A gallows was borrowed from San Bernardino County and set up inside a high, wooden-fence enclosure constructed on one side of the jail to keep the execution out of sight of curiosity-seekers.

On the day before the execution, Vincent held court in his cell, greeting many of the city's curious, men, women and even children, some holding back giggles. It was said that he enjoyed the attention.

The autumn execution day broke crisp and clear to a carnival-like atmosphere at Courthouse Park. The park overflowed with an estimated 4,000 men, women and children, toting picnic baskets, waiting for what they called "Doc Vincent's necktie party." Sheriff Jay Scott sent invitations to prominent citizens, who were allowed inside the enclosure. About 600 would cram into the small yard.

The uninvited bored holes into the fence with pocket knives to get a glimpse. A pair of boys tried digging under the wall. Tall trees soon were full of people.

Just before noon, with no sign of fear or remorse, and chewing on his last cigar, the doctor climbed the 13 steps. The last bit of medical advice he dispensed was for himself. He gave directions for careful placement of the knot of the noose to ensure that his neck would be broken; he feared strangulation. His offer to spring the trapdoor himself -- to spare the executioner any guilt -- was declined.

"Do you have anything to say, Doc?" the sheriff asked.

"All I've got to say to my friends is this: I thank them, may God bless them," he replied. "To my enemies, may God forgive them. We are ready, Mr. Sheriff."

A black hood was placed over his head. At high noon, he gave a nod and the trap was sprung. He was pronounced dead minutes later. The following day, Dr. Vincent's body was shipped by rail to Napa for burial.

"Justice Served" was the headline in the Republican. The Fresno Daily Evening Expositor reported in the execution's aftermath, "There seems to be something of a relief when it was over. Look at it in any light possible, it is not a pleasant thing to hang a human being, and the citizens all felt that it was an unpleasant necessity. The gallows had not a pleasing appearance after it had done its part. Perhaps it was a matter of imagination, to a large extent, but nobody pronounced it a pleasant object to look at."

The old jail was torn down in 1959. The execution was the last in California outside the walls of a state prison.