Soapbox: Meeting History

There are moments in a writer's life that define his career more than Amazon rankings or royalty checks. One such moment for me was the day when, following a signing for my book, War of Words: A True Tale of Newsprint and Murder, I stood in a parking lot in South San Francisco and watched a man pull a small, copper-plated pistol from a shoebox in the trunk of his Audi.

It was the murder weapon I had written about.

That particular gun had played a pivotal role in one of the most violent episodes in American journalism. In 1879, a long rivalry exploded when Charles de Young, founding publisher of the San Francisco Chronicle, tried to kill the Rev. Isaac Kalloch, a Baptist minister whose lust for the ladies equaled his desire to be mayor. Kalloch survived and rode a wave of public sympathy into the mayor's office. After several months, Kalloch's vengeful son took gun in hand, walked into the Chronicle office and shot de Young dead.

The man who had shown up at the Borders in South San Francisco with the murder weapon almost 130 years after the incident was Douglas, Kalloch's great-great-grandson. Generations of Kallochs had been embarrassed by their violent legacy, but the 50-something Doug loved the story of his ancestor's reported rascality. He had tracked me down after reading a review of my book in the San Francisco Chronicle, knowing I was as intrigued by the story as he was.

Unless you're a well-established author with a devoted following, signings are often exercises in humility, so I was thrilled when Doug approached with a copy of the book. He introduced himself, and, knowing his family's history, I immediately asked him—only half joking—if he came packing heat.

“Yes,” he said plainly.

“Dear Doug,” I wrote in his book. “Please keep the gun holstered.”

After the signing, I met Doug and his wife for a drink at a restaurant next door. He told me he had purchased several copies for Kallochs on the East Coast. I wondered what the family would think of its relative's portrayal in the book as a salacious politician corrupted by power. Doug said there were so many rumors surrounding Kalloch's promiscuity, one could only imagine they were true. Nevertheless, as an author, I felt a tremendous sense of obligation meeting the descendant of someone I'd written about, and I hoped Doug wouldn't be disappointed by my portrayal of the man, who wasn't exactly a hero in my book.

When we finished our drinks, I followed Doug into the parking lot. He opened the trunk to his car. Inside was a shoebox in which lay the central artifact in one of the most outrageous episodes in San Francisco history.

Taking the firearm in my hands was a surreal experience. I felt like Indiana Jones watching the Ark of the Covenant being opened at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Milton Kalloch, the mayor's son, had put the gun point-blank in de Young's face before pulling the trigger. I'd spent so long researching the story and constructing that very scene that the fact I was now holding the weapon in my hands was hard to believe.

I asked Doug if the gun was ever wielded. Not since his mom had used it for target shooting four or so decades earlier, Doug told me. Talk about a family heirloom.

“I don't know what do with it now,” he said.

“Give it to a museum,” I suggested.

“I'm not entirely sure the de Young Museum would want it,” he said, citing the institution founded by Charles's brother Michael and positioned as a more positive image of the de Young legacy. We chatted for a few more minutes, then said farewell.

I had thought the gun had been lost to time, perhaps swallowed in the 1906 earthquake or misplaced between generations. But meeting Doug and holding the gun brought the story to life in a way research never could. I've spent my writing career chasing history's strangest stories—and on that afternoon, watching Doug drive away with a piece of American history in his trunk, I realized one had finally caught up with me.