Q. Did a Japanese submarine really travel through downtown
Gilroy during World War II?
Q. Did a Japanese submarine really travel through downtown Gilroy during World War II?
A. The day was Nov. 19, 1942. Called a “Tojo Cigar,” the two-man sub on top of a flat-bed truck stopped for a few hours in front of Gilroy’s City Hall at the corner of Monterey and Sixth streets.
The Imperial Japanese Navy’s midget submarine Haramaki 19 was captured by the U.S. Navy on Dec. 8, 1941, the day after Pearl Harbor.
It was in good enough condition for the U.S. Treasury Department to send it on a publicity tour across the nation to encourage Americans to buy war bonds. Here in the South Valley, locals viewed it up close to see two mannequins dressed as Japanese sailors to represent the crew. A local woman even pasted war bond stamps on the vessel’s hull that spelled “GILROY, CALIF.”
According to the book “Gilroy’s Old City Hall,” published by the Gilroy Historical Society, an advertisement published in the Gilroy Advocate called the vessel “America’s first prize of war.” With racist tones, the advertisement claimed the submarine was “designed as a suicide ship and a secret weapon by the little yellow men.”
After World War II, the submarine spent the next 24 years as an exhibit at the Key West Lighthouse Museum in Florida.
In the 1980s, ownership was transferred the National Park Service, which restored it after years of weathering with plans to place it on exhibit at the USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
Q. Why is there a large bell on a grave at the San Juan Bautista Cemetery?
A: You might think a bell as a grave marker is a very strange thing to see. However, when you know the comical story behind this anomaly, you will understand how the large iron bell came to grace the grave of Mr. Roscoe Hodgdon.
In the 19th Century, Hodgdon owned a carpenter shop in the little village of San Juan Bautista. He also served as a member of the community’s volunteer fire department and proudly battled local fires on its brigade.
One year, the town’s fire department decided to buy a bell that could be rung on occasions of conflagrations so that all the volunteer firemen could be rounded up. For some reason, the bell was installed at the front porch of Hodgdon’s home.
Hodgdon had a love for imbibing alcohol, and use to frequently go on “periodicals,” as Isaac Mylar diplomatically described him in the book “Early Days at the Mission San Juan Bautista.” Late one night, the carpenter returned home from a binge. “In a spirit of exhilaration,” Mylar wrote, “he struck the bell with a hand-axe and the impact broke the bell.”
As you can imagine, the town was not too pleased with Hodgdon’s action. The community officials called a meeting to address the situation and decided that because Hodgdon had broke the bell, he must pay for it.
Hodgdon agreed to the deal. But he stipulated that his new purchase must be placed at the head of his grave. When he died around the year 1880, his friends carried out his wishes. At the funeral, the firemen placed the dead carpenter inside his coffin on the horse-drawn fire truck. This was rolled along its way to the cemetery followed by a musical band that played a burial dirge. Hodgdon found his final resting spot under the bell he’d bought.
Q. Was the famous Mexican bandit Tiburcio Vásquez really hung from a tree in Morgan Hill?
A: Local South Valley legend describes Vásquez being hung from a tree at the old 21 Mile House stage stop located at what’s now Monterey Street and Tennant Avenue. As colorful as it might sound, it’s an untrue tale.
Vásquez began his career in crime in 1852 at age 17 when he became indirectly involved with the killing of an American constable named William Hardmount during a fight at a Monterey fandango. He and his older cousin Anastacio Garcia decided to flee the “vigilance committee” that had lynched a third man named Herrara who had unluckily been present at Hardmount’s death.
Vásquez soon turned to rustling horses, a crime similar to stealing cars today. He stole hundreds of horses and sold them. This activity, however, soon led to his capture by a sheriff’s posse near the California community of Newhall. He spent five years behind bars at San Quentin Prison.
Upon his release, he continued his bandito lifestyle with newly-gained knowledge he learned from other prisoners. Besides being a horse thief, he also became a stage coach robber and a holdup man. Much of his takings he allegedly gave to his poor fellow Mexicans, thus giving him a kind of romantic Robin Hood legend.
Vásquez was considered a relatively harmless criminal for much of his career. Unfortunately, in 1873 in the village of Tres Pinos a few miles south of Hollister, he and his gang decided to commit a robbery. Their endeavor went horribly wrong and three victims were shot dead.
Governor Newton Booth created a posse and offered a $1,000 reward for Vásquez’s capture. This sum would grow to $8,000 as the bandit successfully dodged capture. Finally, he was caught in the area that now makes up West Hollywood in Southern California.
Vásquez was brought to the Santa Clara Courthouse in San Jose to stand trial. He claimed innocence for the murders. During the trial, a note was found in a Wells Fargo box signed by Cleovaro Chavez, one of Vasquez’s gang members. Chavez claimed that he and not Vásquez had committed the Tres Pinos murders.
During the sensational case, Vasquez’s fame as a folk hero grew. Thousands of women adored him and visited his jail cell where he signed autographs and posed for photos with them.
Despite Chavez’s letter, the jury found Vásquez guilty. The bandit was hung in a public execution at the San Jose jail at exactly 1:30pm on March 19, 1875.
