JOAQUIN MURRIETA As a kid growing up in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada near Sacramento in the 1950s a favored family outing was an annual visit to the State Fair. I was fond of the tacos served there and of the snow cones. One year I saw something at the fair that had a profound impact on a lad of my tender years. It was a human head preserved in alcohol and contained in a glass jar. In a smaller jar beside it was a human hand that was also preserved in alcohol. The hand was remarkable because it had only three fingers. They were the mortal remains of a couple of sassy bandits named Joaquin Murrieta and Three Fingered Jack. They were killed by a posse of California Rangers in 1853. There was a
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