There was little doubt Fred Deal fired the shot that killed Constable Robert McBeath, but because he was black, it was uncertain whether the jury would deliver a verdict based on the facts of the case or the defendant’s race. Deal did not remember firing the gun. What he did recall was being beaten by McBeath and Detective Quirk after they pulled him and his white companion over that night in October 1922. His memory was conveniently selective, the prosecutor charged, and his testimony was generally suspect because he initially denied even being at the scene of the crime.

Other evidence, however, made his story of police brutality seem believable. For example, several police witnesses corroborated Deal’s claim that although he drank that night, he was not noticeably drunk. This undermined Detective Quirk’s testimony in which he insisted drunk driving was their reason for stopping the car. The officers’ motives were thus suspect, raising the possibility that Deal was targeted for racist or personal reasons. Non-law enforcement motives could be inferred from the testimony of Marjorie Earl, Deal’s white “paramour.”

Marjorie Earl said she was too drunk that night to recollect events leading to McBeath’s death, but under cross-examination she began describing the “friendly” relations she had with police. They frequently visited her apartment-cum-disorderly house whether they wanted a drink or not, she told the court, implying their visits were not always official. The judge interrupted her testimony to ask if the defence was trying to discredit the entire police force. Earl nevertheless managed to tell about the police gun Deal used in the shooting. Ex-Inspector Scott had given it to her because he owed her a “considerable sum of money” and Deal must have taken it from her apartment. The relationship between Earl and the police was only reluctantly and partially allowed to be aired in court, but it was enough to leave the impression that police were anything but impartial in the case.

The strongest evidence of police brutality was Fred Deal’s physical appearance in court: “nose split, one eye almost closed, lips puffed and cut and with his face a mass of bruises,” according to the World. In his initial statement in which he denied any involvement, Deal claimed two men had beaten him “for being a nigger.” He later described how McBeath shouted at him using profane and racialized language, and how both officers clubbed him several times with what felt like a blackjack or the butt of a gun, at one point knocking him to the ground and unconscious.

In countering Deal’s testimony, police witnesses claimed his injuries resulted from beatings he received after McBeath was shot, not before. Sergeant Tuning explained how he became overcome with emotion when he saw Deal in the police station and punched him four times in the head. Deal was also reportedly beaten in the police station elevator and again in his cell.

Police gave varying descriptions of Deal’s condition at the time of arrest, ranging from a scratch on the nose to a swollen face and two black eyes. Constable Langham claimed that in his earlier testimony, he exaggerated the extent of Deal’s injuries at the time of arrest in order to cover up the in-custody beatings administered by his brother officers. An obvious inference was that Langham would just as easily lie to try and conceal McBeath and Quirk’s initial brutality. Fred Deal may have been an unreliable witness, but no more so than his police accusers.

The judge’s instructions to the jury rendered most of the evidence presented by the defence irrelevant. Judge McDonald told them that unless they believed Deal acted in self-defence or was provoked, they must find him guilty of the capital offence of murder, provided he was holding the gun when McBeath was shot. These instructions simplified the jury’s task, and after only an hour and forty-five minutes they returned a guilty verdict. Fred Deal was sentenced to hang on 26 January 1923.

C S Arnold, Deal’s lawyer, argued before the Court of Appeal that the jury should have been allowed to consider the possibility that Deal discharged the gun by “misadventure,” meaning it was an accident and there was no intent to kill, regardless of how ridiculous the judge considered this defence. The scenario Arnold painted was that Deal was so disoriented after being beaten that he was no longer in control of his actions. The Court of Appeal concurred and a new trial was scheduled for March 1923.

The second trial was conducted over three days to a packed courtroom. Witnesses repeated their earlier testimonies and new ones offered fresh tidbits for the jury to mull over. One woman recounted overhearing McBeath threaten that “he would get Marjorie Earl and Deal if it took all winter.” McBeath made the comment in reference to another woman who felt threatened by him. “There’s only one woman who needs to be afraid of me,” he allegedly said, “and that’s Marjorie Earl.”

The court was overflowing on the final day of the trial. The crowd included professionals and businessmen, mothers and babies, the young and old. One reporter was struck by the large number of women present and that many others telephoned to enquire about Deal’s fate. He described a black woman in the gallery who was especially moved: “Every appearance of Deal was the signal for nervous face twitchings and tear-filled eyes or for a handkerchief to be stuffed into her mouth to stifle hastily rising sobs.” Most of Deal’s black supporters were in a section reserved “for the benefit of the colored people of the city.” The sheriff explained that “we didn’t want anyone to say that Deal did not get a fair trial on account of his color or anything else, so we arranged that his friends could see everything that went on.”

In contrast to the speedy first trial, the second jury set a new Vancouver record by deliberating for ten and a half hours. Many spectators made a full day of it, having packed lunches and sharing with those who didn’t. Few expected an acquittal or another murder verdict; bets were on manslaughter or a hung jury. When the jury finally re-emerged after midnight, everyone but reporters and court officials rose to their feet and leaned forward in anticipation. The foreman pronounced Fred Deal guilty of manslaughter, which carried a maximum penalty of life in prison. An incipient burst of applause was cut short by the judge’s demands for order.

About twenty police officers were scattered throughout the room in case the verdict triggered any disturbances. Police suspected an attempt might be made to free Deal and the Sun reported that rumours had been circulating since the first trial that violence was planned both “against and on behalf of the prisoner.” The good-natured crowd proved such rumours to be unfounded. A group gathered outside hoping for one final glimpse of Fred Deal before he was transported back to the Oakalla prison farm in Burnaby. Just to be safe, Inspector Cruikshank of the BC Provincial Police decided it was best to postpone moving the prisoner until the crowd had dispersed.

Some of Fred Deal’s black supporters had hoped for an acquittal, but all were elated their efforts had helped save his life. “Ah jes’ cahnt praise de Lawd enuff,” the World quoted one woman, being sure to emphasize her dialect. “Ah’ve been prayin’ an’ prayin’ an’ prayin’ right here ever since that jury went out, an’ now look. Ever’thin’s all bright an’ fair.” Both the judge and Reverend U S Robinson of the Fountain Chapel credited “British justice” for a trial they felt was fair and free of racism. Whether it was divine intervention, the inherent fairness of the British legal system, or his lawyer’s savvy that saved Fred Deal from the gallows, certainly Deal’s supporters deserve a share of the credit. Their participation brought a mindfulness to the proceedings that ensured Fred Deal was tried for his actions, not his race.

Fred Deal’s trial did not prove police racially targeted him for brutality because he was with a white woman, as C S Arnold surmised, but the available evidence made that possibility more than remote. Nor can it be said definitively that the outcome of the first trial was a product of racism. Deal’s black supporters certainly believed it was, however, and there was sufficient evidence for the second jury to have reasonable doubt that events unfolded the way police said. McBeath’s death was indeed tragic, but he did not die because Deal was a “crazed negro.” What the trial did prove, with the help of Deal’s supporters, was that race makes a poor substitute for establishing murderous intent.

The trial was pivotal for local blacks who mobilized through the Fountain Chapel. It was an early instance in which they came together as a community to defend one of its members against racism. The chapel served a similar function on at least one other occasion. In the early 1950s, friends of Clarence Clemons, a black longshoreman who had been beaten by the police, looked to Reverend J Ivan Moore for help lobbying for an inquiry. A coroner’s inquest was eventually held because Clemons lapsed into a coma and died after his ordeal. The police were exonerated of any wrongdoing, but a study of the case by historian Ross Lambertson indicates that relations between the Vancouver police and the black community had not improved since the 1920s.

Al Hendrix (Jimi’s dad) claimed that before he moved to Seattle at the end of the 1930s there were so few blacks in Vancouver that they all knew each other. Their small numbers meant that blacks could not be construed as a threat to the “white man’s province,” which helps explain why there were no anti-black campaigns like those that targeted Asians in the prewar period. Yet just because they were off the political radar does not mean black Vancouverites were exempted from racism, as some histories suggest. The court’s responsiveness to concerns about racism in Fred Deal’s second trial was more a chance to tout the superiority of British justice compared to the anti-black vigilantism of the American south than it was a reflection of a commitment to racial equality. At the same time, the episode showed that the distance between Vancouver and the Mason Dixon line was not as great as some imagined.