Battle of Wills : Death of Dairywoman Triggers Legal Feud Over Oceanside Ranch

Dusk had settled over Ellen Whelan’s life.

For years, she had been the quintessential pioneer woman, as familiar with a pitchfork as a frying pan, tending almost single-handedly her rustic dairy perched on the lush northern banks of the San Luis Rey River.

Well into her 80s, the spirited Whelan had come under the grip of Alzheimer’s disease. She became disoriented; reality was a rare companion. Visitors welcomed as cherished friends one day were chased off as intruders the next. She had lost sight in one eye, and a cataract was steadily dimming the other.

Into those final years came Ivan Wood. An experienced dairyman who had known Whelan since his youth, Wood in 1980 was named conservator of her 323-acre ranch. Soon, friends recall, he began modernizing the dairy, expanding its herd. And in 1983, Wood’s authority was extended beyond the cows--the court appointed him guardian of the increasingly feeble woman as well.

His dedication apparently paid off. After Whelan died at 85 on New Year’s Eve, a will drafted in 1981 surfaced. It left the bulk of her estate--valued at $6 million to $9 million--to Ivan Wood.

There was only one hitch--an earlier will, signed by Whelan in 1975. In that document, the feisty former schoolteacher directed that virtually all her assets go toward the establishment of a bird sanctuary on her property, which includes a lake that has long been a magnet for migratory waterfowl.

The dispute over the two vastly different wills has mushroomed into a major legal conflict, pitting Wood against the state attorney general, who is charged with defending “charitable gifts” such as the proposed Whelan Lake Bird Sanctuary. A trial to determine which of the wills truly represents Whelan’s wishes begins Aug. 19.

The legal finale will cap a tale that one attorney compared to “a real juicy episode of Dallas.” Indeed, interviews and a review of reams of court documents reveal a story marked by shifting allegiances, broken promises and allegations of greed.

It was the turn of the century when Ellen Douglas Whelan came into the world, theyoungest of seven children of a Riverside County farmer. Six years later, the Whelans bought a fertile slice of farmland in the San Luis Rey Valley. The family relocated, and a dairy was begun.

After mastering her ABCs at a local Catholic girls school, Whelan was sent off to a parochial high school up north, then on to UCLA. Upon graduation, she landed a teaching job in Los Angeles.

Meanwhile, the Whelan brothers looked after the family dairy, which straddles Pilgrim Creek and borders the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base. But in 1935, old friends say, brother Douglas Whelan pricked his finger on a garden rose and died of blood poisoning.

Three years later, brother John succumbed to a heart attack--allegedly induced by his excitement at winning $1,000 at the race track. Sister Lillian, or “Billy,” took over for a spell, but pneumonia soon claimed her life.

So Ellen’s classroom career was cut short. By the late 1930s, the slight, brown-haired woman many knew as “Toots” held the reins at the Whelan Ranch Dairy.

It was, friends and neighbors say, a hard life that suited her well. She thrived on it, feeding, milking, buying, selling, breeding and herding her Holstein cows with a fierce determination that helped her mute the cries of skeptics and overcome inexperience.

Clad perennially in Levi’s, scuffed boots, an oversized work shirt and a battered Stetson, Whelan--who never married--was a striking figure in a tough industry rarely mastered by women. Although friends say she never hurt a fly, her independence and gruff, no-nonsense manner often evoked comparisons to the pistol-packing Annie Oakley.

“People in town would call her eccentric,” said Ernie Taylor, a longtime friend and the former assistant city manager of Oceanside. “Well, seems to me when people begin to battle for their rights--especially a woman in a man’s world--they’re suddenly eccentric.”

In the early years, the dairy turned a profit. A foresighted woman, Whelan used her earnings to acquire surrounding land, on which her cattle grazed. At one point, she owned almost 900 acres and leased pastureland from Camp Pendleton as well. She won gold medals for the best milk in the county and bred prize-winning calves.

But more often than not, Whelan struggled to make ends meet. Her life--spent in a simple turn-of-the-century wooden house once owned by Pio Pico, the last Mexican governor of California--reflected it.

“She was a survivor, and she lived pretty close to the earth,” said Mits Nagata, an Oceanside farmer who once leased land from Whelan. “Money and fancy things didn’t matter to her. Everything at that ranch was old, the roof on that house was rotted clear through. That’s the way she liked it.”

But by 1974, the financial picture at the dairy was one of “dire straits,” said Sheldon Tyson, Whelan’s longtime friend and financial adviser. She faced a debt in excess of $1 million, and property taxes were eating her alive.

“If it wasn’t for all the land she owned, she never would have gotten the loans necessary to keep the dairy operating,” Tyson said. “So, with much reluctance, she agreed to dispose of some of her property to retire her debt.”

She sold 70 acres to the City of Oceanside for a sewage treatment plant and gave the city 75 acres for a municipal golf course.

Tyson arranged the sale of about 440 acres to Irvine developer John Lusk, who built a subdivision and named it Whelan Ranch. In 1976, Whelan’s remaining 323 acres were designated an agricultural preserve under the Williamson Act, which provides tax breaks for land retained for agricultural purposes.

“This was all part of her plan,” Tyson said. “She wanted to ensure her land remained undeveloped so there would be a preserve for the birds.”

The birds. Along with her huge pack of dogs and cattle, the thousands of migratory birds that rested each winter at Whelan Lake gave the dairy owner boundless joy, friends recall. Even during lean times, Whelan spent money freely on sacks of grain scattered daily on the lake’s shore, dairy workers say.

“The birds, especially the Canada geese, were her greatest delight,” said one old friend, who asked not to be named because of the legal feud. “She was always very worried about the poachers who would sneak up the river and shoot at them.”

Whelan also feared that habitat for the migratory birds was growing ever scarcer, Tyson said. So it came as little surprise that a will drawn up by Whelan’s San Diego attorneys in the Gray, Cary, Ames & Frye firm in 1975 directed that the bulk of her estate be used to establish a trust for the benefit of migratory waterfowl.

The will outlined in great detail plans for the nonprofit Whelan Lake Bird Sanctuary and directed that a private board of directors be formed to maintain an environment attractive to the birds and control hunting, pesticides and other elements that would harm them. In addition, the will left $50,000 to Juan Gonzalez, her loyal friend who has worked at the dairy since 1948.

And so it was settled.

Or was it?

In 1980, Ellen Whelan began to fail, mentally and physically.

One evening in May, she wandered off and became lost among the tules down the river. Police, Marines, Border Patrol agents and friends hunted furiously through the night. The next morning, Whelan turned up; she had fallen asleep under a bush with two of her dogs.

That episode prompted the idea that Whelan needed a conservator, both for herself and her property. A test by the county Department of Health Services confirmed that she was no longer capable of managing her own affairs. Tyson, her financial manager, agreed to handle her accounts; a longtime friend, Virginia Gomez, was appointed her personal guardian.

Tyson, however, could serve only temporarily. He recommended that the court appoint a corporate conservator to replace him. But a man named Ivan Wood objected.

Wood, 46, declined to be interviewed. But according to court documents, he met Whelan through his father and was her “close friend,” visiting the ranch “at least once a week” in his youth. The dairy owner, he maintained, “treated me as though I was a grandson.”

She gave him $500 to purchase his first cow and even helped pay his way through college, Wood told the court.

Furthermore, Wood, a former California state milk production cost analyst, told the court that Whelan had asked him to serve as conservator of her estate. Over the protest of Tyson and other friends--who said they scarcely knew the man--a judge granted Wood’s request.

Soon after, Wood--described even by those who are loyal to him as a moody but savvy dairyman--moved into a guest house on the ranch. A gradual transformation of the dairy began. Using Whelan’s funds, Wood began tearing down old buildings and constructing new ones, including a state-of-the-art milking barn. In all, the improvements exceeded $1 million.

Wood also quadrupled the size of the dairy herd to about 1,200 head, violating county zoning laws limiting the dairy to 327 head. Subsequently, Wood was ordered by the county to reduce the size of his herd; when he missed the deadline, Wood was cited and ordered to appear in court. A hearing on that matter is set for July. Meanwhile, neighbors are in an uproar over what they say are intolerable smells generated by the cattle.

According to Wood’s statements filed in probate court, the ambitious modernization was in part a response to threats of condemnation by the county Department of Health Services. There was an economic motive as well; Wood said he hoped the capital improvements would eliminate operating losses, which he estimated in 1980 to be $300,000 annually.

The improvements initiated by Wood reduced Whelan’s payroll, increased the daily milk output of each cow and doubled to $60,000 the monthly income from milk sales, court documents show. By 1983, Wood told the court, the dairy was beginning to turn a profit.

The improvements even impressed Lewis Cleveland, Whelan’s elderly brother-in-law. In court, Cleveland praised Wood’s “interest, dedication and hard work” in managing the dairy.

Longtime friends of Whelan, however, were stunned by the modernization, which seemed contrary to the rustic ambiance and low-key operation she had always preferred. It also seemed odd given her plans for a bird sanctuary, they said.

“That expansion was completely contradictory to her philosophy, which was really to run the dairy as more of a tradition than a big money-maker,” said James Boyce Jr., a farrier whose grandfather was Whelan’s veterinarian. “They ripped out the old tack room and a turn-of-the-century forge, too. I can’t believe she knowingly approved any of that.”

There were other changes at the dairy as well.

“It seems like there were walls built around the place,” Nagata said. “I would go out and try to see her, but they (her nurses) would always say, ‘I’m sorry, she’s sleeping.’ ”

Gomez, Whelan’s personal conservator who lived in a mobile home on the ranch, didn’t much like the pattern of changes occurring under Wood’s leadership. In 1982, she petitioned the court to have Wood removed.

In court documents, Gomez charged that Wood “sought to take over the Whelan Dairy . . . and become its owner.” Everything, “including Miss Whelan’s welfare, is secondary” to that goal, she charged.

Wood, citing his “warm personal” relationship with Whelan, denied the charges and told the court that Whelan asked that he “do everything possible to . . . carry on the dairy and ranch operation and to make the necessary improvements and remodeling so that could be done.”

The court sided with Wood, and Gomez resigned soon after, citing “intentional interference” by Wood in her efforts to care for Whelan. Gomez has filed a second petition challenging Wood’s management of the dairy’s books for 1983. That matter is pending before the 4th District Court of Appeal.

When Gomez left the ranch, Wood requested appointment as Whelan’s personal conservator. The court complied.

On Dec. 31, 1985, Ellen Whelan died.

More than 75 people gathered at Mission San Luis Rey, a frequent recipient of Whelan’s charity, for her funeral Mass. She was buried in Los Angeles next to her sister Mary.

Soon after her death, Deputy Atty. Gen. William Abbey got a phone call from Gray, Cary, Ames & Frye. The lawyers had big news.

“It seems that Ivan Wood’s attorney had drawn up a new will in 1981 that leaves the bulk of the estate to--guess who--Ivan Wood, and nothing for the birds, which were a long and abiding interest of Miss Whelan’s,” Abbey said.

The will, prepared by attorney George Atkinson Jr. of Paramount, leaves the entire dairy operation to Wood and divides Whelan’s remaining assets among Wood, Gomez, Gonzalez and the Prince of Peace Abbey in Oceanside.

Prompted by complaints from some of Whelan’s friends, Abbey filed a will contest. He alleges that Wood exerted “undue influence” on Whelan before she signed the will, that Whelan possessed “a lack of mental capacity” at the time the will was prepared, and that the will was not executed properly.

“Wood occupied a position of trust and confidence and induced her to sign a will that was not prepared by her attorney but by his attorney,” Abbey said, summarizing the arguments in his challenge. “She didn’t even sign it in Atkinson’s presence. Wood phoned in the terms and then took the will to her. That’s highly unusual.”

The keys to Abbey’s case are two letters written by Wood to Gomez and Atkinson in March, 1980. The handwritten letters--on file in North County Superior Court--were signed by Wood and address the proposed division of Whelan’s assets after her death.

In the March 5 letter to Gomez, Wood wrote that Atkinson suggested that the three meet “with or without Miss Whelan” to prepare another will.

“He (Atkinson) thinks, as do I, that we should move fast or we will all get ‘screwed,’ ” Wood wrote. “I could come down one week this month and spend some time in the Red (guest) House. After I am there awhile, she becomes dependent on me & I could have Atkinson ‘stop by’ to talk. Let me know your thoughts--we have nothing to lose (but his fee) and a lot to gain.”

Reached by telephone, Atkinson declined to comment on the letters or any specifics of the dispute, citing a “confidential relationship” with Whelan. He did, however, deny charges that Wood induced Whelan to prepare a new will and asserted that Whelan was “of sound and disposing mind when she signed the will, or I wouldn’t have let her sign it.”

“I feel that all of the charges by the attorney general are without merit, but you’ll have to wait until the evidence comes out during trial,” Atkinson said. To comment now, he added, “isn’t fair to the court and to the decedent, who was a lovely and very interesting lady.”

A second attorney, Robert Kilpatrick of Long Beach, is handling the will challenge for Wood. Kilpatrick also denied the allegation of undue influence and said, “It’s our opinion that in her 1981 will Miss Whelan left the property to the friends she wanted to leave it to.”

Kilpatrick also addressed what may be one of Abbey’s key points in the case--Whelan’s mental state at the time the 1981 will was signed.

“Keep in mind that the appointment of a conservator does not mean you don’t have the capacity to make a will,” Kilpatrick said. “Miss Whelan had some substantial physical ailments. But there is nothing in the appointment of that conservator to suggest she was incompetent to make a will.”

Last month, at Abbey’s request, the court appointed a county public administrator to oversee the dairy’s affairs pending the outcome of the trial. Wood, whose bid to serve as administrator was rejected, is still living at the dairy and is working temporarily as a herdsman, according to the administrator, Jeanne McBride.

Meanwhile, Whelan’s death and the will dispute have left Juan Gonzalez--who labored day in, day out under Whelan for almost 40 years--troubled and bitter. Since the dairy was rarely profitable, Gonzalez, 63, never made much money. He has no savings and has no idea where he and his family--who lived on the ranch until last year--would go should the dairy close. Gonzalez would receive bequests from either will.

Miss Whelan, he says, “always told me to trust her, not to worry, that I would always have a place here.”

Today, that prospect is in doubt. But Gonzalez says he is not surprised.

“I remember, one day she said to me, ‘Juan, you know how when a cow dies all the vultures come down? Well, that is how this place will be when I go.’

“I guess Miss Whelan was right.”