In the fall of 1991, the Pendleton High Rally Club retired the school’s spirit stick after the Buckaroos beat the Hermiston Bulldogs 39-8 at the Homecoming football game. Winston Hill, a PHS senior and member of the rally squad, said the stick was such good luck that the club had decided to retire it and make another for the winter and spring sports seasons.
The stick, an ax handle painted green and gold, first made its appearance during the 1991 volleyball season. Winston recalled that “about 20 guys” from Hermiston said they wanted the stick. Winston told them if the Bulldogs beat the Bucks at football they could have it — but what could they give in exchange? The Hermiston boosters made a rally stick of their own, painted — of course — purple and gold.
Following the close of the Homecoming game, Hermiston High’s student activities coordinator, Darin Creason, met Winston on the field. They shook hands and Darin gave up the Hermiston rally stick. The Bucks’ bounty was enshrined in the Pendleton High School trophy case.
Creason said the Hermiston supporters had plans to win their rally stick back during basketball, swimming or wrestling season. At a good match, he said, they might even capture both sticks. Creason said the new tradition would help maintain “good ties” between the two schools.
Winston agreed. “It sort of made a friendly competition out of the whole deal ... gave you something to look forward to.”
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Reformed parrot dies at 125
If you’ve ever considered getting a parrot as a pet, think about this: Parrots are a life-long commitment, sometimes outliving their owners, and keeping a parrot is a lot of work. They are also very social, and enjoy interacting with people. The combination can make for a long and interesting life.
Case in point: Polly, the resident parrot of the Caribou Hotel in Carcross, Yukon Territory, Canada. The Associated Press ran a story about the famous bird, who died at the estimated age of 125 in November of 1972. His age was estimated because no one alive at the time had been around when Polly was born; it was said he was already “a bit grey around the beak” during the Gold Rush of 1898.
Originally owned by a barber from Vancouver, according to one story, Polly came with his owner to the Yukon during the gold rush years. He was next under the care of Captain James Alexander, who ran the Engineer Mine on the shore of Tagish Lake in British Columbia, in the early 1900s. But in 1918, the bird was orphaned when Alexander and his wife died in the shipwreck of the Princess Sophia while navigating the Lynn Canal. Polly was taken in at the Caribou Hotel and quickly became its most distinctive resident.
Polly was unfortunately influenced by the wrong crowd at his new home. He had a reputation for being the hardest-drinking, most profusely profane parrot north of the 60th parallel, though hotel owner Dorothy Hopcott said he always knew when to just glide off his perch and pass out in the bottom of his cage. More than 60 years of hanging around with bar patrons left him with other bad habits, including biting and spitting. And he never developed a taste for crackers, his favorite response to the question being “Go to Hell.”
Later in life, Hopcott said Polly chucked the bottle for religion, guided by a hotel patron who taught him several verses of “Onward Christian Soldiers.” His bluer streaks of profanity ceased and he also stopped singing salty sea chanties. He snubbed the adults who reminded him of his past but loved to talk to children, usually in an incomprehensible, but apparently well-mannered, mumbo jumbo.
Polly was buried on the outskirts of the Pioneer Carcross Cemetery, complete with bronze grave marker, and a wake held in the Caribou was attended by people from across the Yukon Territory. The hotel’s owners received condolences (and offers of replacement parrots) from around the world.
Case in point: Polly, the resident parrot of the Caribou Hotel in Carcross, Yukon Territory, Canada. The Associated Press ran a story about the famous bird, who died at the estimated age of 125 in November of 1972. His age was estimated because no one alive at the time had been around when Polly was born; it was said he was already “a bit grey around the beak” during the Gold Rush of 1898.
Originally owned by a barber from Vancouver, according to one story, Polly came with his owner to the Yukon during the gold rush years. He was next under the care of Captain James Alexander, who ran the Engineer Mine on the shore of Tagish Lake in British Columbia, in the early 1900s. But in 1918, the bird was orphaned when Alexander and his wife died in the shipwreck of the Princess Sophia while navigating the Lynn Canal. Polly was taken in at the Caribou Hotel and quickly became its most distinctive resident.
Polly was unfortunately influenced by the wrong crowd at his new home. He had a reputation for being the hardest-drinking, most profusely profane parrot north of the 60th parallel, though hotel owner Dorothy Hopcott said he always knew when to just glide off his perch and pass out in the bottom of his cage. More than 60 years of hanging around with bar patrons left him with other bad habits, including biting and spitting. And he never developed a taste for crackers, his favorite response to the question being “Go to Hell.”
Later in life, Hopcott said Polly chucked the bottle for religion, guided by a hotel patron who taught him several verses of “Onward Christian Soldiers.” His bluer streaks of profanity ceased and he also stopped singing salty sea chanties. He snubbed the adults who reminded him of his past but loved to talk to children, usually in an incomprehensible, but apparently well-mannered, mumbo jumbo.
Polly was buried on the outskirts of the Pioneer Carcross Cemetery, complete with bronze grave marker, and a wake held in the Caribou was attended by people from across the Yukon Territory. The hotel’s owners received condolences (and offers of replacement parrots) from around the world.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Rooftop puddle becomes fish pond
A prank to kick off Homecoming week and Halloween festivities at Pendleton High School in November 1981 was decidedly fishy. A puddle of water on a cover over the sidewalk stretching from the high school’s main building to the auditorium was turned into a fish pond by a group of PHS students, complete with a school of 50 goldfish. The walkway cover featured a flat roof with a turned-up edge that held a couple of inches of water after a good rain.
Four senior girls were rumored to be behind the escapade, though none of them would confess. A practical joke the year before, in which several students dismantled a sports car in the school’s library, netted the pranksters two weeks of floor-mopping duty, so the perpetrators were pleading the Fifth Amendment.
School publicist Michelle Frodenberg and friends Vita Merrick and Melissa Hoeft painted a “No Fishing” sign that was hung in the window overlooking the pond. The goldfish were surviving quite nicely on handouts of bread from passing students and dodging several red and white fishing bobbers floating near the edge of the pond. Senior Gary Green remarked, “They’ll be OK ‘til summer” as long as the pond didn’t dry up or freeze solid.
Principal Joe Canon said no calls to the Oregon Fish & Wildlife Department were planned.
Four senior girls were rumored to be behind the escapade, though none of them would confess. A practical joke the year before, in which several students dismantled a sports car in the school’s library, netted the pranksters two weeks of floor-mopping duty, so the perpetrators were pleading the Fifth Amendment.
School publicist Michelle Frodenberg and friends Vita Merrick and Melissa Hoeft painted a “No Fishing” sign that was hung in the window overlooking the pond. The goldfish were surviving quite nicely on handouts of bread from passing students and dodging several red and white fishing bobbers floating near the edge of the pond. Senior Gary Green remarked, “They’ll be OK ‘til summer” as long as the pond didn’t dry up or freeze solid.
Principal Joe Canon said no calls to the Oregon Fish & Wildlife Department were planned.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Halloween games in early Pendleton
Halloween is one of those holidays just about everyone loves. Mobs of kids in imaginative and/or scary costumes roam the streets in search of candy, usually with parents in tow. Nowadays kids are more likely to attend a community Halloween party such as the ones sponsored by the cities of Hermiston and Pendleton in Umatilla County, complete with bounce houses, face painting, carnival-style games and (of course) lots of candy and treats. It’s a safer (and warmer) way for kids to celebrate the holiday, and much less worrisome for their parents.
In searching for how Halloween used to be celebrated in Pendleton’s early history, I came across a story from the Oct. 30, 1905 East Oregonian. It seems there were still superstitions about being out and about on the “picnic night” of All Hallow’s Eve, or Hallowe’en, when all the ghosts were said to roam free, and people stayed indoors and played party games instead. The article said nothing about trick-or-treating, and the party games described were for young adults, not little children.
The first Halloween tradition sounds a bit like a fraternity hazing ritual: The loving bowl consisted of a large punch bowl full of milk into which was put baked apples, boiled potatoes, peeled oranges and other fruits. Each party-goer was required to dip into the milk and bring out a “prize,” with the winner being the person who found the biggest apple or orange. The article didn’t say whether the players were required to eat their prizes.
In the second game, a candle was lit and placed on a table. A person was blindfolded and turned around three times, then instructed to walk three steps and blow out the candle. If he or she was successful, it was a sign that the player would be fortunate in matters of romance in the coming year, and in addition would be rewarded with a loving spouse before another Halloween rolled around.
A third game was called cross meetings. Three young men and three young women, all single, were blindfolded and then led to separate places in the house. At a given signal, the six players tried to find each other, stumbling and groping their way through the house. When two of them met, they embraced and were considered paired for the rest of the evening. “Of course,” the article said, “a master of ceremonies or a mistress of ceremonies accompanies each one of the blindfolded victims, to be sure that no accidents happen, and also to prevent fate from causing two men to fall into each other’s arms, or two young women to embrace each other when they should be, as are all well regulated young women, on the lookout for a man rather than a woman.” This was, after all, 1905.
The last game in the article is the fagot party (a fagot being a stick of firewood). As the party was winding down and everyone was settled in comfortably to chat, the master or mistress of ceremonies would suddenly throw a fagot on the fire and then call out the name of one of the party-goers. That person had to tell a story as long as that stick of wood was burning. When it fell to ashes, another stick was thrown on the fire and another party-goer had to tell a story, and so on. I would imagine a lot of ghost stories were told at Hallowe’en fagot parties.
Most of these games have morphed into something similar in modern times — bobbing for apples, blind man’s bluff and others — and have been adapted for young children’s parties.
In searching for how Halloween used to be celebrated in Pendleton’s early history, I came across a story from the Oct. 30, 1905 East Oregonian. It seems there were still superstitions about being out and about on the “picnic night” of All Hallow’s Eve, or Hallowe’en, when all the ghosts were said to roam free, and people stayed indoors and played party games instead. The article said nothing about trick-or-treating, and the party games described were for young adults, not little children.
The first Halloween tradition sounds a bit like a fraternity hazing ritual: The loving bowl consisted of a large punch bowl full of milk into which was put baked apples, boiled potatoes, peeled oranges and other fruits. Each party-goer was required to dip into the milk and bring out a “prize,” with the winner being the person who found the biggest apple or orange. The article didn’t say whether the players were required to eat their prizes.
In the second game, a candle was lit and placed on a table. A person was blindfolded and turned around three times, then instructed to walk three steps and blow out the candle. If he or she was successful, it was a sign that the player would be fortunate in matters of romance in the coming year, and in addition would be rewarded with a loving spouse before another Halloween rolled around.
A third game was called cross meetings. Three young men and three young women, all single, were blindfolded and then led to separate places in the house. At a given signal, the six players tried to find each other, stumbling and groping their way through the house. When two of them met, they embraced and were considered paired for the rest of the evening. “Of course,” the article said, “a master of ceremonies or a mistress of ceremonies accompanies each one of the blindfolded victims, to be sure that no accidents happen, and also to prevent fate from causing two men to fall into each other’s arms, or two young women to embrace each other when they should be, as are all well regulated young women, on the lookout for a man rather than a woman.” This was, after all, 1905.
The last game in the article is the fagot party (a fagot being a stick of firewood). As the party was winding down and everyone was settled in comfortably to chat, the master or mistress of ceremonies would suddenly throw a fagot on the fire and then call out the name of one of the party-goers. That person had to tell a story as long as that stick of wood was burning. When it fell to ashes, another stick was thrown on the fire and another party-goer had to tell a story, and so on. I would imagine a lot of ghost stories were told at Hallowe’en fagot parties.
Most of these games have morphed into something similar in modern times — bobbing for apples, blind man’s bluff and others — and have been adapted for young children’s parties.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
'Laughing situation' turns into fight for life
What started out as a lark at Cold Springs Reservoir near Hermiston on October 21, 1972, turned into a desperate two-hour struggle for life when a 13-year-old Hermiston boy became trapped in quicksand.
David McCune and two friends, Junior Demery, 14, and Duck Stubbs, 12, were camping at the reservoir and playing at being stuck in the mud. McCune said the day went instantly from a laughing situation to panic and tears when he discovered he was stuck and sinking in quicksand, and there was no apparent means of escape. Demery and Stubbs returned to their campsite for a rope, which they put around McCune’s chest and started pulling. But the rope broke, and by that time McCune had sunk to his chest in mud and a foot of icy water. He figured he “might be a goner.”
One of the boys went for help. Al Hartley, an Oregon City truck driver, was camping at the reservoir with his family. Hartley found Arnold Weber and H.T. Burns, both Hermiston farmers, and loaded his pickup with material to rescue McCune. Two Hermiston pheasant hunters, Steve Broyles and Eugene Hale, of the Navy Bombing Range at Boardman, also joined the rescue effort.
Hartley dug down around McCune’s legs, desperately trying to free the boy from the mud. Using belts around McCune’s legs and chest, the men pulled and tugged and finally yanked him free.
After two hours stuck in the quicksand, McCune was so cold, exhausted and frightened he couldn’t walk. He was taken to Arnold Weber’s home, where he soaked in a warm bath. McCune returned to school Tuesday with no ill effects.
McCune’s pals returned to Cold Springs Sunday night for another campout and invited him along. His reply: "No, thanks."
David McCune and two friends, Junior Demery, 14, and Duck Stubbs, 12, were camping at the reservoir and playing at being stuck in the mud. McCune said the day went instantly from a laughing situation to panic and tears when he discovered he was stuck and sinking in quicksand, and there was no apparent means of escape. Demery and Stubbs returned to their campsite for a rope, which they put around McCune’s chest and started pulling. But the rope broke, and by that time McCune had sunk to his chest in mud and a foot of icy water. He figured he “might be a goner.”
One of the boys went for help. Al Hartley, an Oregon City truck driver, was camping at the reservoir with his family. Hartley found Arnold Weber and H.T. Burns, both Hermiston farmers, and loaded his pickup with material to rescue McCune. Two Hermiston pheasant hunters, Steve Broyles and Eugene Hale, of the Navy Bombing Range at Boardman, also joined the rescue effort.
Hartley dug down around McCune’s legs, desperately trying to free the boy from the mud. Using belts around McCune’s legs and chest, the men pulled and tugged and finally yanked him free.
After two hours stuck in the quicksand, McCune was so cold, exhausted and frightened he couldn’t walk. He was taken to Arnold Weber’s home, where he soaked in a warm bath. McCune returned to school Tuesday with no ill effects.
McCune’s pals returned to Cold Springs Sunday night for another campout and invited him along. His reply: "No, thanks."
Monday, October 13, 2014
Fire tanker shot after rollover wreck
A water tanker owned by the Echo Fire Department responding to a series of fires along the railroad tracks west of Pendleton rolled down an embankment and was shot before being towed away by employees of Woodpecker Truck in October of 2001.
The tanker rolled off Yoakum Road near Rieth Road when a volunteer driver apparently turned too hard on a gentle uphill curve and hit the shoulder, which gave way. The truck was totaled but the driver, who was using safety restraints, was uninjured.
A crew from Woodpecker Truck arrived to tow the rig back up the hill, but the tanker, which held 5,000 gallons of water, was too heavy even for two heavy-duty tow trucks, and the vehicle also came to rest on its side, burying the valves used to empty the tank. So the Woodpecker crew improvised — with a handgun. After the tanker was emptied, it took two hours to pull the truck off the hill.
Fire district officials said the tanker, an early ’80s model, would likely have its initial purchase cost covered by insurance, but were unsure how long it would take to replace. Echo Rural Fire Protection District Chief Merle Gehrke said the fire district purchased the truck from a Portland truck company for $10,500, but spent thousands of dollars converting the former gasoline tanker for its new role as a water tanker. It had been in service less than a year when the accident happened. “Whether we can find a replacement for that amount, I don’t know,” said fire district treasurer Kaye McAtee. “We were lucky on that one.” Winter weather and fewer fires would give the fire department time to look for a new tanker.
It was a interesting situation for Woodpecker Truck, too. Supervisor John Rehberg said, “Once in a while fire departments might have a tanker break down and we have to tow it in, but nothing like this.”
The tanker rolled off Yoakum Road near Rieth Road when a volunteer driver apparently turned too hard on a gentle uphill curve and hit the shoulder, which gave way. The truck was totaled but the driver, who was using safety restraints, was uninjured.
A crew from Woodpecker Truck arrived to tow the rig back up the hill, but the tanker, which held 5,000 gallons of water, was too heavy even for two heavy-duty tow trucks, and the vehicle also came to rest on its side, burying the valves used to empty the tank. So the Woodpecker crew improvised — with a handgun. After the tanker was emptied, it took two hours to pull the truck off the hill.
Fire district officials said the tanker, an early ’80s model, would likely have its initial purchase cost covered by insurance, but were unsure how long it would take to replace. Echo Rural Fire Protection District Chief Merle Gehrke said the fire district purchased the truck from a Portland truck company for $10,500, but spent thousands of dollars converting the former gasoline tanker for its new role as a water tanker. It had been in service less than a year when the accident happened. “Whether we can find a replacement for that amount, I don’t know,” said fire district treasurer Kaye McAtee. “We were lucky on that one.” Winter weather and fewer fires would give the fire department time to look for a new tanker.
It was a interesting situation for Woodpecker Truck, too. Supervisor John Rehberg said, “Once in a while fire departments might have a tanker break down and we have to tow it in, but nothing like this.”
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Hunting dog excels despite tragic injury
In the summer of 1985, 15-year-old Greg McCallum of Pendleton was training his new yellow Labrador retriever for bird hunting. Then tragedy struck.
“Molly” was hit by a car in Pendleton, and Greg was sure the dog would have to be put to sleep. But the veterinarian looking after Molly was sure the dog would pull through, impressed with her will to live after her left front leg was amputated.
“I didn’t think she’d ever be able to hunt but she was doing so well I decided to keep her,” Greg said in October of 1985, as Molly was running through her paces at the Southeast Washington Retriever Club field trial at the Umatilla National Wildlife Refuge near Irrigon. After the accident Molly was unsure of herself and had very little stamina, but bounced back quickly and the casual observer could hardly tell the rambunctious pup had only three legs.
During the field trial Molly had a little trouble with the first test involving pigeons, but caught on fast. Greg beamed after his dog paddled right to a downed duck, marked and retrieved it from a pond. The Pendleton sophomore knew he had a great hunting dog in the making.
“Molly” was hit by a car in Pendleton, and Greg was sure the dog would have to be put to sleep. But the veterinarian looking after Molly was sure the dog would pull through, impressed with her will to live after her left front leg was amputated.
“I didn’t think she’d ever be able to hunt but she was doing so well I decided to keep her,” Greg said in October of 1985, as Molly was running through her paces at the Southeast Washington Retriever Club field trial at the Umatilla National Wildlife Refuge near Irrigon. After the accident Molly was unsure of herself and had very little stamina, but bounced back quickly and the casual observer could hardly tell the rambunctious pup had only three legs.
During the field trial Molly had a little trouble with the first test involving pigeons, but caught on fast. Greg beamed after his dog paddled right to a downed duck, marked and retrieved it from a pond. The Pendleton sophomore knew he had a great hunting dog in the making.
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