When Evelyn May’s family broke up in 1946 in Yakima, Wash., she wasn’t sure she’d ever see her 3-year-old son Tommy Anthony DeRosa again. In 1982, after a series of phone calls and with the help of state police agencies on opposite coasts, May was reunited with Tommy when he traveled from his home in New York to Hermiston to meet her, as well as five siblings and their families.
May’s other children, including sons Walt and John Blankenship and daughters Mary Kligel, Carol Longhorn and Janet Bailey, knew they had another brother, but weren’t sure where he was. May thought Tommy’s father might have taken him to New York after the couple split up. “We used to watch American Bandstand on television, and Mom would say, ‘Watch for your brother.’ She had some baby pictures, that was all,” said Kligel.
Walt Blankenship took the initiative and began a search for Tommy. He spent $104 on phone calls and learned that there were 15 Anthony DeRosas listed in New York phone directories. When he asked an officer with the Oregon State Police in Hermiston for advice, it was suggested he contact the New York State Police.
Not only did state police in New York locate the correct Anthony DeRosa, they handed off a letter to him written by Walt. DeRosa immediately called Walt, asking, “What took you so long?” He said he had always hoped he had siblings, but didn’t know how to find them, or if they even existed. He was told as a boy not to ask about his mother.
DeRosa next called his mother, by chance on her birthday, and told her that not only had she found her long-lost son, but also a daughter-in-law, Lynn, and four grandchildren.
DeRosa flew into the Tri-Cities Airport on Jan. 17, 1982, and was immediately swept into the arms of a family he hadn’t even dreamed of just a month before. He spent two weeks getting acquainted with his mother and a few dozen family members before returning to Queens, N.Y., where he worked as a truck driver and supervisor at a dairy. DeRosa planned to bring his family for another visit the following summer.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
‘The Gard’ rewarded for stellar service to county
Marie Gard is a pioneer when it comes to Umatilla County law enforcement. “The Gard,” as she was affectionately known during her career with the Umatilla County Sheriff’s Office, was the first woman hired as a correctional officer at the Umatilla County Jail. Her dedication to the sheriff’s office earned statewide recognition in January of 1998.
Gard began her law enforcement career in 1971 when she was hired as a dispatcher. She learned about the job from a Pendleton police detective who investigated after she was held up at gunpoint at the local Western Union office, where she was the manager. When the office closed, the detective encouraged Gard to apply with the sheriff’s office.
The diminutive Gard, who stands just under 5 feet tall, maintained a gentle demeanor until she was attacked by a female inmate she was booking into the jail. She then learned self-defense tactics from her male coworkers. Gard’s work ethic so impressed Sheriff Jim Carey she was offered a correctional officer position in 1981 — and she did her job so well Carey was encouraged to hire more women at the jail.
Though most of the male inmates at the Umatilla County Jail towered over and tried to intimidate her, Gard said she was never assaulted by any of them, avoiding physical altercations by relying on her “silver tongue” to get her out of tense situations. And Gard believes women are more likely to use intuition and communication skills during confrontations with inmates.
Sheriff John Trumbo rewarded Gard’s decades of service to the county by nominating her for a statewide award. In January of 1998, after 27 years with the Umatilla County Sheriff’s Office, Lt. Marie Gard was named Oregon Community Corrections’ 1997 Supervisor of the Year.
Gard remained with the sheriff’s office until her retirement in December 1998. She continued working as a part-time security guard at the Umatilla County Courthouse in Pendleton for another 17 years before retiring for good in February 2016 — a career spanning 45 years under nine different sheriffs.
Gard began her law enforcement career in 1971 when she was hired as a dispatcher. She learned about the job from a Pendleton police detective who investigated after she was held up at gunpoint at the local Western Union office, where she was the manager. When the office closed, the detective encouraged Gard to apply with the sheriff’s office.
The diminutive Gard, who stands just under 5 feet tall, maintained a gentle demeanor until she was attacked by a female inmate she was booking into the jail. She then learned self-defense tactics from her male coworkers. Gard’s work ethic so impressed Sheriff Jim Carey she was offered a correctional officer position in 1981 — and she did her job so well Carey was encouraged to hire more women at the jail.
Though most of the male inmates at the Umatilla County Jail towered over and tried to intimidate her, Gard said she was never assaulted by any of them, avoiding physical altercations by relying on her “silver tongue” to get her out of tense situations. And Gard believes women are more likely to use intuition and communication skills during confrontations with inmates.
Sheriff John Trumbo rewarded Gard’s decades of service to the county by nominating her for a statewide award. In January of 1998, after 27 years with the Umatilla County Sheriff’s Office, Lt. Marie Gard was named Oregon Community Corrections’ 1997 Supervisor of the Year.
Gard remained with the sheriff’s office until her retirement in December 1998. She continued working as a part-time security guard at the Umatilla County Courthouse in Pendleton for another 17 years before retiring for good in February 2016 — a career spanning 45 years under nine different sheriffs.
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Joyriding teen vows no more thrills
A Portland teenager was arrested near Meacham after engaging state law enforcement agencies in a state-wide manhunt in 1931, and his young female passenger was cured once and for all of thrillseeking after spending time in a local jail.
Merle Smiley and 17-year-old Peggy Carnahan left Portland together Jan. 14, 1931, after “borrowing” a car from a Portland garage. The couple traded the car for another one and $20 cash in Mosier, then continued east on their joyride. Portland police posted an all-points bulletin for the pair, and a Umatilla County sheriff’s deputy spotted them near Meacham two days later, where they were arrested.
Smiley was returned home by Portland authorities the same day. Carnahan, who confided to a reporter that she had run away with Smiley because she “wanted a thrill,” had a few adventures to ponder as she awaited her own transport home. Besides two days on the lam and her arrest, she got to spend the night in jail with two Native American women as companions — one of whom told her fortune — and had an unflattering “rogue’s gallery” photo taken as part of her stay in Umatilla County.
Carnahan declared she was ready to go home, and vowed to be a good girl from then on.
Merle Smiley and 17-year-old Peggy Carnahan left Portland together Jan. 14, 1931, after “borrowing” a car from a Portland garage. The couple traded the car for another one and $20 cash in Mosier, then continued east on their joyride. Portland police posted an all-points bulletin for the pair, and a Umatilla County sheriff’s deputy spotted them near Meacham two days later, where they were arrested.
Smiley was returned home by Portland authorities the same day. Carnahan, who confided to a reporter that she had run away with Smiley because she “wanted a thrill,” had a few adventures to ponder as she awaited her own transport home. Besides two days on the lam and her arrest, she got to spend the night in jail with two Native American women as companions — one of whom told her fortune — and had an unflattering “rogue’s gallery” photo taken as part of her stay in Umatilla County.
Carnahan declared she was ready to go home, and vowed to be a good girl from then on.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Non-traditional campout rings in the new year
Snowy weather and the winter holidays provided some fun, and a chilly campout experience, for three Hermiston brothers in the final days of 1973.
The sons of Dr. and Mrs. Milton Johnson of Hermiston, including 19-year-old Jeff, Jerry, 15, and Joey, 12, spent three days in the family’s back yard building an igloo in the classic Eskimo fashion, including a tunnel for entrance and a door made out of a huge chunk of icy snow.
Inside the eight-foot-wide by four-foot-long igloo, the boys laid a carpet for a floor and lit candles for light and warmth. The ceiling, measure seven feet high in the center, was made of a few pieces of lumber covered liberally with snow.
Construction foreman was the family’s black cat, Kohoutek, named for the “comet of the century” that was due to pass by the earth in early 1974.
Once the igloo was finished, on New Year’s Eve, the Johnson brothers decided to celebrate the holiday by camping out in the igloo overnight. Temperatures dropped to five degrees during the night, making it an event destined for the family scrapbook.
The sons of Dr. and Mrs. Milton Johnson of Hermiston, including 19-year-old Jeff, Jerry, 15, and Joey, 12, spent three days in the family’s back yard building an igloo in the classic Eskimo fashion, including a tunnel for entrance and a door made out of a huge chunk of icy snow.
Inside the eight-foot-wide by four-foot-long igloo, the boys laid a carpet for a floor and lit candles for light and warmth. The ceiling, measure seven feet high in the center, was made of a few pieces of lumber covered liberally with snow.
Construction foreman was the family’s black cat, Kohoutek, named for the “comet of the century” that was due to pass by the earth in early 1974.
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| Igloo builders (from left) Jeff, Jerry and Joey Johnson of Hermiston show off their Eskimo-style hut in early 1974. (EO file photo) |
Once the igloo was finished, on New Year’s Eve, the Johnson brothers decided to celebrate the holiday by camping out in the igloo overnight. Temperatures dropped to five degrees during the night, making it an event destined for the family scrapbook.
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Umatilla County farmers mourn death of medicine man
With the death of 70-year-old Alfalfa Jim just before Christmas in 1922, farmers in northeast Umatilla County wondered: Who will bring the Chinook now?
Alfalfa Jim was a full-blooded Walla Walla Indian known throughout the region as a medicine man who could break a cold snap for the right price. When heavy snow and biting cold settled over the Cayuse and Adams area for extended periods, the farmers would beg Alfalfa Jim to bring a chinook wind. Relief was often long in coming until the farmers could raise a big enough purse to entice him to “mix his medicine.”
Chinooks, according to the Mountain Nature website, are caused by moist weather patterns originating off the Pacific coast that cool as they climb the western slopes of the mountains and then rapidly warm as they drop down the eastern side. Chinooks winds generally begin with a sudden change in wind direction toward the south or southwest and an increase in wind speed, followed by rapid large temperature changes and a significant drop in humidity.
Farmers in the 1920s were fans of chinooks during the winter perhaps because the melting snow allowed their livestock to move around and find forage more easily, cutting their costs for hay and winter feed. Rapid snowmelt, however, can also result in a loss of soil moisture and plants breaking dormancy early, leading to crop damage when cold weather returns. Cattle can sometimes develop pneumonia or other respiratory diseases, or even be electrocuted when chinooks create a strong positive charge in the air that electrifies wire fences. And flash floods caused by melting mountain snows often spell disaster in low-lying areas.
Modern Umatilla County farmers are wary of chinook winds, partly because every molecule of water (stored in the form of mountain snow) is so necessary to their livelihood as water resources decline and temperatures continue to increase during the growing season. Perhaps, if Alfalfa Jim lived in northeast Oregon today, his services would not be in such high demand.
Alfalfa Jim was a full-blooded Walla Walla Indian known throughout the region as a medicine man who could break a cold snap for the right price. When heavy snow and biting cold settled over the Cayuse and Adams area for extended periods, the farmers would beg Alfalfa Jim to bring a chinook wind. Relief was often long in coming until the farmers could raise a big enough purse to entice him to “mix his medicine.”
Chinooks, according to the Mountain Nature website, are caused by moist weather patterns originating off the Pacific coast that cool as they climb the western slopes of the mountains and then rapidly warm as they drop down the eastern side. Chinooks winds generally begin with a sudden change in wind direction toward the south or southwest and an increase in wind speed, followed by rapid large temperature changes and a significant drop in humidity.
Farmers in the 1920s were fans of chinooks during the winter perhaps because the melting snow allowed their livestock to move around and find forage more easily, cutting their costs for hay and winter feed. Rapid snowmelt, however, can also result in a loss of soil moisture and plants breaking dormancy early, leading to crop damage when cold weather returns. Cattle can sometimes develop pneumonia or other respiratory diseases, or even be electrocuted when chinooks create a strong positive charge in the air that electrifies wire fences. And flash floods caused by melting mountain snows often spell disaster in low-lying areas.
Modern Umatilla County farmers are wary of chinook winds, partly because every molecule of water (stored in the form of mountain snow) is so necessary to their livelihood as water resources decline and temperatures continue to increase during the growing season. Perhaps, if Alfalfa Jim lived in northeast Oregon today, his services would not be in such high demand.
Monday, December 19, 2016
Bootlegger chooses wrong customer
A man running a bootleg operation out of his room at a Pendleton boarding house in January 1917 was arrested by one of his customers: Pendleton’s chief of police.
Jack Archer was running his business out of a boarding house at 205 West Webb Street, selling bootleg liquor through several agents. Being fairly new in town, Archer was heard to be asking around what the chief of police looked like. Chief Gurdane took advantage of his anonymity and arranged to be introduced to Archer as a merchant.
Archer opened negotiations at once, asking $6 per quart of his whisky. “Seems to me that’s a pretty stiff price,” said the chief.
“It’s a pretty stiff chance I’m taking too,” replied Archer.
The chief agreed to the price and handed over $12 for a half-gallon jug. The interchange had been so friendly that Archer lent Chief Gurdane a grip (like a travel bag) to carry his booty away, and invited him to return the following Saturday if he decided to purchase more. Gurdane grabbed the grip, and then took Archer by the arm and advised him to come along also, identifying himself as a “government man,” to Archer’s astonishment.
Gurdane handed Archer over to Officer Scheer a the police station. It wasn’t until the following morning that Archer was told he had sold liquor to the chief of police. He wilted, and pleaded guilty in court to a charge of bootlegging. Archer was sentenced to 30 days in jail and a $100 fine.
Jack Archer was running his business out of a boarding house at 205 West Webb Street, selling bootleg liquor through several agents. Being fairly new in town, Archer was heard to be asking around what the chief of police looked like. Chief Gurdane took advantage of his anonymity and arranged to be introduced to Archer as a merchant.
Archer opened negotiations at once, asking $6 per quart of his whisky. “Seems to me that’s a pretty stiff price,” said the chief.
“It’s a pretty stiff chance I’m taking too,” replied Archer.
The chief agreed to the price and handed over $12 for a half-gallon jug. The interchange had been so friendly that Archer lent Chief Gurdane a grip (like a travel bag) to carry his booty away, and invited him to return the following Saturday if he decided to purchase more. Gurdane grabbed the grip, and then took Archer by the arm and advised him to come along also, identifying himself as a “government man,” to Archer’s astonishment.
Gurdane handed Archer over to Officer Scheer a the police station. It wasn’t until the following morning that Archer was told he had sold liquor to the chief of police. He wilted, and pleaded guilty in court to a charge of bootlegging. Archer was sentenced to 30 days in jail and a $100 fine.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Pendleton man shoots himself, lives
No one in Pendleton’s Fix-It Shop on December 23, 1907, was quite sure why George Bowles would point a pistol at his forehead and pull the trigger in the middle of the store, but fortunately for everyone involved, Bowles survived the attempt to end his own life.
Witnesses in the shop, located near the Lyman Meat Market on Court Street, stated that Bowles came into the establishment several times that day before noon to look at guns. The first time he requested to borrow a large-caliber pistol, saying he wanted to shoot rats. He returned about noon to look at pistols in a display case.
“I wonder what Sorenson will take for this one,” Bowles commented, taking a .32-caliber pistol from the display case. Soon afterward he was seen repeatedly snapping the gun, stooping down behind the counter each time. Others in the shop had no way of knowing that Bowles was loading the gun with long .22-caliber cartridges.
Bowles then pointed the pistol at his forehead and pulled the trigger, the ball lodging just under the skin. When the men in the shop rushed to pick him up, he was reported to have asked, “What have I done?” While Dr. J.A. Best was removing the ball, Bowles seemed confused as to what had happened. Afterward, the wounded man was able to walk to the home he shared with his mother on West Court Street.
Though Bowles was familiar to the employees of the Fix-It Shop, having visited the shop on many occasions, not much was known about him besides his suffering from rheumatism. He moved to Pendleton in 1905 and had just returned from Spokane, where he had been working, two weeks prior to the shooting incident. He also was reported to have had a considerable drinking habit, which many said contributed to Bowles’ rash action.
Witnesses in the shop, located near the Lyman Meat Market on Court Street, stated that Bowles came into the establishment several times that day before noon to look at guns. The first time he requested to borrow a large-caliber pistol, saying he wanted to shoot rats. He returned about noon to look at pistols in a display case.
“I wonder what Sorenson will take for this one,” Bowles commented, taking a .32-caliber pistol from the display case. Soon afterward he was seen repeatedly snapping the gun, stooping down behind the counter each time. Others in the shop had no way of knowing that Bowles was loading the gun with long .22-caliber cartridges.
Bowles then pointed the pistol at his forehead and pulled the trigger, the ball lodging just under the skin. When the men in the shop rushed to pick him up, he was reported to have asked, “What have I done?” While Dr. J.A. Best was removing the ball, Bowles seemed confused as to what had happened. Afterward, the wounded man was able to walk to the home he shared with his mother on West Court Street.
Though Bowles was familiar to the employees of the Fix-It Shop, having visited the shop on many occasions, not much was known about him besides his suffering from rheumatism. He moved to Pendleton in 1905 and had just returned from Spokane, where he had been working, two weeks prior to the shooting incident. He also was reported to have had a considerable drinking habit, which many said contributed to Bowles’ rash action.
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