a reply from you is essential, for we believe that any officials found culpable in the discharge of their duties must remain accountable” for any actions that may have encouraged or legitimized what transpired at Calvary.

“An Observer” was also terse in providing the sole defense of González and Sánchez “whose only ‘error’ was to oppose the abuses of a parish priest,” with Llover accused of a “repeated failure to fulfill the duties of his religious calling” that mean his tendency to “stumble into the darkest and most tortuous pitfalls, thereby further discrediting that holy and pure religion.” The defendants and their supporters were, it was claimed “a righteous people who never abandoned reason” and who “acted with the prudence and good judgment required in such situations, consulting the principal authorities at every step.” How this latter was accomplished, however, was left unexplained.

Not only that, but it was asserted that the deceased was “a Catholic woman who was steadfast in her faith and who, even in her final moments, remained true to those devout and sacred sentiments, requesting a confessor—who granted absolution, as was to be expected.” Who the priest was remained unidentified, but “An Observer” asked, “if this reverend father heard her confession and absolved her, could the Church truly be considered defiled?” He concluded that the deceased’s body was “rightfully entitled to its place within the sacred grounds alongside the others” and insisted that “the funeral procession was composed of highly distinguished and honorable individuals—including ladies of great standing and sound principles—and was conducted with the solemnity and reverence witnessed by the public.”

Lastly, “A Mexican” expressed indignation that “Civis,” the correspondent to the Star, descended so low as to “heap unheard-of insults and outrages upon Mexicans” and added that “we would say that such prejudice against our race pained us—were this something new—but this sentiment against us is of such long standing and so deeply ingrained that we view it with the utmost contempt.” The burial was, it was argued, “was undertaken to uphold the violated rights of a cultured people claiming them on the basis of reason, Catholic law, and the laws of the land” and that the “group of forty Mexicans—whom the author of said statement scornfully labels a ‘rabble’—actually represented a segment of the finest moral and Christian society.”

The problem was exacerbated, the writer averred when the Rev. Anacleto Lestrade, the Plaza Church priest, “turned a deaf ear to justice and reason” regarding the burial request—this was the first time Lestrade’s name was mentioned in the matter, beyond the role of Rev. Llover. The mourners then went to city officials and it turned out that “A Mexican” was one of the party as it was added that the group “sought to persuade these officials of the soundness of good intent of our cause, asking permission to exercise our just rights by granting sacred burial to a fellow parishioner—one who fully shared the faith of Jesus Christ and who, in her final moments, had received absolution from her confessor.” This led to a remarkable conclusion:

If the multitude of Mexicans—or that clumsy, ignorant rabble—violated the laws of our sacred religion by breaking down the gates of the cemetery designated for the faithful, it was done—contrary to the Star columnist’s view—with the consent of knowledgeable authorities who understood their duty and were moved by the legitimacy of the cause, rather than by fear of a rioting mob, as the author of that statement supposes. That individual is mistaken in claiming that only Mexicans stood up for this cause; the group consisted largely of native Californians and Europeans, armed with nothing but reason. Fully aware of the justice of our position, and accompanied by a multitude of ladies of good sense and distinction, we carried out these sacred duties with the utmost solemnity and reverence.

Whatever the merits of either side constituted in this remarkable case, the controversy engendered viewpoints that extended beyond the specifics of the disputed interment at Calvary in June 1856 and included concerns about the question of justice for Latinos in Los Angeles courts, as well as what comprised authority when it came to the Campo Santo. The reference to the 1840s fight between the Plaza Church clergy and the Ayuntamiento over the fábrica (burial fee) may have provided a rationale for the 1856 decision, though the question of excommunication was also critical. Moreover, Llover (and Lestrade by implication) could have appealed the verdict to the higher Court of Sessions though nothing was found regarding this and Llover soon left Los Angeles for San Diego.

As this third part of the post was being prepared, an article was located from El Clamor Público from 28 June that identified the deceased woman at the center of the issue—there was no specific mention of Calvary, or Campo Santo, which is why it was missed. The piece noted that, on the 19th, Micaela Quintero died, and her family and friends applied to Rev. Lestrade, but he refused her burial specifically because she married outside the Church. Moreover, it was reported that attorneys Myron Norton and Ezra Drown, representing González and Sánchez, based their defense on the idea that “the cemetery had been built at the municipality’s expense” so the priests had no legal standing to prosecute the case.

Publisher Ramírez sided with the clergy on the matter, as was noted earlier in the post, though he also criticized Lestrade for announcing from the pulpit at Sunday Mass that there were prominent citizens (merchant Francis Mellus and lawyer Jonathan R. Scott) that owned him money, though why the two incidents were combined in one article is uncertain unless the Ramírez was trying to assert journalistic fairness. In any case, we’ll return next with more early history of Calvary Cemetery, so look for that.