This Halloween morning, as children prepare their costumes and neighbors ready their candy bowls, we pause to remember that Riverside's history contains real tragedies more haunting than any fabricated fright.
The most shocking of these occurred on another October morning 97 years ago. On October 28, 1927, Henry Milliken, the 43-year-old proprietor of the Motor Inn, ended months of financial despair and mental anguish in the worst way imaginable. At 2 a.m., he shot his wife Catherine and their 11-year-old son George as they slept, then turned the gun on himself. A business partner sleeping nearby heard the shots and discovered the family—Catherine in her bed, George beneath his covers, and Henry collapsed at his son's feet. The following Monday, the three were buried together at Olivewood Cemetery, their shared grave a permanent reminder of how mental illness and desperation can destroy entire families.
While October seems fitting for tragic tales, Riverside's history shows that sudden death knows no season. On January 2, 1922, Lyman Van Winkle Brown took his oath as Riverside's new mayor, praised as uniquely prepared to guide the city forward. Twelve hours later, he was dead. Returning from Los Angeles after seeing his daughter off to Berkeley, Brown encountered a disabled truck on Foothill Boulevard near Mountain Avenue. Forced to swerve by an oncoming car, he crashed into timber projecting from the truck's rear, which crushed him instantly. His wife Theresa and teenage daughters Charlotte and Barbara were left to mourn a man who never got to serve a single full day as mayor.
Sometimes tragedy comes wrapped in heroism. On August 23, 1923, 13-year-old Ronald Huber of Arlington was enjoying a summer day when screams pierced the air at Mockingbird Lake. Mary Roberts, 12, had slipped into an irrigation ditch. Her sister Elizabeth rushed to save her while holding her infant son, but both women were swept into the current. Ronald dove in without hesitation, first saving the baby, then the children's father. Despite exhaustion, he returned for the sisters. In their panic, they pulled him under. By late afternoon, Elizabeth, Mary, and Ronald had all drowned. Ronald was being raised by his grandmother—his father had died in World War I. The infant he saved, Jim Burton, lived to have children and grandchildren who owe their existence to a boy's split-second courage.
The randomness of accidental death struck one of Riverside's founding families on September 20, 1893. Leman Dyer, 21-year-old son of the founder of Riverside's first bank, was hunting quail with his cousin Tommy Weed when Tommy stumbled. His shotgun discharged into Leman's leg, severing the artery. Despite Tommy's frantic six-mile race to camp, Leman bled to death before doctors could amputate. He had graduated at the head of his class from Poughkeepsie College the previous year.
Even the bright lights of the holiday season couldn't prevent tragedy. On November 27, 1938, Officer Clinton Lyle "Tex" Burtner was patrolling downtown on his motorcycle, working his last shift before promotion to detective lieutenant. At Main Street and 8th Street (now University Avenue), a driver who claimed the Christmas decorations obscured her view of the traffic light ran the red light, crushing Burtner's motorcycle. He fought for eight days at Riverside Community Hospital before dying on December 4 at age 45. For his wife Mamie, the grief was doubled—their son Clifton Jr. had died in a motorcycle accident just three years earlier at age 18.
These aren't ghost stories meant to entertain. They're reminders that real people—parents and children, leaders and heroes, protectors and pioneers—met sudden, tragic ends on the very streets we walk today. Their graves at Olivewood Cemetery stand as monuments not to the supernatural, but to the unpredictability and preciousness of life.
This Halloween, as we playfully mock death with plastic skeletons and fake tombstones, perhaps we can spare a thought for these real Riversiders whose stories ended too soon. In a community that has witnessed such genuine tragedy, our annual celebration of manufactured scares seems almost like a collective exorcism—a way to laugh in the face of the darkness that has touched us all too truly.
Patti Koesling from the Mission Inn Foundation, which conducts the monthly historical tours at Olivewood, reflected on sharing these stories: "It has been our privilege to share the stories of several people interred at Olivewood Memorial Park through our overwhelmingly popular Tragic Endings event."
These stories are part of the cemetery's broader historical narrative. Founded in 1888 by C.O. Perrine after his own tragic loss—his 5-year-old daughter Mariee died of typhus—Olivewood has become the resting place for over 51,000 people. Perrine created the cemetery with an innovative endowment system, ensuring perpetual care so families could visit without worrying about maintenance.
"Any tours or community events are scheduled thoughtfully—never during services," said Leah M. Collier, General Manager at Olivewood Memorial Park. "The historical tours conducted by the Mission Inn Foundation are kept small, quiet, and respectful. Our goal is to share Riverside's history in a way that honors the people who are part of it."
More information: Addiotnal information can be found at missioninnmuseum.org. For those interested in learning more about Riverside's history through its residents' stories, the Mission Inn Foundation offers monthly walking tours at Olivewood. Upcoming tours are scheduled for Saturday, November 15 at 10 a.m. and Saturday, December 13 at 10 a.m. A special Women's History Month tour featuring extraordinary women from the Riverside Historical Society's "Anthology of Women in Riverside, California 1870-1970" is planned for March 2026.
