A killer created a sensation in an L.A. jail

A jailed murder suspect poses for a series of photographs to be sold to the public, then becomes the subject of a quickie biography, then confers behind bars with an actor who wants to dramatize his life on stage.

Sounds like the story of a modern-day headline-maker. But the subject was actually an Old West outlaw named Tiburcio Vasquez, who spent 10 memorable days in a Los Angeles hoosegow in 1874.

He had been captured after a shootout at the adobe of an acquaintance, “Greek George” Caralambo, an ex-camel driver for the U.S. Army.

The adobe was near what is now Melrose Place — though it wasn’t such a trendy area back then.

Whether Vasquez was betrayed by Greek George for reward money or by a jealous lover isn’t known.

But the bandit found himself behind bars in the City of Angels, awaiting transport to Northern California to face charges for an 1873 robbery in which three people had been killed.

His appearance “created a public sensation,” historian John Boessenecker notes in his colorful new biography, “Bandido: The Life and Times of Tiburcio Vasquez.”

After two decades of gunplay, robberies, manhunts, prison breaks (four from San Quentin alone) and love affairs, he was known across the country.

Although Vasquez was revered by some as a Robin Hood-like figure, Boessenecker found evidence that he had a hand in crimes in which at least nine people were killed.

Gawkers descended on the jail and William Rowland, Los Angeles County’s half-Latino sheriff, “allowed one and all to visit Vasquez in his cell,” Boessenecker writes.

San Francisco newspaperman George Beers recalled that the handsome Vasquez attracted “a number of first-class ladies, all of whom were evidently charmed with the prisoner’s excessive politeness.” Some handed him bouquets.

Wounded in the shootout, Vasquez was in no shape to attempt an escape from jail. Besides, there were so many media requests. The San Francisco photography studio of Bradley & Rulofson notified him, via Beers, that if the outlaw “would provide them with a negative,” they would have photos printed for the public “and Tiburcio would receive 25% of the profits,” Boessenecker writes. Vasquez agreed.

On May 18, four days after his capture, photographer Valentin Wolfenstein arrived at the jail.

“Tiburcio was strong enough to get out of bed and walk slowly but painfully to a shady spot behind the jail,” Boessenecker relates. “He sat in a chair while Wolfenstein set up his heavy camera. Two photographs were taken.”

But the next day, when Beers asked Wolfenstein for the negatives, the latter “refused to hand them over and instead began printing photographs and selling them himself at 25 cents each. He gave nothing to Vasquez and even had the photographs copyrighted.”

The scheming shutterbug then fled, intending, it was said, to visit relatives in Sweden.

Meanwhile, “with a speed that would put the modern true-crime publishers to shame,” Boessenecker observes, journalist Ben Truman knocked out a biography of Vasquez in six days.

The book, consisting primarily of newspaper articles, was 44 pages long and written in both English and Spanish.

A run of 8,000 copies quickly sold out.

Also fascinated with Vasquez was playwright-actor Samuel Piercey. He visited the outlaw, then wrote a short drama, “The Capture of Vasquez,” for the Merced Theater downtown.

Piercey cast himself to play Vasquez.

The outlaw was so flattered, Boessenecker writes, that he “lent his garments to the actor and allowed him to study his personality and voice so as to better impersonate him.”

One story has it that, to ensure even greater authenticity, Vasquez volunteered to play the role himself, but, of course, Sheriff Rowland wouldn’t have had any of that.

“The play debuted on May 23, much to the amusement of Angelenos, but had a very short run,” Boessenecker writes.

The day after it opened, Vasquez , accompanied by Rowland, set sail for Northern California.

Arriving in San Francisco, Vasquez posed for more photographs by Bradley & Rulofson, and this time he received money, which he used for his defense.

He learned that Wolfenstein, the double-crossing photographer, had been intercepted in the City by the Bay on his way to Sweden and given a “sound thrashing.”

One newsman wrote, “This … seemed to please Tiburcio highly.”

After a change of venue, Vasquez, 39, was tried in San Jose for three murders in Hollister, in San Benito County. He insisted he shot no one, but a jury found him guilty after three hours of deliberation. An appeal to have his sentence commuted was denied by Gov. Romualdo Pacheco.

Vasquez was hanged March 19, 1875, before an audience that included newsmen from across the United States and one from Canada.

He was wearing a new pair of black trousers he had been given. “Too tight, Captain,” he said with a smile when he first tried them on, “but as I shan’t wear them long it don’t make much difference.”

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