Griffen Wheel Murders
The late author and holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel once said that “God created humans because he loves stories.” One gift of my profession is getting to hear these stories. But to do so, it often takes some work. Like those folks I see in the park with metal detectors I usually have to scan around, asking questions to discover the treasured tales. Such was the case with Helen.
Helen grew up in Tacoma’s North End and attended Stadium High School back in the days before there was a Wilson, Foss or Mount Tahoma. I had thought her only connection to South Tacoma was her husband and attendance at our church until one day we, as they say, “got ta talk’n.” Somewhere in that talk’n she shared that her grandparents lived in South Tacoma. She told me the location (52nd and Mason) and then, almost offhandedly mentioned that her mother lived on Puget Sound Avenue, but only for seven months… She paused, my story detector began to beep and I began to dig, “Why only seven months?” Helen paused again, waved her hand dismissively and said, “Oh that’s a long story. Surely you don’t want to hear it.” I was able to resist telling her my name isn’t Shirley, but unable to resist begging her to tell me the tale. Fortunately, she acquiesced.
In 1920 South Tacoma was in its railroad glory days. The Griffin Wheel Company was one of the booming companies and a man named Harry Hallen had recently been named the assistant superintendent. He had also, that same year, married Leah Richmond, the daughter of one of the company’s foreman and Helen’s future mother. They were young, attractive, highly respected and owned a house not far from the center of the neighborhood. They had the world by the tail and their lives in front of them. Unfortunately, this was also a time of significant labor unrest. Some of the company’s employees had recently been laid off resulting in the attempted murder of a company foreman. The tension would pass, or so this young couple thought.
On March 11 of 1921 Harry and Leah finished playing cards at her parent’s place just near Tyler street. It was dark, rainy and late but the couple likely looked forward to a chance to stroll and chat their way home. The content of their last conversation is lost to time as not long after leaving the house a man stepped out from behind a telephone pole and opened fire. Two bullets hit Harry and two his young bride. A Tacoma Times article from that day reported that Harry fell to the ground “and Mrs. Hallen toppled after him, throwing her arms around his neck and crying out loud ‘Mama, somebody has shot Harry.” Leah’s parents rushed to the scene and attempted to save their son in law. Their best efforts failed as he succumbed to his wounds at the St. Joseph’s hospital. A former employee, Gino Spadoni, was later arrested, tried and convicted only to have his conviction overturned on appeal. Leah eventually recovered from her physical wounds but, according to Helen, carried a wound in her heart for the rest of her life.
One of my favorite musicians, Nancy Griffith, has a song titled, “If these old walls could speak, what a tale they’d have to tell…” After hearing Helen’s story I realized the same could be said of these old streets of South Tacoma. What millions of stories of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears could Tyler, 56th and Warner Streets tell if they could only speak. Lacking such ability, we are left to mine these tales from those who are able to speak; your great Aunt Phyllis, my semi-reclusive neighbor Barney or Philip who I often see in line at the Grocery Outlet. What tales might they tell? Only one way to find out...
