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.
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
December flood inundates Pendleton
The frontier town of Pendleton, first settled in the 1860s and incorporated in 1880, was almost swept away in December 1882 when incessant rains and warmer than usual temperatures created flood conditions that sent the Umatilla River over its banks.
The “sudden and unexpected calamity” began with warm rains early in the week, and by the afternoon of Dec. 13 some of Pendleton’s residents were beginning to worry about the rapid rise of the river. Most, though, expected a small amount of flooding as had happened in previous years. As the evening progressed and the water continued to rise, some families moved to higher ground or into the upper stories of downtown buildings and the Umatilla County Courthouse, while others scoffed and stayed put.
By the early morning hours of Dec. 14, downtown Pendleton was a rushing torrent of water. Townspeople raced frantically about, seeking shelter or trying to help their friends and neighbors. Men on horseback or driving wagon teams ferried goods and people, and those on foot forded streets through sometimes chest-high water. Frightened animals were raising a din, and dozens of drunken men staggered up and down the inundated sidewalks and shouted. The main bridge across the river was swept away by a combination of water, dead and dying animals, farm equipment and the wrecks of houses. One house was reported to have floated down the river with lights still burning inside.
The flood reached its peak at 6 a.m. and remained at that stage for three or four hours, after which it subsided as quickly as it had risen. In the aftermath, it was found that in the parts of town closest to the river only three houses were still on their foundations. And while no lives were lost in the flood, some had close calls. Dr. Aubrey and Fount Perry and their families found themselves afloat, but fortunately the house lodged against a large tree. They cut a hole in the siding and climbed out into the tree, where they were rescued several hours later by men in boats.
Railroad work crews also spent most of two days clinging to the upper branches of trees or, in one case, on the roof of the Bradley residence at Happy Canyon near Nolin. A Chinese labor camp downriver from Pendleton was completely washed away. Railroad tracks and trestle bridges were destroyed, severing communications between Pendleton and its neighbors, and while the O.W.R. & N. Railroad continued to carry passengers and mail on a limited basis, in some areas they had to use boats to skirt washed-out portions of the line.
Looters also took advantage of the chaos and helped themselves to clothing and household items left behind in wrecked homes.
By the following week, after cleanup efforts began, damage estimates ranged from $80,000 to $100,000, or approximately $1.75-$2.2 million in 2016 dollars — considerably less than the original damage estimates by some of up to $1 million in 1882 dollars.
The “sudden and unexpected calamity” began with warm rains early in the week, and by the afternoon of Dec. 13 some of Pendleton’s residents were beginning to worry about the rapid rise of the river. Most, though, expected a small amount of flooding as had happened in previous years. As the evening progressed and the water continued to rise, some families moved to higher ground or into the upper stories of downtown buildings and the Umatilla County Courthouse, while others scoffed and stayed put.
By the early morning hours of Dec. 14, downtown Pendleton was a rushing torrent of water. Townspeople raced frantically about, seeking shelter or trying to help their friends and neighbors. Men on horseback or driving wagon teams ferried goods and people, and those on foot forded streets through sometimes chest-high water. Frightened animals were raising a din, and dozens of drunken men staggered up and down the inundated sidewalks and shouted. The main bridge across the river was swept away by a combination of water, dead and dying animals, farm equipment and the wrecks of houses. One house was reported to have floated down the river with lights still burning inside.
The flood reached its peak at 6 a.m. and remained at that stage for three or four hours, after which it subsided as quickly as it had risen. In the aftermath, it was found that in the parts of town closest to the river only three houses were still on their foundations. And while no lives were lost in the flood, some had close calls. Dr. Aubrey and Fount Perry and their families found themselves afloat, but fortunately the house lodged against a large tree. They cut a hole in the siding and climbed out into the tree, where they were rescued several hours later by men in boats.
Railroad work crews also spent most of two days clinging to the upper branches of trees or, in one case, on the roof of the Bradley residence at Happy Canyon near Nolin. A Chinese labor camp downriver from Pendleton was completely washed away. Railroad tracks and trestle bridges were destroyed, severing communications between Pendleton and its neighbors, and while the O.W.R. & N. Railroad continued to carry passengers and mail on a limited basis, in some areas they had to use boats to skirt washed-out portions of the line.
Looters also took advantage of the chaos and helped themselves to clothing and household items left behind in wrecked homes.
By the following week, after cleanup efforts began, damage estimates ranged from $80,000 to $100,000, or approximately $1.75-$2.2 million in 2016 dollars — considerably less than the original damage estimates by some of up to $1 million in 1882 dollars.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Post-Pearl Harbor blackout practice a success
In the days following the Dec. 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor by Japanese forces, tensions were understandably heightened on the Pacific Coast. Even before the fateful attack, cities like Portland staged practice blackouts to prepare citizens for a possible attack on U.S. soil.
Pendleton staged a 15-minute blackout trial run on Dec. 10 to judge the speed at which Pendleton could plunge itself into total darkness. The downtown fire siren and the whistle at Harris Pine Mills gave two five-minute-long blasts at 7:30 p.m. to signal the blackout, and within three minutes virtually 100 percent of the city had gone dark. Mayor C.L. Lieuallen revealed that only 30 people out of a population of about 12,000 had to be warned by wardens to turn out their lights.
From nearby hills, observers commented that the blackout was so quick and complete that it looked as if the city had dropped into an abyss. But cars approaching Pendleton ringed the blacked-out town, and even though drivers were required to turn out their headlights when entering the city limits, officials admitted it was an issue that would require further thought. Blue cellophane placed over headlights did little to mask them, lighting up the street for several blocks, and even a carelessly lit match or the burning end of a cigarette stood out like a beacon.
Pendleton residents took pride in the success of the blackout practice, even chastising their neighbors when lights were not snuffed promptly. And the only two people who gave wardens an argument about turning off their lights were said to be under investigation “to determine whether or not they are good Americans.”
The blackout ended at 7:45 p.m. when street lights were turned on as a signal that the practice run was over.
Pendleton staged a 15-minute blackout trial run on Dec. 10 to judge the speed at which Pendleton could plunge itself into total darkness. The downtown fire siren and the whistle at Harris Pine Mills gave two five-minute-long blasts at 7:30 p.m. to signal the blackout, and within three minutes virtually 100 percent of the city had gone dark. Mayor C.L. Lieuallen revealed that only 30 people out of a population of about 12,000 had to be warned by wardens to turn out their lights.
From nearby hills, observers commented that the blackout was so quick and complete that it looked as if the city had dropped into an abyss. But cars approaching Pendleton ringed the blacked-out town, and even though drivers were required to turn out their headlights when entering the city limits, officials admitted it was an issue that would require further thought. Blue cellophane placed over headlights did little to mask them, lighting up the street for several blocks, and even a carelessly lit match or the burning end of a cigarette stood out like a beacon.
Pendleton residents took pride in the success of the blackout practice, even chastising their neighbors when lights were not snuffed promptly. And the only two people who gave wardens an argument about turning off their lights were said to be under investigation “to determine whether or not they are good Americans.”
The blackout ended at 7:45 p.m. when street lights were turned on as a signal that the practice run was over.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Milton-Freewater teen reigns as Miss Oregon
Marjean Langley of Milton-Freewater took the crown during the 1968 Miss Oregon Pageant in Seaside, representing Umatilla County. After taking top honors for the state Langley also traveled to Atlantic City, N.J., to compete for the highest honor in American pageantdom, Miss America. She was named third runner-up.
Marjean came away from the Miss America pageant with $3,500 in scholarships, a new wardrobe, and a car donated by Oldsmobile. But the down-to-earth 19-year-old daughter of Gene and Marjorie Langley hadn’t lost her “relax and have fun” philosophy, and was happy to wash off all the makeup required for pageant appearances and photo shoots.
She returned to Milton-Freewater after the Miss America pageant to prepare for her year representing the state of Oregon. She visited with a crowd of city residents at the Rotary Club meeting to talk about her planned appearances as Miss Oregon, including visits to hospitals, civic groups and high schools, and the possibility to join Miss America and other runners-up on a USO tour. “I’m practicing some soft shoe dance routines for these appearances,” she said. She also stopped by McLoughlin Union High School to tell the student body about her trip, and the First Christian Church, where she had been an active member, to see friends attending a district meeting of the Oregon Federation of Women’s Clubs.
Marjean also expressed her heartfelt thanks to the community that supported her through her pageant run. “You can’t know how much it meant to come in every evening after the events at Atlantic City and find all those heartfelt message, wires, notes, flowers. ... I knew you were all behind me and that I wasn’t ‘on my own.’”
The Langley family planned to find a homelike apartment in Portland for the duration of Marjean’s year as Miss Oregon. Following her reign Marjean planned to return to Linfield College, where she was studying to become social worker for children with physical disabilities.
Marjean came away from the Miss America pageant with $3,500 in scholarships, a new wardrobe, and a car donated by Oldsmobile. But the down-to-earth 19-year-old daughter of Gene and Marjorie Langley hadn’t lost her “relax and have fun” philosophy, and was happy to wash off all the makeup required for pageant appearances and photo shoots.
She returned to Milton-Freewater after the Miss America pageant to prepare for her year representing the state of Oregon. She visited with a crowd of city residents at the Rotary Club meeting to talk about her planned appearances as Miss Oregon, including visits to hospitals, civic groups and high schools, and the possibility to join Miss America and other runners-up on a USO tour. “I’m practicing some soft shoe dance routines for these appearances,” she said. She also stopped by McLoughlin Union High School to tell the student body about her trip, and the First Christian Church, where she had been an active member, to see friends attending a district meeting of the Oregon Federation of Women’s Clubs.
Marjean also expressed her heartfelt thanks to the community that supported her through her pageant run. “You can’t know how much it meant to come in every evening after the events at Atlantic City and find all those heartfelt message, wires, notes, flowers. ... I knew you were all behind me and that I wasn’t ‘on my own.’”
The Langley family planned to find a homelike apartment in Portland for the duration of Marjean’s year as Miss Oregon. Following her reign Marjean planned to return to Linfield College, where she was studying to become social worker for children with physical disabilities.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Stanfield couple’s stolen jewelry mysteriously returned
Longtime Stanfield residents Norman Stewart Jr. and his wife Beverly were understandably distraught when valuable and irreplaceable jewelry was stolen from their home in October of 1991. They were astonished when, less than a month later, the jewelry mysteriously reappeared in the drawer from which it had been taken.
The Stewarts’ story appeared in Al Donnelly’s “Pokin’ Around” column in the Nov. 25, 1991, East Oregonian. The jewelry was taken during a burglary of the Stewart home from a dresser drawer in the couple’s bedroom, where Norman kept his T-shirts. Some of the items were antiques, and irreplaceable. The Stewarts called the Umatilla County Sheriff’s Office to report the burglary, and offered a sizeable reward for the return of their property. They also took out display ads in the local newspapers.
Then in mid-November, the Stewarts returned home one evening to find the jewelry had been replaced in Norman’s T-shirt drawer — every single piece.
Beverly Stewart wasn’t quite sure why the thief or thieves brought the jewelry back to them, but she had her suspicions. The sheriff’s office had narrowed a list of suspects to just a few, and were talking about lie detector tests to put pressure on them.
Once an honorary member of the sheriff’s office, Beverly had let her membership lapse over the years. But, she said, “I’ll tell you, I’ll be doing it now.”
The Stewarts’ story appeared in Al Donnelly’s “Pokin’ Around” column in the Nov. 25, 1991, East Oregonian. The jewelry was taken during a burglary of the Stewart home from a dresser drawer in the couple’s bedroom, where Norman kept his T-shirts. Some of the items were antiques, and irreplaceable. The Stewarts called the Umatilla County Sheriff’s Office to report the burglary, and offered a sizeable reward for the return of their property. They also took out display ads in the local newspapers.
Then in mid-November, the Stewarts returned home one evening to find the jewelry had been replaced in Norman’s T-shirt drawer — every single piece.
Beverly Stewart wasn’t quite sure why the thief or thieves brought the jewelry back to them, but she had her suspicions. The sheriff’s office had narrowed a list of suspects to just a few, and were talking about lie detector tests to put pressure on them.
Once an honorary member of the sheriff’s office, Beverly had let her membership lapse over the years. But, she said, “I’ll tell you, I’ll be doing it now.”
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