La Opinión (Los Angeles, CA), July 25, 1937, p. 16.
Note: this is a retrospective in a Spanish magazine of an event in September 1859.
David Terry was a Supreme Court judge in old California, a man of power and influence. His opponent, David Broderick, was a fiery state senator and the owner of the Herald, a newspaper in the growing settlement that would one day become San Francisco. Broderick had once been a rough-and-tumble figure, but politics had sharpened him into a formidable statesman. During his campaign for the U.S. Senate, he launched relentless attacks on the pro-slavery faction, branding them as corrupt and morally bankrupt. Among his fiercest enemies was Terry, a staunch defender of slavery. Their rivalry burned hot, fueled by insults and accusations, until it reached its inevitable conclusion—a duel. They met at ten paces, pistols in hand. Broderick, perhaps reluctant, fired first, aiming low. His bullet struck the ground near Terry’s feet. Terry, with deadly precision, took his time, raised his weapon, and fired straight into Broderick’s chest. The senator crumpled to the ground. The assembled crowd stood frozen, stunned by the brutality of what they had just witnessed. For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, one of the onlookers, his face drained of color, his voice shaking with horror, broke the stillness with a cry that would echo through history: “My God, that was murder!”
BIBLIOGRAPHY
David Broderick, U.S. Senator from California, photograph by Mathew Brady, U.S. National Archives and Records Administration.