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Mike Fratantoni thought about 1857 when the explosion killed three LA County Sheriff’s deputies last month.
A horse thief named Juan Flores broke out from a prison in San Quentin, joined a group called Las Manila, handcuffed, and headed south towards Southern California. They robbed the store along the way and killed the German store owner in San Juan Capistrano. Los Angeles County Sheriff James R. Burton was warned about them but ignored the danger. He and his men were ambushed. Four were killed – Burton, Deputy Charles Daly, Officer Charles Baker and William Little. The spot near the state’s Route 133 and the 405 Expressway Convention interchange in Irvine is now called Burton Mound.
Orange County is still part of LA County, with a population of just over 11,000, and California is a newly built state that gave way to the wild west during the Mexican era.
“They all died alone without help,” said Fratantoni, a staff historian for the Sheriff’s Office. “Today you know your partner is here to help you. People say work is dangerous now – it’s never dangerous.”
So, Sheriff Robert Luna was ready to hold a press conference hours after the accident at the East LA department training facility, claiming DETS’ life. Joshua Kelly Ecklund, Victor Remus, William Osborne and Flatantoni sent notes on what happened to Burton and his men. That’s why Luna was able to tell the public that the latest death to fall on the department on the most deadly day of over 160 years was quickly repeated by media around the country.
Fratantoni describes herself as a “default button” whenever she asks a “default button” about the sheriff’s past, whether it’s a colleague or the public, whether it’s positive or scandalous. He can tell you why female lawmakers wore hats (slammed the popularity of beehive hairstyles in the 1960s), and reveal why longtime sheriff Eugene Viscales is a pioneer in trying to rehabilitate addicts (his father was an alcoholic).
It’s a job that has been officially held for 10 years from Long Island. He took the position with the blessing of then-responsible Jim McDonnell, with the passion that almost dabbled himself from the moment he joined the department in 1999.
“We can’t talk about the history of LA County without us,” Fratantoni said when we met in the Hall of Justice. Outside, the flag remained semi-staffed in tribute to the dead detective. He took me on a tour of the building’s underground museum. This featured the history of the LA County Sheriff’s Office, District Attorney’s Office and the Coroner’s Office. “We were there from day one. We were here before the supervisory committee. We were here before the LAPD. We never closed. We survived it all.”
“We’ll check everything out with the microphone,” Luna told me in a phone interview. Last year, the sheriff joined Fratantoni and other current and retired members of the Sheriff’s Office for Plaque’s dedication to commemorate the 1857 Burton Mound Massacre. “You get 10 minutes with him, and amazing.”
I managed to get 2 hours.
The Fratantoni is sturdy, but soft talk. Traces of New York accents remain in his by-books cadence. Around us were books, poster boards, newspaper criminal newspaper headlines for people who were still forgotten, such as Winnie Ruth Judd, who murdered two friends in Phoenix in 1931, and then we traveled by train to Los Angeles with the bodies in the trunk.
We went through a row of cells from the original LA County Jail, each one knocked down from its original location on the 10th floor of the Hall of Justice. He pointed to display cases of makeshift weapons, tattoo needles and fake IDs created by inmates over 175 years in the department. I stared at the black jacket and AC/DC hat worn by night stalker, serial killer Richard Ramirez for too long.
Fratantoni shows off vintage items used for illegal gambling.
(Luke Johnson/Los Angeles Times)
The museum receives free rent from LA County, but otherwise it is funded and maintained by the Sheriff’s Relief Foundation and a month’s dollars that have been withdrawn from the pay of the Sheriff’s Department employee who signs up for assistance. Though not open to the general public, he frequently hosts deputies, prosecutors, law students, and even field trips for schools.
“The kids love this for some reason,” he said with a laugh as we handed us the drug display. “It’s not my favorite.”
Fratantoni rushed me and turned every question I had into a short story that I never felt like a lecture. He apologised for frequently scattered random artifacts (plaques, film posters, biography of gangster Mickey Cohen, etc.). “I’m putting you to sleep already?” he joked at one point.
The 45-year-old is more than a curator or nerdy archivist. Luna, like her predecessors Alex Villanueva and McDonnell, left Fratantoni to not only help preserve the history of the department, but also to imprint its importance on men and women, the present and future.
“I’ve always been a history fan,” Luna said. Regarding Black History Month in February, Fratantoni spoke about the issues faced by agents William Abbott and John Brady, who became the department’s first integrated patrol unit in 1954.
Abuse of Abbott, who is black and Brady did not come from the inside, but from the West Hollywood residents they served. “I think it’s important to teach our agent where we went and some of the challenges we faced. You can’t help but want to hear his story,” Luna said of Fratantoni.
“The microphone is just amazing,” said Deputy Director Graciera Medrano, who was at the museum for 25 years on the day I visited. A black ribbon stretched out throughout her badge – signs of mourning, law enforcement style. “I ask him about the incident that happened when I was just starting out. He knows I’m talking right away. He makes us all appreciate our department more.”
Every year, Fratantoni speaks to the latest class of recruits about the department’s history. “They know it exists, but there’s nothing else. So I share photos and tell stories. You can see their reaction – our history gives them a sense of purpose.”
He also participates in community events with other agents in vintage uniforms and cars in older departments. “Someone will see it and say with a smile, ‘It’s my grandfather’s car.’ We can talk to the public that we would otherwise not be able to do. ”
Fratantoni was to concentrate on the 175th anniversary of the division this year. Another goal was to search for an interview with Shirley McClain, one of the final surviving queens of the Sheriff’s Championship Rodeo.
However, 2025 has gotten in the way. We spoke a week before the burial of Osborne and Kelly Ecklund (Lemus services have not yet been announced). Fratantoni also sits on a committee accused of naming a memorial to a Los Angeles County Peace Officer.
“I don’t like to do that. I hope I don’t have to fill out the paperwork again, but if that’s what I have to do, I’m honored to be a part of it,” he said. “I have it close to my heart.”
Fratantoni in front of parts of the museum highlighting the history of the LA County District Attorney’s Office.
(Luke Johnson/Los Angeles Times)
Even a work commemorating what happened during the Burton Mound Massacre remains unfinished. The victim was buried in Downtown’s Old Town Cemetery, but was moved to Rosedale Cemetery in Mid City in 1914. No one cared about marking a new tomb that was lost until researchers discovered it a few years ago. Fratantoni and others are fundraising for new gravestones for their murdered predecessors.
He mentioned the story of Daly: Born in Ireland. I came to California for the Gold Rush. He became a blacksmith – he placed his shoes on the horses Burton and his constable used to pursue Las Manila. The powerful and capable man Burton was in charge of, so they could all join them on the day they died.
“It’s sad to see people who lost their lives being forgotten,” Fratantoni said. “It’s just…”
The historian, tasked with speaking, shook his head silently.
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