Locals bend the elbow for arm-wrestling competition

A group of 27 muscle-bound competitors gathered at the Blacksmith Tavern in Pendleton for an arm-wrestling tournament on July 27, 1977, pitting local amateurs against some stalwart veterans of the sport.

There was the usual bending of elbows ... and then there was the elbow bending done at the arm wrestling table. Hopeful men (and a few women as well) flexed their deltoids in front of a whooping, hollering crowd before settling down to business. The tournament pitted competitors against each other in several weight classes, from featherweight (150 pounds and under) all the way up to heavyweight (200+ pounds), and a separate women’s division.

Bill Hamby and Doug Shade discovered that muscle isn’t all you need to win: Shade lasted less than two seconds against Dwight Crow, and Hamby the same in a second-round match. “He got the jump on me and I gave him a little resistance, but that’s about it,” Hamby said.

Organizer Gary Setbacken was an old hand in the arm-wrestling game. He participated in the World Wrist Wrestling Championships in Petaluma, Calif., one year and lasted all the way to the fourth round. “It’s not just strength,” Setbacken said. “There’s a hell of a lot of technique to it. The more experienced man can take a bigger guy.”

Lane Porter, a former Pendleton High School wrestler and football player, won the light-heavyweight class and suggested that lifting weights helped him.

“Yeah, lifting 12 ounce weights,” ribbed Mike Bridges, hoisting a beer.

Mike Schubert, winner of both the lightweight and heavyweight divisions, touted his job as a diesel mechanic as the secret to his success. And Joe Davis, the East Oregonian photographer, told of his own arm-wrestling defeat at the hands of a skinny, wiry guy who happened to set choker cables for a living.

Craig Christiansen savored his championship in the featherweight division, letting the beer drip from his head and shirtless chest as he let out a howl. “I’ve been waiting for this. I took off six pounds to get under the limit (150 pounds),” he said, wasting no time putting them back on with another victory beer. He had psyched himself up for a match with Crow and managed to outlast the veteran wrestler, breaking Crow’s year-long win streak.
“I’ll be back,” Crow promised, “and I’ll take him.”

The seminfinal women’s bout featuring Elaine Case was the biggest crowd-pleaser. Case was within a couple of inches of the table when she came all the way back to beat her opponent in a grueling match. “She had me all the way down,” she said, “but I didn’t want to get beat in front of my husband.” She emerged the women’s champion at the end of the tournament.

Mike Schubert, red of face and white of knuckle, takes his challenger to the table during an arm-wrestling tournament July 27, 1977, at the Blacksmith Tavern in Pendleton. Schubert won both the lightweight and heavyweight divisions during the contest. (EO file photo)

Hotel clerk pummeled by petite pugilist

A woman who took offense at being told to quiet down by the night clerk at Pendleton’s Bowman Hotel in October of 1911 didn’t need the help of a man to get her forceful message across, much to the clerk’s chagrin.

Louis King, the night clerk at the Bowman Hotel, was sleeping on the afternoon of October 9, 1911, as was his wont before his shift at the hotel’s front desk. At around 5 p.m., boisterous laughter from what he decided was the room of Adele Pefferle woke him from his slumber. King went to Pefferle’s room and gave her a tongue-lashing, and requested that she be quieter. He then came downstairs to the hotel lobby.

Pefferle, a former member of the Boston Bloomers, ex-mascot of the Pendleton hose team and an imitator of men in many ways, took offense at King’s accusation. She followed him down to the lobby and denied she had been making the noise that disturbed him. An argument ensued, King repeating his accusations and Pefferle refusing to back down. Finally King accused Pefferle of being drunk.

And then the fisticuffs began.

Pefferle lashed out with her right fist, knocking King’s glasses off but leaving him more surprised than injured. “Was I drunk?” the offended woman demanded. When King declared she indeed was, Pefferle hit him again. And again. “You can’t say that to my face,” the incensed woman cried, punctuating each repeat of her assertion with another full-armed swing. By this time her hat had come off and her hair was askew, adding to her generally ferocious appearance.

King did not fight back, gentlemanly behavior restraining him, but he did attempt to end the fight by grabbing her arm. But Pefferle was no shrinking violet, and King found that restraining her was no easy task. Finally the day clerk came to King’s assistance and the attack was stopped.

Pefferle was asked to leave the hotel, but she refused to budge. A visit from Officer Kearney finally convinced her to pack her bags and take Train No. 17 for The Dalles that evening.

Pefferle, the daughter of a Spokane dentist, was no stranger to Pendleton — or to trouble. She had first arrived in town from Baker City in 1897 at the age of 15, and became the mascot of Pendleton’s famed hose racing team when she punched a man who made a jeering remark about the team. Later she joined the Boston Bloomers, a women’s touring baseball team that appeared at Weston’s Pioneer Picnic in 1909. After being run down by an ambulance in Salt Lake City at the age of 21, the scars she received ended her vaudeville career, and she took to wearing men’s clothing to find work. She was arrested for vagrancy in 1910 in Portland while masquerading as a man under the name of Joe Howard. Her final stay in Pendleton began with the 1911 Round-Up and ended just days after she gave a up a waitressing job at the hotel that finally sent her packing.

Noon siren falls silent

A Pendleton tradition came to an end when city officials decided not to move a warning siren to the new city hall complex in October 1996.

Pendleton’s noon siren was a long-standing tradition. The city-wide alert system began with a bell atop the old city hall at the turn of the century to call reserve and volunteer firefighters to their work. The bell was eventually replaced by a siren, with the old bell gracing the front of the Court Street fire station. The original siren was replaced by an air raid siren in the 1950s. And from 1962 to 1994, controls at the downtown fire station were used for the siren to indicate where a fire was burning. From then until October of 1996, the siren still was tested each day (except Sundays) at noon.

But when the new city hall complex was opened, the Pendleton City Council decided that the $10,000 bill to move the siren to the new digs was more than they could justify. The siren would blast its last on Oct. 31.

Fire Chief Dick Hopper, who suggested the siren be disconnected, wasn’t sorry to see the tradition put to rest. “I’m sure you’ve been downtown when it’s gone off. It just about drops you to your knees.”

Immediately, supporters of the siren made their voices heard. “They are taking a part of me away,” said Jenny Hogge, who lived and worked near the noon whistle all her life. “I think it’s sad and I think it’s a part of Pendleton.”

Rachel Lawrence, manager of Maurices clothing store, said she would miss the reaction of unsuspecting tourists who weren’t prepared for the siren’s shriek. And “I know my employees are late if they come in when the whistle blows.”

Jim Sewell, the former restaurateur who bought the old city hall building, said he received hundreds of phone calls and letters asking that he continue the noontime tradition, including a packet from fourth grade students at Hawthorne Elementary School. And Sewell said he would be happy to keep the building-shaking blast a part of Pendleton’s day. “I don’t mind running the siren at all,” Sewell said, though he added he would like the city to help with its maintenance.

The siren kept its daily vigil until the late 2000s, when it was sold to a private party.

Two-time Nobelist returns home for honor

Linus Pauling, a two-time Nobel Prize-winning chemist, returned to his roots in October 1988 when his hometown of Condon, Ore., named the town’s airport after their most famous native son.

The legendary scientist, whose discoveries about the nature of chemical bonds brought him international fame, was humbled by Condon’s honor.
At dedication ceremonies for the Condon State Airport-Pauling Field on Oct. 15, 1988, Pauling gave credit to the teachers who fostered his love of learning. “I may very well owe a lot of my understanding of the nature of the world to the introduction I received in Condon,” Pauling said.

Nobel Prize-winning scientist Linus Pauling speaks to about 200 people during a dedication ceremony at Condon State Airport-Pauling Field in Condon, Ore., on Oct. 15, 1988. The airport was renamed to honor Pauling, a former resident. (EO file photo)

Dedication organizers, including Oregon Waste Systems, chose Pauling for the honor because he “personifies the strong will the Condon community has, the desire to improve itself and its emphasis on educational goals.” OWS was lured to Gilliam County after the Condon airport spent a million dollars to accommodate larger, corporate aircraft.

Pauling was accompanied to the dedication by his daughter Linda Kamb and two sisters who lived in western Oregon. The Gilliam County Historical Society presented the 87-year-old scientist with a brick embedded with a red cross and a nickel, which was originally part of the walkway in front of his father Herman Pauling’s Red Cross Drug Store. Pauling remembered the nickel especially, because “he could never get it out.” In return, Pauling presented the historical society with a cut glass bowl saved from the store by his sister during a 1908 fire.

The Pauling family lived in Condon until 1909, when they relocated to Portland. Pauling attended the Oregon Agricultural College in Corvallis in 1922 and later the California Institute of Technology, where he received his Ph.D. His book “The Nature of the Chemical Bond,” published in 1932, and his work on the nature of matter won him his first Nobel Prize, in chemistry, in 1954. He won his second, a Nobel Peace Prize, in 1962 for his efforts in trying to effect a ban on nuclear testing.

Pauling in his later years also became known for espousing megadoses of Vitamin C to prevent the common cold and flu, publishing “How to Live Longer and Feel Better” in 1987.

He died Aug. 19, 1994, at the age of 93, at his home in Big Sur, California. His ashes, along with those of his wife Ava, were interred at Oswego Pioneer Cemetery in Lake Oswego, Ore.

Ladies take to the gridiron for Homecoming bout

Pendleton High School’s normally tame female population put aside their minis, midis and maxis for oversized jerseys and pants on Oct. 12, 1970, to show their male counterparts just what girls are made of during a ladies-only football game at Pendleton’s Round-Up stadium.

Two teams, Krout’s Crusaders and Johnson’s Baby Power, fought with all the scruples of cornered alley cats during the Powder Puff football game held in conjunction with Homecoming festivities at the high school. The determination and killer instinct were so palpable that many pro linebackers would have passed on tangling with the tiny but terrifying players. But instead of tackling and wrestling each other to the ground, the competitors had to be (mostly) satisfied with yanking ribbons from each other’s belts.

Fierce competitors battle for supremacy during an Oct. 12, 1970, Powder Puff football game at Round-Up stadium in Pendleton (EO file photo)

And what convinced the ladies to shuck “sugar and spice” for jerseys and flags? “Cause it’s rough!” said Edith Hoptowit.

Sally Simpson agreed. “Feminine sports aren’t rough enough.”

“Fun to get out and grub around,” said Liz Morrow.

Abby Hagen put a political spin on the event, adding, “Women are being liberated everywhere else.”

Another competitor, sporting a bruise, commented that you can’t judge a book by its cover. “Some of the girls carry on in the halls at school like something fragile. But put them in a pair of pants out here and brother, they’re tough!”

Krout’s Crusaders won 30-6.

Lawyers turn on one of their own for a laugh

A group of early-day Pendleton lawyers had a bit of fun at the expense of one of their own, according to a story in the Sept. 23, 1816 Round-Up Souvenir Program. What started as a practical joke devolved into two trials and many rounds of “spiritual sustenance.”

“Judge” Templeton, a justice of the peace in Meadows (now Echo) in 1877, was having a little trouble getting the Umatilla County court to pay him for services rendered after he presided over a trial for a suspected horse thief. The evidence against Tom Burns was so inconclusive that Templeton felt he had to let the man go. Templeton filled out a bill for presentation to the county court, but it was rejected for some triviality.

Templeton traveled to Pendleton and retained attorney Jim Turner to make out a proper bill and demand payment from the court. After what he thought was an appropriate lapse of time, he returned to Pendleton and requested his payment. Turner told him the court had yet to meet again since Templeton last was in town.

Disgruntled, Templeton adjourned to the nearest saloon and shared a few rounds with some of his friends. After he shared his troubles in collecting on his bill from the court, one of his companions saw the chance to have a little fun with Templeton and suggested that perhaps Turner was holding out on him. Templeton, incensed, declared he would arrest Turner for embezzlement.

Templeton strode to the county courthouse and, seating himself in the judge’s chair, made out a warrant charging his attorney with embezzlement. He appointed Ben Beagle a special constable to bring in the accused, and Turner arrived shortly after with Judge B.B. Bishop as his counsel. Turner pleaded not guilty, and told his side of the story from the witness stand. Templeton suggested that perhaps Turner wasn’t confining himself to the truth. Turner immediately called Templeton a “dam liar.”

Templeton promptly fined Turner $20 for contempt of court. Turner slapped a $20 dollar coin on the table, which his counsel pocketed, to the amazement of the assembled courtroom. Bishop then moved for dismissal, stating that Templeton had no jurisdiction in Pendleton, and thus could not try a case, much less assess a fine for contempt.

Templeton grudgingly had to admit Bishop was right. “Constable Beagle,” he shouted in his wrath, “adjourn this court, release the prisoner and when once we get out of this blasted courtroom I’ll lick the liver and lights out of him.” The court was at once adjourned amidst a roar of laughter. The lawyers, jury, judge and constable then crossed the street to Jacob’s saloon.

Instead of a fight, it was decided that Turner should be punished by spending the $20 coin on drinks and other refreshments for the lot of them. But that was not the end of Templeton’s troubles.

After several rounds the barkeeper, who had been put up to it, complained that he had been robbed and ordered all the doors closed and the patrons searched. After a diligent search, a collection of silver spoons, tumblers and other bar furnishings were found in Templeton’s pockets. A kangaroo court was immediately convened, with Turner acting as prosecuting attorney, S.L. Morris the judge, and Templeton providing his own counsel. In spite of a vigorous defense, Templeton was found guilty.

Templeton threatened a motion to appeal, which “Judge” Morris refused to entertain. But on a recommendation by the jury for mercy, Morris imposed a fine for petty larceny, $5, and ordered that it be spent on further supply of spiritual sustenance for the court officers.

And Templeton’s original bill? It was paid to him in due time.

Body in Umatilla River thought to be escaped prisoner

Unusually low water in the Umatilla River in September 1952 led to the discovery of the body of a man missing for four years after escaping from police custody near the Eastern Oregon State Hospital in Pendleton.

State police and county officers were called to the scene of a body found in the Umatilla River on September 22, 1952, by two fishermen just below the Billy Osborne ranch, a former frog farm, east of Barnhart. Fishermen in that area of the river had complained to state police of a peculiar odor over the previous few years. The body was in a hole, partially wedged in an old log jam.

The body was believed to be that of James Arthur McKinney, 48, a transient originally from Antlers, Okla., who escaped from Deputy Sheriff Roy Johnson May 16, 1948, and plunged into the Umatilla River near the state mental institution. McKinney had been arrested in the hamlet of Rieth just west of Pendleton after police received a tip that he was selling whiskey and other articles illegally.

Johnson was transporting McKinney by car to Pendleton when McKinney fired a small tear gas cartridge from a “fountain pen” gun at him and escaped. State policeman Joseph Wark saw McKinney jump into the Umatilla and disappear from view, but a search for him over the next few days was fruitless.

An examination of the partially intact remains pulled from the river revealed that the body was the same general size and hair color and wearing the same type of clothing as in McKinney’s description. Though the skull was skeletonized, the body had been partially covered in mud, which preserved some of the flesh and clothing. Identification by means of the teeth was impossible, as the body had no teeth and McKinney also wore dentures, which he did not have in his mouth when he made his escape in 1948.

The body was taken to a local funeral home for disposition, and no inquest into the death was expected to take place.