California: The City with the Golden Gate

At first. William Bowman, a Jewish furniture dealer, and his wife dismissed the episodes as pranks. When swastikas were smeared in lipstick on their two-story house in San Francisco’s Sunset district, they quietly wiped the marks off; when they began to get obscene telephone calls, Bowman simply hung up, saying “wrong number, wrong number.” The Bowmans did not realize then that the “pranks” were only the beginning of months of terror in which their spirits would gradually decay and their happiness disintegrate under the pressure of an unseen force.

The setting of the Bowmans’ ordeal was a middle-class neighborhood of raw houses that rise up from the Pacific Ocean south of the Golden Gate Bridge. In April 1960, the terror began. The windows were shot out of their living room with a BB gun, and next day the windshield of their car was smashed with a volley from a pellet gun. Between April 15 and July 30, the living room windows were shot out four times and the car’s windows were blasted seven times. On July 18, white paint was poured over the car and caked overnight. Then a steady stream of telephone calls began: obscenely antiSemitic, they came at all hours, until the Bowmans could no longer find sleep.

In September, William and Elizabeth Bowman went on a trip to the East to try to recover their nerves. They returned to find all their windows smashed by bottles; their furniture had been ruined by inpouring rain. On Nov. 6, the tires on Bowman’s car were slashed, and dents were pounded into its hood and sides. The next day, the windows were smashed, and on the house was written “Eichmann” in lipstick letters 20 inches high. On March 16, a fire was set with a sulphur bomb on the fender of Bowman’s car. Uncalled delivery trucks arrived from every direction. “One night,” said Bowman, “we got five cabs, two tow trucks, 14 pizzas, nine chickens, enough frogs’ legs for 18 people, day and night television service, liquor deliveries—everything.”

No Taps After 12. The Bowmans felt themselves totally alone. They made 104 calls to the police, but the cops seemed apathetic; sometimes they sent a patrol car, sometimes not. The precinct captain told the Bowmans that the police could do nothing, advised them to hire a private detective—and recommended a friend at $75 a day. Bowman’s insurance agent canceled his policies.

Finally getting word of the Bowmans’ plight, San Francisco’s Mayor George Christopher last March sent a long letter to Police Chief Thomas Cahill demanding action. Cahill assigned Inspector Nathaniel Pedrini to the case—and things began to change. Pedrini attached a tape recorder to the telephone to gather evidence, persuaded the telephone company to tap the line until midnight and carefully check every call. When the police finally traced the culprits, the tap led to 22-year-old Steven Van Otten and 19-year-old Barry Van Otten, the sons of a policeman in suburban Daly City. They confessed and involved eleven other teen agers, including the son of the head of the fire department’s arson squad.

Victory Parade. The Bowmans thought that their ordeal was over—but they were mistaken. Three weeks ago, two of the boys were released on probation by Superior Judge Melvyn Cronin; a third was freed for lack of evidence. That night, a gang formed in the street outside Bowman’s home. Through a peephole he had cut in a window shade, William Bowman watched their “victory parade,” which included cars roaring over his lawn. A few nights later, egg was smeared on the windshield and hood of Bowman’s car, bottles were smashed against his house, and rocks were thrown through open windows onto his living-room floor. Bowman’s new insurance agent cancelled his auto, home, business theft and damage policies.

By now, San Francisco was aroused and both the press and Mayor Christopher attacked Judge Cronin’s ruling. Last week the other youths charged with conspiracy had their trial set for Dec. 4. But whatever the final verdict of the courts, the Bowmans will never be the same. “We are filled with fright,” says Elizabeth Bowman. “This has made both of us into people we never thought we could be. I tell myself that two years of my life have been taken away—but then I wonder if my whole life is gone.”