Wartime anti-radical feeling ran highest against the “Wobblies” (see this page). Their opposition to the war made it possible to call them traitors and German spies and to stir up popular sentiment against them. What happened in Centralia, Washington, is typical of many anti-Wobbly outbursts, although it was more dramatic in its outcome than most. When Wobblies first appeared in Centralia in 1918 they were denounced as an insult to patriotic sensibilities. Some men marching in a Red Cross parade attacked the newly opened I.W.W. Hall, beat up the Wobblies, and drove them out of town. The next year the Wobblies made plans to return, and in preparation the businessmen of Centralia, at the urging of the employers’ association of the state, formed a Citizens Protective League. In September, 1919, the IWW reopened its hall; in November, a secret committee of the Protective League, together with an American Legion unit, arranged for the Armistice Day parade to pass the Wobbly headquarters. When the Legionnaires reached the hall, they broke ranks and charged; the waiting Wobblies opened fire, killing three on the spot. Now the hall was destroyed, and Wobblies in Centralia and throughout the state were rounded up and jailed. One Wobbly, Wesley Everest, was taken from the Centralia jail and lynched.
The following account is taken from an IWW pamphlet by Walker C. Smith: Centralia (1925). See Robert Tyler: Rebels of the Woods: the IWW in the Pacific Northwest (1967).
The Chehalis division again passed the hall and kept on marching. The Centralia contingent on command stopped directly in front of the hall. Marshall Cormier—member of the secret committee—from his vantage point on a bay here cried in vexation to the Chahalis marchers, “What is the matter with you fellows? Aren’t you in on this?” Immediately he signaled with shrill whistle, there were shouts from the crowd, “Come on boys! Let’s get them!” and the mob rushed the I.W.W. hall, smashing the windows and breaking down the door. Then at last came the belated defense by I.W.W. members.
Grimm, shot in the abdomen, staggered unassisted to a nearby store and from there was taken to a hospital, where he died. Some claim he made a dying statement accepting blame for his actions.
McElfresh died almost instantly from a bullet wound in the head. Here again the testimony conflicts, some claiming that McElfresh was taken from inside the doorway of the I.W.W. hall where a bullet fired by Wesley Everest had laid him low.
Casagranda was shot while in the vicinity of the hall outside the line of march. Several others among the attacking party received slight wounds.
Dr. Bickford’s testimony at the inquest, as already given in these pages, is substantiated by the statements of Dr. Harold Y. Bell, another of the paraders. Bell said he heard shouts, saw the ranks break, and there followed a concerted move toward the I.W.W. hall.
“It seemed to me that it was at the same moment that I heard shots. The shooting and the movement of the men was as nearly simultaneous as any human acts could be.”
From a man favorable to the prosecution comes this evidence that the shouts and the breaking of ranks preceded any gunfire. From Bickford, also favorable to the prosecution, comes the vital fact that a raid upon the hall was the thought uppermost in the minds of the Centralia paraders. He had offered to head the paraders.
As before, the hall was gutted and its contents destroyed, with the exception of records from the desk of the I.W.W. secretary, which were put into the hands of Prosecutor Allen as he stood on the street at Second and Tower Avenue watching the property destruction.
Bert Faulkner attempted to leave the hall after the first onslaught had been checked by the firing. With one other exception the occupants of the hall sought refuge in a large disused ice-box in the rear of the hall, surrendering later to the authorities. The exception was Wesley Everest—quiet, grim, game; an ex-service man who seemed not to know such a thing as fear.
Everest left the hall by the rear door, firing as he went. He was through the mob at the rear before they recovered from their surprise. Threatening his pursuers with a still smoking revolver, he sped down the alley, rifle bullets zipping around him. The mob mistook Everest for Britt Smith, the I.W.W. secretary, against whom the conspirators had a deep grudge. The pursued man stopped to reload his weapon, then continued the running fight until the river was reached. He tried to ford the stream, but found the water too deep. Turning on his assailants, he waded to the bank and stood waiting with the last of his ammunition in the overheated gun. Raising his voice, he declared his willingness to submit to arrest to any constituted authority. But it was merely a mob that confronted the man at bay. On came the pursuing group, one man in a soldier’s uniform some distance in the lead. Everest took careful aim and fired. The crowd halted, but the single man sped on. Twice more Everest pierced the on-coming man. Twice again he fired and Dale Hubbard, nephew of the chief conspirator in the raid, fell dead at his very feet. Game as grit, the defenseless ex-soldier awaited the coming of his mob-maddened “buddies.”
Everest’s trip to the jail was marked by blows, kicks, and curses. With the butt of a rifle his front teeth were rammed into his throat. A rope was thrown around his neck, but with the defiance that had been his throughout the whole time of the raid, Everest said: “You haven’t got the guts to lynch a man in the daytime.”
The Lynching of Wesley Everest
Night told a different story, however. Maimed and bleeding in the cell next to his fellow workers, the hours passed slowly for Everest. Late that night the lights of the city were suddenly extinguished from the power plant. The outer door of the city jail was smashed in. No attempt was made to stop the lynchers. Staggering erect, Wesley Everest said to the other prisoners, “Tell the boys I died for my class.”
A brief struggle. Many blows. A sound of dragging. The purring of high powered automobiles. Then a sudden return of light to the darkened city.
The autos reached the Chehalis River bridge. To the steel framework one end of a rope was tied, the other end being noosed around Everest’s neck. With a brutal kick the semi-conscious man was hurled from the bridge. A pause. The body was hauled up, revealing the fact that Everest still had a spark of life. A longer rope was attached to the first and the brutal process repeated. With Everest dead, the corpse was raised and a third rope attached before the ghouls again flung the body from the bridge. An automobile headlight was trained upon the dead man, plainly revealing that some sadist more demoniacal than his fellow degenerates had ripped Everest’s sexual organs almost loose from the body with some sharp instrument during the auto trip to the bridge. There under the glare of that headlight the corpse was riddled with bullets.
Later the rope was cut, allowing the mutilated body to fall into the river.