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Rogue
Valley Childhoods ENTERPRISING.--Getting short of brick for his new building this week, Pat Ryan offered several street gamins a cent apiece for each brick they would bring him, at the same time telling the boys to pick up any and all brick they could find around town. After prospecting around a little the youths struck a bonanza in the shape of a big brick pile in the back yard of one of Mr. Ryan's other houses. The work of delivering was commenced at once, the boys receiving their pay as each load was delivered, when finally Pat smelled a mouse and investigation showed that he had been buying his own brick. The contract was canceled at once. Oregon Sentinel, Jacksonville, November 22, 1884, page 3 Mrs. Warren Howard, while walking down the track on last Sunday, was hit in the head with a slingshot by her little boy, who was throwing rocks out of it just for fun, but it wasn't so funny, for his mother, who lay aside of the track for an hour or two before she was able to walk. It has got to be a common pastime for the boys around town to be throwing continually with their slings, large as well as small boys, and nothing more dangerous could be used. Now boys, it is a good time to stop before we have a worse accident to record. Medford Mail, May 26, 1893, page 1 If Medford parents could see and hear their children as others do, there would be less of boisterous conduct at public entertainments in the opera house. An encore or applause is all very right and proper when deserved, but prolonged whistling, shouting or stamping of feet is an act far beneath the conduct of a true gentleman. Boys can be little gentlemen if they will, and no better place is there to show this spirit of manliness than at a public entertainment. If parents do not take their wayward and boisterous children in hand at these public gatherings and see that they do not disturb those who go there to listen to the speakers, the marshal will be called upon to eject them from the hall. "News of the City," Medford Mail, May 25, 1894, page 3 Boys will be boys just the same as girls will be girls, but because this is true it is no reason why boys should not be little gentlemen and girls little ladies. However, it is boys only that we have to deal with in this item. The Mail knows of boys, who are old enough to know better, and whose mothers would give them a good snug spanking if they knew of some of their little acts. The act referred to is nothing more nor less than that of stealing fruit from the several stands about the city. Of course it is not your boys, but those neighbors' boys are a bad crowd and ought to be attended to. No longer than a few weeks ago one of our merchants reported having seen two boys slip around a street corner and steal peaches and apples from a box, slip them in their pockets, then enter the store and pilfer a few handsful of grapes from boxes sitting on the counter. The parents of these lads would be mortified to no small degree if they knew their sons would steal, but they do, and a starting out in this direction unless carefully guarded will land the young culprits in the penitentiary. If the boys are caught in this act again, their names will be printed in this paper. "News of the City," Medford Mail, October 12, 1894, page 3 Report reaches us that boys who would like to be men and who want to act like men--real bad ones--are in the habit of of congregating in old sheds and various other unused buildings about the city, and there put in their time playing poker; of course in a mild way, with only a nickel ante, but the habit is sufficiently alluring to take the boys from their homes and make gamblers of them. Parents should exercise the greatest possible vigilance in this matter and break up these little gatherings, which if diligently followed up cannot fail to result disastrously to the young men of our city. "News of the City," Medford Mail, April 5, 1895, page 5 AMATEUR DESPERADOES.
TWO YOUNG LADS LEAVE THEIR HOMES TO RUN AWAY. Following
the example set by some of the larger boys, Loid Cox and a son of
George Riggs, both about ten years of age, "took the road" last Friday,
with the idea that they were doing something to be proud of, and that
they would win them fame and admiration of the Evans and Sontag style.
The Riggs boy, alias "Leandy Neil's son," obtained a quarter of Mrs. Cox under the pretext of wishing to buy a new hat. The boys then induced one of the Miller boys to let them have his gun, stating that they were going to Dead Indian and would bring him a pony to pay for it. Cartridges were purchased with the money, and, after some little preparation, the boys set out along the railroad track. They were next seen at Steinman by Lee Minkler, who telegraphed the information to city marshal G. W. Smith. After one night of desperado life, the Riggs boy became "homesick" and returned, leaving young Cox alone with the empty gun. When last heard of, Cox was stopping with a relative of Nim Long, in the Siskiyous. He will be sent home at once. The Ashland Advertiser, August 21, 1895, page 1 Duties of Pupils.
The following rules relating to duties of pupils attending the public schools of Medford have been passed by the school board.
They will commend themselves to the good judgment of the patrons of the school, and to every pupil who desires to make the most of his time and opportunities while in school. The issuing of these rules does not indicate that our schoolchildren are in special need of them, but that Medford is growing so fast that it is better to anticipate contingencies than to wait until necessity urges action. The good do not object to wholesome laws; others, who are wise, acquiesce. Patrons may care to keep this paper for future reference: 1. Due attention shall be given to personal neatness and cleanliness. Any pupil failing in these respects may be sent home to be prepared for school. Any pupil affected with any contagious disease shall not be allowed to remain in school. 2. Willful disobedience, habitual truancy, vulgarity or profanity, stealing or carrying deadly weapons, or violating the criminal or civil laws of the state or city, the use of intoxicating drinks or of tobacco in any form or of smoking any substance whatever on or about the school premises or on the way to or from school, will subject the offender to suspension or expulsion. 3. Pupils who shall mark, cut or write upon any property used for school purposes or in any other way deface or injure it shall pay for the damage and be liable to punishment, suspension or expulsion. 4. No pupil shall be allowed to be absent from school during regular sessions for the purpose of receiving any kind of instruction. 5. No books, papers or other literature of any sort can be allowed in the school rooms unless directly connected with school work. 6. Pupils must not enter other school rooms than their own unless granted permission by the principal. 7. Pupils may be temporarily suspended from class exercises by the teacher, who shall immediately report with reason to the principal. 8. Pupils detained from school must bring a written excuse from their parents on their return. Medford Mail, October 18, 1895, page 4 The city curfew bell has commenced its tolling. The hour is eight-thirty p.m., and when that hour has been tolled by the city clock it is high time all young people were at home. If the ruination of a boy is desired parents have but to allow him to roam the streets at will. There is nothing that will ruin a boy so quickly as unwatched liberty. It is during these night carousals that he learns the vulgarism which will grow to something worse and the idea of having so little respect for himself or those around him. It may be that the fond parents who allow their eight- or twelve-year-old boy to continually absent himself from home night after night will, someday, when it is too late, have cause to weep, and bitterly too, for neglecting their boy during his tender years. The above is as true of your daughter as your son. Of course your children are all right, but you ought to speak to your neighbor regarding theirs. Medford Mail, October 25, 1895, page 4 It has long been the practice of some of the many boys who congregate at the depot at the time of the arrival and departure of trains to board the overland train as it pulls out and ride out the length of the platform. The Mail has been asked to state that there is a city ordinance prohibiting such acts, and that those who persist in so doing will in the future be looked after by the marshal. "News of the City," Medford Mail, October 25, 1895, page 5 Some of Medford's young hoodlums threw a rock through the window of one of the coaches on the overland train Monday night. The train was near the south end of the side track, and quite a number of small boys were gathered there, but which one threw the rock has not as yet been ascertained. There are quite a number of boys in Medford who seem to take delight in causing someone injury, and some of these times they will be caught in the act and be made to suffer the penalty of the law. "News of the City," Medford Mail, November 22, 1895, page 5 Report comes to us that for three afternoons in succession this week an elderly and quite well-dressed man has been noticed standing at the corner of Seventh and C streets at about the hour when the children were returning from school, and in one instance, our informant states, he has been seen to hand candy and apples to the little girls as they pass. This procedure may be all correct and right, but just why this fellow should allow his generosity to bestow sweetmeats upon other people's children is not quite clear. If he does not desist in these practices some of the irate parents of the city will make the surroundings decidedly tropical for him. Grants Pass had a case somewhat similar to this something like a year ago, but the escapade did not end in the bestowal of sweetmeats, but instead, if we remember correctly, the miserable rascal of that city persuaded a couple of young girls to accompany him down into California where they were overtaken by parents and brought back home and the leprous blot upon society who had thus attempted to ruin two young girls was given a good sound thrashing. If these things, as reported, exist in Medford the villain's career will be a short one here. Medford Mail, February 7, 1896, page 5 Robert Beall Strang, 10/28/1895-10/23/1974 Comes Back to Revisit Old Scenes
Medford News, July
8, 1949, page 1By Bob Strang Jr.
It is with mingled emotions that a former resident
of Medford returns to review his youthful stomping grounds. There is
little joy to be found in the renewal of ties that no longer exist.
Yet, after an absence of nearly 15 years, there remains something about
Medford that I will forever call home.
Of course, there are infrequent trips to this community for purposes of vacationing. On most of these trips from where I now live in Reno, Nevada, it has been rather difficult to return. However, the years have passed and new friends have replaced the lost, stolen, or strayed. Age has formulated new outlooks on both society and everyday activity until, at last, what is left for me here fades into memories. My fondest recollections of Medford are those of the early childhood I spent here. They are something of swimming in Bear Creek despite my mother's warning, of running away after school to play in a neighbor's pungent-smelling woodpile, of the Fourth of July picnics in the old family tradition, of the schoolteacher who spanked me at Roosevelt grammar school, of romping in Medford Park like a young fawn to the martial music of the Medford Band, and the blaring of the auto horns after each number was played, of the hikes to the reservoir or Roxy Ann, and the spook stories around a Boy Scout campfire near Main Street bridge. I do recall these things along with the fine spiritual upbringing of Sunday school here in Medford. There always seemed to be plenty of good food and good water in Medford. The quality of the produce is clearly reflected in the faces of youngsters that now abound in Medford. For Medford is a good town to be brought up in; it is a clean and healthy community that builds fine young citizens so that wherever they go most will often sigh and say, "There's no place like Medford." And should you pass some strange-looking "duffer" walking about this fair town with a rather saddened expression on his face, he will probably prove to be just a visitor here who is trying to recall his old pals around him once more that they might again enjoy the precious privilege of growing up together in Medford. Today, Medford forges ahead in its throes of progress, and the real progress that counts is in the betterment of living conditions with erection of new homes and light industry that continues to bring comforts and profits that Medford might continue to reward her native sons and daughters with something that is called: "Really living!" That's Medford for you and yours, but as for me I long to return so that should my household be graced with any children, they could have the same privileges once enjoyed and still so dear to me. Policeman G. F. Eglin corralled eleven boys, of from 12 to 16 years of age, Friday, who were catching a ride on an incoming southbound freight train, and brought them uptown to the chief of police, who took their names and liberated them. A number of boys of that age are in the habit of going to the northern suburbs, where trains are compelled to run slow on account of the heavy grade, to jump on and ride into town. Several accidents have occurred in that way, and the police and railroad officials are trying to stop the practice. Policeman Eglin says that the next time the boys are caught he will lock them in jail. Ashland Tidings, September 21, 1903, page 2 Nell von der Hellen, 1899-1977 Recalling a "Fragment of Time" in
the Rogue Valley
Medford Mail Tribune, January
23, 1977, page 2BBy
Olive Starcher
Mail Tribune Special Writer
"The past clings, it will not let go. It nudges with reminders and
prompts, when least expected, with 'remember me? remember me!'"
These lines from Barbara Fieldwalker's recently written Fragment of Time might have been meant for Nell von der Hellen. For when Mrs. von der Hellen read the front page of The Mail Tribune's Lifestyles section of Nov. 28, she was caught up in "remember me?" The page, entitled "The Bryden House," told how Bruce and Vicki Bryden bought and renovated the home at 1009 South Oakdale Avenue and how much they are enjoying the spacious old-fashioned home. "For me, it was a page out of 'This Is Your Life,'" Mrs. von der Hellen said, "for I lived with the Stewart Patterson family in that house for six months in 1914, and was a combination nursemaid and governess for their six-year-old son." Life was very different then. As Nell Thompson, Mrs. von der Hellen came to the Rogue River Valley with her family, and in a matter of a few weeks her father died. "In those days, there was no state or federal public welfare system, and most families would practically starve rather than accept charity," Mrs. von der Hellen said. "It was considered a disgrace--the concept was 'root hog or die.'" However, friends and neighbors would lend a helping hand, and so it was that a man named Stanton Griffis arranged that the very young Nell Thompson, one of six sisters, should be taken into the home of Stewart and Nanine Patterson and their small son, Stewart Jr., always called Sonny. Stanton Griffis later returned to the East and entered the State Department's foreign service, serving as U.S. ambassador to a number of countries. "It was a whole new world for me," mused Mrs. von der Hellen. "I was a hick--a country bumpkin from Arkansas." She recalls with a warm glow, after all the long years, how kind the Pattersons were. They employed a Japanese cook-butler, but the young nursemaid took her meals with the family and was even included when they entertained at formal dinners, which was frequently. "For these dinner parties, both men and women wore formal attire. The women's gowns were elaborate, and they wore jewelry--real pearls and diamonds and other gems." Often the guests included Mr. Griffis, who lived on what later was known as the Corning Kenly Orchard, and the popular novelist, Edison Marshall, who lived next door to the Pattersons. She remembers meeting and seeing many other men and women whose names have gone into the important agricultural and business history of this area. Her memory list includes Alfred and Leonard Carpenter, Harry and David (Rosenberg) Holmes, Sprague Riegel, Frank Preston Sr. (who had a ranch in the Applegate), the newspapermen Robert W. Ruhl and S. Sumpter Smith of . . . the Medford Mail Tribune, the merchant F. K. Deuel, Phillip Hammill, Ralph Bardwell, T. Slater Johnston, Corbin Edgell and many more. Some of these men were high-spirited bachelors and others had brought wives when they made the move to the romantic and fast-growing West. There was "the other Carpenter," George Boone Carpenter, and his wife, a sister of Jack Morrill. The George Carpenters and the Morrills both built elaborate country homes, and the Carpenter house, located south of Medford, later became a house of mystery as, lavishly furnished and filled with art, it stood unoccupied for many years. One woman who stands out in Mrs. von der Hellen's mind was Mrs. Alice Holloway, first president of the Jackson County Public Health Association, and mother of Mrs. Edgell. Another prominent member of what was called "the ranch colony" or the "Eastern Set" was Ed Carlton, whose brother was for years president of the then-mighty Western Union. Across the street on South Oakdale Avenue lived the Deuels and their daughters, Catherine and Susan. Nell Thompson thought of herself as Cinderella, and the Deuel daughters she fancied must be the most popular debutantes in the valley as she sat on the Pattersons' front porch and watched the young women come and go on their social rounds. The delight of Stewart Patterson's life was a big Pierce Arrow touring car. Frequently he took his son and nursemaid Nell for rides in the country, and one of his favorite roads was Kings Highway. Although it was then a narrow, rutted dirt road with only two houses along the entire stretch, Mr. Patterson, a lawyer by profession, drove "with great abandon," to quote Mrs. von der Hellen. Mr. Patterson had been known to boast that he once put the Pierce Arrow up to 60 miles an hour, in spite of the holes and ruts. However, the big car was his undoing, for he wrecked it one night, killing himself. Mrs. von der Hellen recalls that Seth Bullis became known first as "Mr. Copco" and later as "Mr. Medford." The only two medical men were Dr. Malmgren, who lived in the Phoenix area, and Dr. E. B. Pickel, Medford, who rode horseback on his rounds. The only hospital was in Ashland, near Swedenburg House, although a group of nuns operated a private hospital in a converted Medford home. How many know that those two men who had so much impact on the local fruit industry, Harry and David Rosenberg Holmes, in the early days were also sheep ranchers? Mrs. von der Hellen recalls: "When I first heard about the Rosenbergs they lived on Bear Creek Orchard and operated one small packing shed. Now I never drive by that huge, sprawling complex south of the city, with its hundreds of employees and nationwide business, that I don't think of that first little packing house. In 1914 they lived in considerable splendor and even had a Negro chauffeur for their limousine." One of Nell's early memories is of David Holmes Sr., driving sheep past the von der Hellen ranch in the Wellen (later Climax) district where she lived after her marriage to Carl von der Hellen in 1917. When World War I was at its height, resentment against persons of German heritage ran very strong; the Rosenbergs adopted the maiden name of the mother--Holmes. [They changed their name twenty years later, in the late 1930s.] War stress also beset the von der Hellen family, but the proud men who bore that name weathered the war storm with the aid of Colonel Mims, who was once postmaster of Medford. In those early days, Jacksonville was the county seat, and what became known as the shortest railroad in the world ran between Medford and the county seat. Medford also had streetcars, with the tracks on Main Street. Between Medford and Jacksonville were huge prune orchards, and a large fruit dryer not only handled local fruit but prunes brought from the Roseburg area. Hundreds of acres of grain also was an important farm industry--agricultural land dominated the scene from Ashland to Grants Pass. When the von der Hellen family went to Jacksonville, it often was to visit the Jeremiah Nunan family, for the two were best friends. The Nunan mansion is still a landmark in Jacksonville. The Nunans' grandson, Donald Russell, later became Southern Pacific Railroad's top executive. Nell's employer, with his friends and cronies, had as their social headquarters the University Club located at the [northwest] corner of Main and Holly in the Vawter mansion. That house, first the home of William Vawter, important banker, and his family, later was moved to the [southeast] corner of Eighth and Holly. Mr. Patterson also played tennis, the rage with the well-to-do at that time, since a small country club located somewhere near town at the foot of Roxy Ann had tennis courts as well as a small golf course. The course had been laid out by H. Chandler Egan, who also designed the Rogue Valley Country Club course when it came into being. Later women of the Eastern Set formed the Colony Club, still located on Geneva Street and still in use, in order to have a meeting place and a headquarters, since so many of them lived in the country. When the Pattersons visited their close friends, the Frank Prestons, at the Applegate ranch, Nell went along and often she and Mrs. Preston's daughter, Billie Norris, would ride horseback together. Billie's father was the widely known author of the day, Frank Norris. Because Medford was conveniently located halfway between "the city"--San Francisco was always referred to as "the city"--and Portland, many celebrities of the time appeared here, usually in the Page Theater. Mrs. von der Hellen remembers the great ballerina Pavlova, the soprano Madame Schumann-Heink and Sir Harry Lauder. One memory leads to another, and she spoke of the musical Andrews family. Members of the Andrews family, talented singers and actors who formed and operated their own opera company, toured the entire country by train. There were three brothers, George, Ed and Will, Ed's daughter, Caroline, who later made a name for herself and enjoyed a considerable career in the Eastern states because of her lovely soprano voice, and Will's daughters, Grace Fiero, an actress of some note, and Edith, who was married to Jim Stevens of the company. Caroline and her husband, Richard Werner, Stevens and and Mrs. Fiero returned to Medford and were an important influence in the Rogue Valley until recent years. Nell Thompson celebrated her 15th birthday while living with the Pattersons, and realizing that she must complete her education, went to Bellingham, Wash. to attend the normal school there where an older sister had graduated. "Believe it or not, the sum of $50 saw me through an entire year at that school," Mrs. von der Hellen recalls. She had completed two years of high school before coming West, and at Bellingham completed her high school and normal school work in two years. She earned her room and board by living with a Bellingham family. Returning home, she took the little train to Jacksonville and applied to the county school superintendent for a teaching position, "fudging" a bit on her age since she was not quite 18. Her mother had purchased a small neighborhood store in the Derby area, and so the fledgling teacher accepted a position as the Derby teacher, one of two schools offered. She had four pupils that year, scattered from first grade to high school. School was for six months, and Nell was paid $75 a month. Of this, $25 went for board and room with a local family, and the rest went to her mother to help support the family. "Meals were mainly venison and the heaviest sourdough biscuits imaginable." An older sister, Ruth, served as Derby postmistress. In 1917 Nell became Mrs. Carl von der Hellen, and went to live on the family thousand-acre ranch. Her father-in-law, Hugo C. A. von der Hellen, who came to Oregon in 1890, served in the Oregon legislature for 12 years and helped to pass the bills to establish Ashland Normal School. Hugo built a big yellow ranch house on Meridian Road, near Agate Lake. "He was proud of the fact that the lumber, brought from Roseburg by wagon, was completely free of knotholes." In those days, ranchers made the long trip to town by wagon two or three times a year to buy sugar, flour and bolts of cloth which housewives made into the family clothing. For Hugo's wife, this meant ruffled white shirts for her husband. The years passed, Nell and Carl raised two sons and a daughter, and when the second World War threw the nation into turmoil, Nell saw her children all go into some branch of the service. Since she had an aptitude for nursing, Mrs. von der Hellen followed her daughter and sons by volunteering for the Army, was given nurse's training at Ft. Oglethorpe and later was assigned to Ft. Vancouver. When the war ended, Mrs. von der Hellen joined the staff of Sacred Heart Hospital, later served as office nurse for Dr. Charles Lemery and was on the staff of the Medford Clinic. An avid music lover and Shakespeare Festival fan, Mrs. von der Hellen reminisced about her brief fling as a radio writer when she wrote a dramatic series for station KMED which was produced and presented by local actors. In her retirement, she was a volunteer at Providence Hospital for a few years. Nell von der Hellen and her son, Robert, a former captain in the U.S. Air Force, are the only surviving members of her immediate family. She arrived for luncheon at Plymale Cottage in Jacksonville driving her faithful VW which registers a lot of mileage, and during the first interview and subsequent telephone conversations made lively and pertinent comments on current conditions in government, literature, education, the age of permissiveness and even animal life--she left the phone for a time to put out food for five raccoons which, along with three or four others, count on Nell for treats. Ellis Beeson, 3/11/1903-11/20/1989 The Way It Was
Medford Mail Tribune, March 23,
1982
To the Editor: "A Saturday night in Medford 60 years ago."
Four of us boys, living in the Talent community, managed during the week to scrape together $4 or $5 each. We decided the thing to do was spend a Saturday night in Medford. We were in our late teens--myself, my cousin, Lewis Beeson, our friends Ted Jones and his older brother, Morris. Mrs. Jones was kind enough to let us use the family Model T, if Morris did the driving. We went into the Nash Hotel, engaged a room with two beds for a dollar each, walked across Main Street to Brown's Corner. Ed Brown, owner and manager, was a friendly, sociable person. We played a few games of pool there, walked to the Page Theater, took in the movie, then to the Optimo Cafe for pie and coffee. We retired to our room in the Nash Hotel. Breakfast at the Optimo, then home to take up where we left off. I remember quite a bit about Medford in those days. Prohibition was in effect. Ralph Jennings was sheriff, his two sons, Paul and Louis, deputies. I knew them well. They had moonshiners and bootleggers to contend with. "Shine Edwards" was the taxi man at Brown's. He was known for his ability to dispense moonshine. He would deliver on occasion. Doc Stephson and Fred Fry were barbers at Brown's. There was a colored midget shoeshine boy. I never learned his name. He was just the right height to shine shoes without stooping. Occasionally, Judge Kelly and Gus Newbury, a prominent attorney, would be seen walking along Main Street, the colored midget shoeshine boy walking between them. He would look up, they would look down as they conversed. Rather amusing. That's the way it was 60 years ago. Ellis Beeson Talent, Oregon AN AUTO ARRESTED BY POLICE
AND A HOMEMADE AFFAIR AT THAT Juvenile Joy Riders on East Main Forced to Abandon Their Machine A
new violation of the speed ordinance occurred on East Main Street
yesterday morning, and the vehicle is now incarcerated in the city
bastille.
For some time past the police have received complaints that boys on coasters were making pedestrians tremble in fear as they dropped from the brow of the hill towards Bear Creek, with all the accelerated momentum that the decline would give them. Arriving at the hill last evening about 8:30 the police saw the terror of them all, a large straight-lined 1912 model, bearing down upon them. However the occupants of the improvised auto also caught sight of the minions of the law and, abandoning their joy cart, they rolled off into the street, making great haste to get over the hill and out of range. Not having anything else to arrest, Officer Cingcade attached the make-believe machine behind the automobile and proceeded to the city jail. Excerpt, Medford Sun, August 9, 1912, page 1 LOCAL YOUTH IN GIDDY PEON PANTS
DIVESTED OF SAME Peon
pants have made their appearance in Medford at last. It occurred on
election eve, and not long after the pants appeared they disappeared
from the person of the wearer.
Paul Luy, local high school student, appeared at the Nat dance Tuesday evening in a pair of white corduroy trousers slit up the sides and gaudily trimmed with red velvet, black lacings, black tassels and black buttons. A black sash was an important item among the accoutrements which were worn with the trick trousers. A meeting of the lettermen at the high school was in progress, and the wearers of the "M" got wind of the atrocious attire of one of their fellow students. They swarmed into the ballroom and abducted the wearer of the bell-bottomed breeches, taking him to a convenient spot and divesting him of the trousers, which were later hung up in the high school assembly so that all might know the fate of the Swedish cavalier who tried to disguise as a Spaniard. The towheaded toe-tripper of the toreador trousers was forced to take refuge in his overcoat and made his way home with his shapely limbs exposed to the vulgar gaze of the public. Medford Mail Tribune, November 8, 1922, page 8 Opal L. Rogers Childhood Memoirs of Rogue River
Valley
White oaks. What pleasant memories those words
bring back
to me. As a child I played beneath their spreading branches, rested
in the forks of their great arms, and gathered acorns to make fairy
cups
and saucers. How the squirrels loved to run up their massive gray
trunks and out into the labyrinth of their leafy tops, which, to a
child, seemed to stretch up and up into the blue dome of heaven. I
would sit for hours, practically becoming a part of the old post upon
which I was perched, just so I could watch the antics of the little
animals. And I was usually rewarded, for they loved the meaty
bitter-sweet nut of the acorn and wouldn't stay away for long. They
would stuff the pouches of their cheeks full with them--looking for all
the
world like they had a bad case of mumps--and with a frisk of their
tails away they would scamper to their burrows to replenish their
larder.By Opal L. Rogers Niece of Mrs. Ida Henderson 4550 9th Avenue Sacramento 17, Calif. Each spring the carpet of grass beneath the oaks was spangled with golden buttercups, while higher up in the hills among the fire and pines bloomed the birdbills, chapparal lilies and baby blue eyes, from which I would gather sweet-scented bouquets to decorate our home which was located directly at the foot of one of the Coast Range mountains in Southern Oregon. There, too, grew the shiny-leaved, red-barked madrone trees, whose clusters of wax-like blossoms attracted the bees from miles around, and when these blossoms matured into brilliant vermilion berries, along came the blue jays, yellow-hammers and cedar waxwings to eat to their hearts' content. Directly across the road from our house was a stretch of land we always referred to as the "pasture." Why, I do not know, for it was completely filled with every size, shape and kind of rock, and was unfit for pasturing of any kind. I believe in some long-gone age a mighty glacier must have dumped its debris at this particular spot, and this being the case it made an ideal place for a little girl to play eons of years later. Moss grew in abundance in the shady hollows, and pink and white star flowers sprang up here and there unexpectedly on their slender stems. I would gather small shells and place them around and among the ferns and moss, making minute stepping-stone paths of the pearl-like rosettes. At the beginning of summer the little canyons between the rocks were white with snowdrops--a flower, although small in size, [that] makes up for this in its profuseness and exquisite odor. I would choose a densely blooming spot, lie down among the blossoms, and while watching the big creampuffs of clouds go sailing across the sky I would imagine I, too, was drifting on a scented cloud. As the days progressed, along came the golden poppies and purple camas, proudly flaunting their royal colors for anyone who might stop and enjoy. On the opposite side of the "pasture" from where we lived flowed the Rogue River, which always lived up to its name. It would fool you with its placid green pools, where bright orange crawfish scooted here and there by tail propulsion, where little silver minnows darted in and out mischievously, and where the hardy alder trees dusted the surface of the water with the yellow pollen that sifted from crinkly tassels suspended from their branches. Then a little farther on the Rogue would decide to be capricious, and breaking into foaming cascades it would send its spray high into the air, gurgling and chuckling, and churning itself into a lather over rock worn smooth with ages of continuous wear. I loved to splash barefooted through its shallows, sometimes venturing out on its mud flats so that the soft clay, like warm butter, would ooze up between my toes. Then again I would clamber over its rocky shores, fighting my way through the brambles that grew close to the water's edge and enjoying the damp marshy scent that only those who have lived by running water will remember. Quite suddenly the glory of summer would fade. Autumn would come calling in her gay dress of yellow, orange and red. The squirrels would deplete the supply of nuts, and the birds would head for points south. I would then watch anxiously for the first signs of snow. Usually it caught me unawares, and some mornings in early November I would slip out of bed to find a silent world wrapped in cellophane and cotton batting. The green-blue symmetry of the firs and the stateliness of the pines would then be draped in the haughty robes of winter, which crowned them with the sparkling raiment of diamonds and the soft richness of ermine. Here and there the little black caps of the chickadees could be seen bobbing among their branches and chirping their own names over and over again in a plaintive key. These little winter birds were the harbingers of heavy snows in the mountains, for they would always come to the lowlands when driven out from their usual haunts by deep drifts. How I would revel in it all, and marvel that the deft paintbrush of nature could change the azure and cream pastels of summer into the black and white etchings of winter. Although twenty years have gone by since that time, and the old house beneath the mountain is gone, the white and green and gold of those hills and vales, down through [which] the Rogue frolics joyously with the breezes rippling its surface and sighing gently through the great trees, will live forever, unfading in my memory. Central Point American, May 3, 1945, page 3 VOLUNTEERS AID ON HIGH SCHOOL WALKS
With
"volunteer" high school labor and 15 workers from the C.W.A.,
construction of walks at the senior high school grounds was progressing
well today.
The workers are also grading the grounds, preparatory to planting of the lawn, and Medford's basketeers, under temporary suspension for painting of an Ashland barn, are showing themselves to be mighty hand with the pick and shovel and are really putting out some good work, school officials stated today. Medford Mail Tribune, March 8, 1934, page 3 BOYS HAULED UP FOR USING SLINGSHOTS
The
idea when playing with slingshots is not to hit anything that breaks,
and especially not to run away after the property is destroyed, is the
opinion of two local juveniles who were picked up by city police
officers for breaking windows at the Southern Oregon Sales packing
plant early this week.
According to the report filed at the station, the two, whose names were not disclosed, were signaled into the police station after they had reportedly broken several panes last Sunday afternoon. Aged 12 or 13, the youngsters had apparently not reckoned with the results, for when given a talking-to by the officers, they were thoroughly frightened and promised to put way their weapons. "Slingshots can cause considerable damage," the officers said, "especially when the youngster has little regard for the rights and property of others. Several reports have been brought in here to the effect that street lamps provide an excellent target, and while we do not like to arrest youngsters, we will if it doesn't stop." Medford News, December 4, 1935, page 1 Oh-mi-gosh!
A
small girl living beyond Gold Hill had been out among the hired help
and picked up quite a number of swear words of which her mother had
labored in vain to break her of using. After the last outbreak her
mother told her to pack up her suitcase and leave, as she wouldn't have
little girls around who talked like that. She insisted on it, so the
little girl packed her suitcase and sat down on the front step looking
very forlorn.
A neighbor lady came up the path and inquired if her mother was at home. The little girl answered, "How in the h----- do I know, I don't live here anymore." Central Point American, October 1, 1936, page 1 Mr. Cummings is also on the special police force of this town and has had many interesting experiences. When asked how he goes about to arrest a person he replied: "Grab 'im by the neck and start for the jail." He avows that it is strictly against the law for anyone to paint a sign on the Central Point water tank, and that former classes who did this have always been found. The class of '28 was caught and made to repaint the tower, and he further warned that the next time will be final. "Water Master 'Jim' on Duty Many Years," Central Pointer, Central Point High School, January 27, 1937, page 2 Just Looking Around
By Letha Hesselgrave As
I sit at my desk in the study hall, I cannot overcome the desire to
drop my lessons for a few minutes and let my eyes wander observingly
over the room.
The first thing that attracts my attention is the common schoolgirl's giggle. The girls seem to be laughing at a picture of some famous historian who has taken the eye of some artistic student and has been decorated with the usual mustache, eyeglasses, beard and curls. Pictures like this often make an otherwise boring history period one of restive drawing, and they sometimes furnish a good laugh. The next thing I notice amuses me greatly but is taken in just the opposite way by the person involved. My character is the very studious girl who is annoyed by the least sound and though pretending to be very interested in the next day's assignment is peering over her glasses with a very disapproving look on her face at the little groups of confabbing students. Then there is the study hall pest, who couldn't possibly get along without going down the aisles with his pencil in hand hitting people on the head and closing open books. And maybe if he's feeling unusually mischievous he'll give your arm a shove and spoil a page of ink-written work. My attention is now attracted to the back of the room, where one fun-filled boy seems to be emptying the pencil sharpener down the neck of another quite serious-looking boy. The latter immediately jumps "up an' at 'im"; hence the battle royale is on. Playful flying fists are soon stopped at the request of the dutiful teacher. Also in the far corner of the room I cannot help but see a pair of schoolday sweethearts looking shyly at each other, with sheepish grins on their faces. I cast my eyes to the back of the room on the face of the weary but ever-watchful teacher, her face filled with disgust and looking just a wee bit fagged. Oh well, it's all in a lifetime. Central Pointer, Central Point High School, March 30, 1938, page 3
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