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Tar

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"Tar" is a multifaceted word. Most people with any degree of literacy know that it was the term used for British sailors. If their reading accomplishments include the works of Uncle Remus then they are acquainted with the famous tar baby that the Br'er Fox made from tar and turpentine to capture the Br'er Rabbit. The story has become a parable of caution for those who might become embroiled in a subject merely by cursory acquaintance. 
Midshipman 4th Class Rabbit
 Before I go on let me make one thing clear: I am grateful for any reviews of my book, and any interest given to it by any organization. In a world that is drowning in books, it is a pleasant thing for an author to see his come to the surfaceif just for a moment.

In my book, Portland's Lost Waterfront, there are 3 short paragraphs dealing with the "shanghai tunnel" fakelore (manufactured mythology)that has become popular in Portland. It would seem, from the attention given to it, that this is the book's main subject. I expected my treatment of this subject to raise some eyebrows, but it was about time someone mentioned the facts on the tunnel business. Historians have known all along that this was an erroneous tale, but since, for some inexplicable reason, no one had ever written a book about the Portland waterfront, a refutation of the tale had never been put forward (in book form, anyway). I confess to having believed the story myself, until the fall of 1992 when the Oregon Historical Society Quarterlypublished an excellent article by Denise Alborn called: 'Crimping and Shanghaiing on the Columbia River.”  "Hey!" I asked myself, "Where's the tunnels?" From then on I searched in vain—through old books, maps, magazines, and newspapers--but I could not find the tiniest little rabbit hole of a shanghai tunnel in real life.

My son came down from Seattle last Saturday and after shooting the breeze for awhile he said: "Hey, dad! Great book review in Willamette Week!" Since this was the first I had heard of the review I grabbed a laptop and found it in a few jabs at the keyboard. "BarneyBlalock, Portland’s Lost Waterfront, What do you do with a drunken sailor?"

 I am indebted to Matthew Korfhage for a enthusiastic review. It was as good as I could possibly hope for, although it was shanghaicentric (my coinage)—it echoed quite effectively my slant on the tunnels. There was a wee bit of negative criticism in the review about the scant treatment I gave to many of my subjects ("ADHD" is the term he used). He is quite right in saying this. Instead of being designed for the size it is, I wrote a book that was about twice the size and then pared it down to fit the word count requirements—not the best approach.

The book has stirred some other "shanghaicentric" interest as well. The Multnomah County Library has asked me to give a series of talks on the subject at library branches around the county. The title that they arrived at for these talks is: Shanghai Tunnels and Salty Dogs: Portland’s Lost Waterfront.

After writing the book I thought it would be a good idea to write an article enumerating the reasons why the whole tunnels business is untrue. I came up with 14 solid reasons. I would like to find a publisher for the article, but alas, I am too busy (or lazy) to go looking for a willing periodical. I suspect the effort I made in research and writing will come in handy at these talks I will be giving. It will also serve as a blog post, either here, or over at J.D. Chandler's  Weird Portland.

I suspect the tunnel lore will live on for many years, but it seems that, with an interest in the actual (and far more interesting) facts newer writing will set the record straight for those who bother to look. Finn J.D. John http://wicked-portland.com/auth.html  is among those who have bothered to look. Doug Kenck-Crispin's Kick Ass Oregon History http://orhistory.com/kickassoregonhistorydedicated a podcast to debunking the tunnel story. I have several other friends whose obsession with Portland history make mine look pale by comparison, and each one of them gives an indignant snort at any mention of shanghai tunnels. I have thought a great deal about this issue, and since it is one I can't seem to get free of, maybe I can convince Br'er Fox to toss me into the briar bushes if I plead loud enough for him to think that is the last place I want to go.

Here are the dates for the library talks:
Wednesday, March 20, 2013 6:45 pm
St. Johns Library, Meeting Room

Tuesday, March 26, 2013 7:00 pm
Capitol Hill Library, Meeting Room

Wednesday, April 03, 2013 7:00 pm
Northwest Library, Meeting Room

Saturday, April 13, 2013 3:15 pm
Belmont Library, Meeting Room

Saturday, April 20, 2013 3:00 pm
U.S. Bank Room - Central Library

 I have come to find one segment of society that is not pleased by my revelations. I have a beloved goddaughter who is a big fan of Timothy Hutton's, "Leverage" TV show, filmed in Portland. The writers of this series have shanghai tunnels sprouting up in every basement, even as far away as Lloyd Center. She didn't seem to want to hear about how this was manufactured history. My fear is that a big crowd of tunnel believers will get together with a pot of hot tar and a sack of chicken feathers. I am counting on my faithful readers to come to my rescue should this event transpire.

"Oh, tarnation! They are at it again!"

 Midshipman Rabbit
To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle

Midshipman Rabbit went to sea.
In boots of seven leathers.
He went to sleep in the captain's sack,
And sneezed out all the feathers.
Tar me feathers, tar me down,
A sailor's lot's a hard one.
We'll drink the beer out of the town,
And then we'll beg your pardon.

The Last Word on Shanghai Tunnels - Including 14 reasons why the stories are bogus

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I have never been on a tour of Portland's so-called "shanghai tunnels," so I am unable to comment on this attraction, except that I have heard that the tour is quite entertaining. Neither have I been to the Pirates of the Caribbean in Disneyland,  the Magic Carpets of Aladdin, or the Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, for that matter. The closest I have come to this sort of tourist entertainment was while visiting the ancient city of York I took my family on the "York Ghost Walk." This tour is a bit of innocent fun with some old ghost stories mixed in with distorted history—just for the tourists. 

It may be true that I have no experience with the tourist tours of these basements in the northwest regions of downtown, but I do know a bit about them. There is a great deal of documentation in the newspapers, and in old court records. They were built by Chinese back in the days when Chinatown was the center of gang activity related to the different tongs. The gambling dens, brothels, and opium parlors of Chinatown were connected to separate labyrinths, with steel doors, trap doors leading to secret stairways, and tunnels for escape into far alleyways. These were security measures designed for dealing with both rival tongs and police raids. 

For quite a few years the authorities left the north end underworld alone, as long as the "special police," who were paid a mere dollar a month salary by the city, were kept well-oiled in a sort of city sanctioned protection racket. By the late 1890s this system started to unravel, and Chinatown entered into an era when policemen would bring sledge hammers and start battering down walls, busting the secret world open. The unfolding story of these raids, by officers with varying degrees of zeal, continued up into the twentieth century. In 1913 the city government created a "secret passages ordinance." This law was hotly contested as being discriminatory against Chinese. As late as 1935 the Oregonian ran a feature article describing the secret passageways of Chinatown, complete with diagrams. Copyright laws prevent me from copying this into my article, but for anyone interested enough to look it up for themselves, the article is a feature in the Sunday Oregonian, November 17, 1935 called, "John Chinaman's Jack-in-the-Box. Be forewarned, the article is filled with disgusting racial slurs that have become unacceptable today (thank God!). 

There can be no doubt that the north end was honeycombed with tunnels, even reaching beyond the north end. Here is a report from the Oregonian January 21, 1921:

Secret Passages Known
It is well known, however, that there are numerous secret passages and dens beneath the Portland business center which the foot of white man has never trod; or, if so desecrated, the white man has never returned to tell the tale. Police in lighter moods tell the tale of a tunnel which connects old Chinatown, near police headquarters, with the new Chinatown north of Burnside street. This tunnel, which i said to pass beneath the main business portion of the city, is though to have rooms and even cemeteries along its walls.

Since there were tunnels, how can I say that they were never used for shanghaiing? The answer requires at least a rudimentary understanding of what shanghaiing actually was, an how it was carried out in Portland, Astoria, and other port cities in far flung parts of the globe.
The double-decked docks of downtown Portland in the early 1880s. These docks were dedicated to coast-wise and local shipping.

There is no doubt that for the period of about four decades, starting sometime around the mid-eighteen seventies, shanghaiing was practiced by the unscrupulous masters of sailors boardinghouses in Portland, Oregon. In fact these gangsters, who operated from both Portland and Astoria, were so disruptive to the maritime trade that their shenanigans became a matter of international importance, debated in European parliaments. In the newspapers of the day these sailors boardinghouse masters were also called "crimps" a name that harkened back to the press gangs of the British navy—gangs that kidnapped able bodied men, willy nilly, out of taverns, off the streets, and even from hearth and home, to fill up the ranks needed by the Royal Navy. The sailor's boardinghouse masters were also referred to by terms, such as, land sharks, shanghaiers, and blood-suckers, and they operated a lucrative scam which the newspapers called "blood money." 
The grain docks, flour mill, coal docks, and lumber docks of Albina. Not a tunnel in sight.

The scam worked like this:  The majority of the world's maritime trade was on British vessels. Sailors leaving from, say, Liverpool, were contracted to make the 18,000 mile voyage, around the horn of South America and back—a journey of six to eight months. They were not paid wages until they returned to Liverpool. When the ship arrived at the wharf in Portland it was met by "runners" working for the sailors boarding houses who set about enticing the crew to abandon their vessel with promises of good food and a good time, as well as a chance to sign on to a vessel with higher pay. Nearly every sailor followed this route. The ship's captain was happy because the pay belonging to the sailors defaulted to him. The sailors boardinghouse masters were happy because they were able to lead these sailors (like sheep to the slaughter) down Portland's waterfront streets to their various "sailor's homes." The losers in the deal were the sailors, for once they were in the clutches of the crimps they were charged exorbitant fees for everything they ate, drank, slept on, slept with, and touched, all the while accumulating deeper and deeper debt to the boardinghouse. 
The docks closest to Chinatown were the Gas Company and Willamette Iron Works.

This was much like the old "company store" scam perpetrated on coal miners, like my maternal grandfather. I remember hearing stories about how the miners lived in company shacks and were given credit at the company store where everything was priced sky high. After paying rent, putting food on the table and coal in the stove the miners were never able to work hard enough or long enough to pay off their accumulated debt and see an actual paycheck.

In the case of the sailors, the room and board they received at the sailor's boarding house always seemed to take all of the advance pay from the next ship, the one with "better pay." This vessel would have lost its crew to the boarding houses in the same manner as the ones before it. When it came time to sail a captain would obtain sailors from the boardinghouse masters. He would pay the debts the sailors had run up with the sailor's "advanced wages." 

Naked we come into this world, and naked we leave it—and penniless the sailors came into Portland, and penniless they left it. Some sailors went from port to port in this manner, never seeing a shilling or a dime for their labor. And when there were no more sailors to "ship" (as they called it), the  boardinghouse masters would have to resort to "shipping landlubbers" an activity also known as shanghaiing. 

The docks above the Ash Street Dock were mostly local ferries and boat houses
This is a brief description of a nefarious and complicated scam that blackened the name of Portland around the world, and caused James Laidlaw, British, vice consul to Portland, unending headaches. When the crimps found it necessary to entice landlubbers to enter into the maritime trade they usually did so through sweet talk, and trickery. They were skilled at describing the romance of the sea to farm boys and hoboes. If honeyed words were not enough they could often times get the boys skunked enough on liquor to go sign the ships papers, either at the offices of the British vice consul on Front Street, or aboard the ship itself. If one of the farm boys got too pie-eyed to walk, one of the flunkies working for the sailors boardinghouse could go over to the ship and sign the name of the farm boy who was snoozing back at the sailor's home. Once a name was signed on the ship's papers the full force of the law, local, state, and federal, would make sure the new sailor went to sea. Occasionally crew members would be taken aboard in a stupor brought on by drugs and drink. There were times when an overdose caused the death of a shanghai victim. There were several unverified reports over the years that a wily boardinghouse master had sold a corpse to a ship captain,  but this could well be legend. With all of these things in mind, it is with confidence that I can say that the so called "Shanghai Tunnels" never existed and here are fourteen solid reasons why this is so:  
The export grain docks on the west side of the river were far from the shanghaiing district in the "north end" and they were separated by railroad yards. It is easy to see why a horse cab was handy for transporting new recruits to the ships.

1. In an extensive retrospective of the shanghaiing period published by the Oregonian in 1933 over 8 consecutive Sunday editions, that included many first hand accounts, not one mention was made of tunnels.

2. Nonambulatory victims of the shanghaiers were reportedly taken to ships by a hackney cab driver specializing in this sort of business. The main cabbie doing this work was named Tony Arnold, and the price of his services included carrying the newly recruited sailors onboard ship, should they be unable to walk. This is according to the account of the onetime sailor and longtime bouncer/barkeeper at Erickson's Workingman's Club at 3rd and Burnside, Edward C. "Spider" Johnson. He describes it thus in an 1933 Oregonian article on Shanghaiing:
That was in the days when horsecars ran along First Street. Tony Arnold operated a hack business in those days. Tony saved his money and later opened a joint in the North End, but before that he hauled many a drunk to the waterfront and put him aboard ship. Tony got to be quite a big shot in Portland's underworld, and  he made a good bit of his jack out of getting sailors on ships.

3 . Because the great fluctuation of water levels in the years before the Willamette was dammed the Portland waterfront was built on a double decked system. In countless photographs of the period, the waters of the Willamette river can be seen lapping around the upper wharves,  sometimes entering the city itself. During this time of high water (the heavy shipping season) any tunnels would have been submerged and unusable, as were the submerged lower wharves.

4.  Stewart Holbrook, the early 20th century "rough writer" who invented, or embellished most of Portland's colorful folklore, never breathed a word about tunnels when spinning yarns of the old shanghaiing days. It wouldn't have made sense to him, or any of the old timers who supplied Holbrook with the yarns he repackaged for his readers. Holbrook was not afraid of using hyperbole, exaggeration, or just plain fiction to make his "historic" tales interesting. He may have had 39 dying hobos lying in a funeral parlor basement shanghaied to the fictitious "Flying Prince"—a story so ridiculous that it is obvious he was having a joke at the expense of gullible readers, but in all of his stories, gleaned from the old timers, and from the first person accounts of real people who were actually shanghaied, there is not one breath of a word about the use of tunnels.
Stewart Holbrook

5. Throughout the greater portion of the shanghaiing period it would have been possible for some of the more powerful of the sailors boardinghouse masters to shanghai someone in broad daylight—depending on the social class of the victim, or whether or not he was a vagrant. This might seem far fetched today, but anyone who knows the city as it was then would most likely agree to this statement.

The Charlie Chaplin movie "Shanghaied" came out at in 1915, at the very end of the shanghaiing period.
 6. Vagrancy was a crime in Portland punishable by 30 days in prison(hard labor on the rock pile at Rocky Butte), then expulsion from the city. If someone was shanghaied they were no longer a vagrant. To a greater or lesser degree Portlanders were grateful for the service these sailors boardinghouses provided, as were the merchants who needed to move merchandise, and captains who needed crew.

7. Signing your name to ships papers, even if you did so in a drunken stupor, or even if a sailors boarding house "runner" signed it for you, carried the same weight as joining the armed forces today. To make sure the maritime business ran smoothly it was against the law to skip out on a ship you were signed to. The U.S. Marshalls would sometimes ride along on a ship as far as Astoria to make sure the unwilling crew stayed on board. 

An example of shanghaiing done in the open, in broad daylight is the case in 1906 of the British ship, Eskasoni. A photograph in the accompanying Oregonian article shows the first mate keeping the crew on board at gunpoint.  Some of the shanghaied lads attempted to jump aboard the Albina Ferry as it came close by the Eskasoni. One of the boys managed to throw a magazine with a note on to the passing ferryboat before being forced back on board at gunpoint. The note explained the details of his shanghaiing and begged whoever got the note to contact his father. The crew was in a highly mutinous state because not a one of them knew how to sail. The boardinghouse keeper had promised them, individually, that the work they would be doing would  be easy—no climbing up masts, no hard labor—but once on board they found it was a different story. The captain, however, had been promised a crew of able bodied seamen—fit sailors, ready to sail. This was not an unusual set of circumstances, and serves to illustrate the unethical, but not necessarily illegal, manner that most "shanghaiing" was carried out in Portland.

8. The secret passages of Chinatown were created by Chinese businessmen, mostly the owners of gambling establishments. When the city tried to make secret passages illegal in 1914 the law was opposed by the Chinese as discrimination against them, and them only—a violation of the Bill of Rights injunction against unreasonable search and seizure. 

9. The first mention of a "shanghai tunnel" was in 1963 when a Port Townsend hardware store tried to get a hold of some of the tourist traffic and put up a sign offering tours of the "shanghai tunnel" in its basement. That same year Oregonian reporter, Robert Olmos speculated on the subject when writing about secret passages discovered in Chinatown. (see addendum below)

10. Visits to the Portland, Oregon "shanghai tunnels" date back to 1972 when restaurateur Gary Cooper opened Darby O'Gills, a bar in the basement of the New Market Theater in Old Town. He turned an old drainage tunnel into booths, declaring that it was a "shanghai tunnel." He arrived at this conclusion from listening to the rumors of "old timers." 

11. This new rumor was taken up in January of 1975 by two young men, Stuart Heathorne and Robert McWaters.  These lads attempted to put together something called an "Audio-Visual Museum" to "record the comments of those who lived in an earlier Portland." In Holbrook and Spider Johnson's day this was feasible, in 1975 it was preposterous. 
The origins of Shanghai Dock, December 21, 1923. In this case "Columbia River" refers to the shipbuilding firm, not the river. The ways for this company were on the Willamette very near to where the Ross Island Bridge would be built. The dock had not been accustomed to fully loaded, ocean-going vessels, so extra dredging was required.

12. In November 1976 another young man surfaced who claimed to have been exploring the shanghai tunnels since way back in 1969. This was Mike Jones, director of the "world's only hobo bank," the Transit Bank, in Portland's Skid Row. His work with the denizens of Old Town is commendable, but his source for historical information was the same group of people, an oral tradition dating back no further than the 1920s. These wild tales included ridiculous hearsay, like the existence of a dreadful "Shanghai Dock" down by Ross Island where many a poor victim was sent to sea. There was indeed a Shanghai Dock, developed from an old ship building site by the Shanghai Building Company in the 1920s to send lumber to China. I have heard of people who will swear on the bible that their uncle worked at the Shanghai dock and saw people shanghaied in the tunnels. There was a time in Portland when that level of delusion would send someone off for a long stay at the Sanitarium belonging to Doctor Hawthorne. 
Port roster in October 1924, Shanghai Dock is third from the bottom. This dock later became Zidell's.

13. Today's center of the shanghai tunnel story is Hobo's Restaurant and Bar at 120 Northwest 3rd Avenue where this same Mike Jones gives the naïve and gullible a taste of old Portland shanghaiing in the dark recesses of the basement. The center of shipping was no where near this part of town. If tunnels led to the river from there they would end up either at the Allen & Lewis warehouse, a wholesale grocer, the Willamette Iron and Steel Company, The Portland Gas Works, or the O. R. & N. Co. Ash Street dock. The O. R. & N. Co. (later absorbed by Union Pacific) had their own employees and had no need to shanghai anyone to get more. The grain docks, where all the major exporting was done, were downriver below the Steel Bridge on the west, and in lower Albina on the east. 

14. The Chinatown in New York City was well known for having a system of tunnels, as was Seattle, Tacoma, and Sacramento. New York and the Puget Sound were known for having ruthless sailor's boarding house masters who often resorted to shanghaiing. However, these tunnels did not give rise to stories that involved their use in the shanghaiing trade. They were recognized for what they actually were. In Portland from the late 19th century into the 1930s there were numerous raids on gambling dens in Chinatown, documented in gory detail in the newspapers. Everyone knew how the secret passageways, trapdoors, and basement tunnels were used by the various tongs—so in that period a shanghai tunnel story wouldn't be able to take hold. By the 1970s, with most of the old timers moved on to the boneyard, the still extant tunnels gave rise to speculation and merged with the well known tales of Portland's shanghaiing period. 

These are 14 good solid refutations, but I am sure there are more that I haven't thought of. Anyone interested in the Portland waterfront of the period can find out more in my book, Portland's Lost Waterfront: Tall Ships, Steam Mills, and Sailors Boardinghouses, published in 2012 by History Press. Portland's history is rich, varied, and populated with villains that would make Charles Dickens jealous. The true history has never been covered, to my satisfaction, in any book. The best way to become steeped in the past is by reading source material, like newspapers and magazines. We are fortunate today to have so much of this material available through library databases. There is a great wealth of stories to be found dealing with the old North End, sometimes called "Whitechapel." Murders, cowboys and sailors, whores, crooked politicians, but look long, and look hard, you will not find a single sailor being shanghaied through a tunnel to the river.

Don't be misled by this complete debunking. If tourists want to go look at the basements of old town and have fun I see no harm in it. But Portlanders should know enough to give a "wink, wink, nudge, nudge" when speaking of these matters.


Having said all this, I am done. The idea of "shanghai tunnels" has had just about everything said about it that can possibly be said. I would now like to move on to more weighty matters like Sasquatch, D.B. Cooper, or the appearing of the planet Nibiru.

 ______________________________________________
 Addendum

Abandoned, Ghostly Chinese Gaming Den Found By Portland Demolition Workers
Morning Oregonian
Monday March 25, 1963


It may be that the shanghai tunnels tall tale (let's retain the word "myth" for a more religious use) originates with an Oregonian article written in 1963 describing the demolition of an Chinatown building. The article, written by Robert Olmos, was on the front page that Monday morning. The headline read: "Abandoned, Ghostly Chinese Gaming Den Found By Portland Demolition Workers." As if that wasn't catchy enough the subheading blared: "Old buildings may have contained secret tunnels to waiting ships."  Whether this was a last minute thought by Olmos to spice up his already spicy story we will never know. One thing is for certain, the use of this passageway had to be one or the other, but not both. And since there was never a mention of anyone having ever been actually shanghaied through a tunnel, he should have stuck with the gambling den.

It is no doubt that story of itself would have been enough of a seed to establish the tall tale whose roots have grown to the ridiculous weed we have today. Tens of thousands of Portlanders read the story that morning, and like Will Rodgers always said, "All I know is what I read in the funny papers."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Added from a blog post of March 15, 2013

Some time back I went looking for evidence of the mysterious "Shanghai Dock" that rears its head, from time to time, in horror stories of the Portland waterfront. What I found was the hard evidence that the Shanghai Building Company leased the old Columbia Shipbuilding site at the south end of town. The Army Corp of Engineers had to dredge out the river in front of the dock to make the channel deep enough for the freighters of the day. The company shipped lumber to China until the first days of WWII when the Japanese invaded. This dock took the name in 1923 when the Shanghai Building Company took over. The name lasted for some years after the company folded—until the area was taken over by Zidell for ship breaking. Of course this was quite awhile after the days of shanghaiing sailors for windjammer tours. The last reports of shanghaiing are around 1915, incidentally the same year that Charlie Chaplin made the move, "Shanghaied."

Although it was frequently mentioned in the newspapers, especially in the "Marine Notes" section, until today, I had never seen the name "Shanghai Dock" on a city map. This morning I had the good fortune to be at Tom Robinson's archives. He pulled out a large format city map printed in 1934, and as I scanned the waterfront my eyes lighted upon the words, "Shanghai America Dock." The location was right where I have been saying it was—almost beneath the Ross Island Bridge. I am including that small piece of the map for you to see. But don't ask me why they put the word "American" in there. The company name was "Shanghai Building Company" and in the Marine Notes it was always simply "Shanghai" or "Shanghai Dock."



 





The Shelters are Gone

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center of bridge showing three of the four shelters

In high school my main means of transportation was either my feet, a green Robin Hood 3 speed bicycle, or Rose City Transit, if I was feeling wealthy enough for the fare. Countless times I have crossed the Hawthorne Bridge, and in my days as a pedestrian, many is the time I was sheltered from a downpour by the quaint little shelters that were placed nearer to the west side of the river.

In those days these shelters puzzled me, but not enough to seek out an answer. There were more pressing mysteries to an adolescent than the reason why some bridge builder thought that four bus shelters were a good idea when there wasn't any reason for a bus stop—although, if I remember correctly, the bus did stop at the one closest to town where there was a nearby stairs leading down to Harbor Drive and the walk by the sea wall.

Toll houses

It wasn't until after these shelters were removed, sometime during the 1989-90 remodel, that I discovered that they were once toll booths. Every pedestrian, horse and rider, wagon, carriage, automobile, and streetcar was assessed a fee at this point. There were other bridges that were free, but this one needed to pay its way for awhile.
The toll gate house on the previous bridge from a Sanborn Map  of 1901

Free bridges were a big issue in Portland for many years. The ferry operators and those involved in river traffic had no use for the slowly lumbering old swing spans of that day. Mayor Harry Lane was a big proponent of tunnels. But eventually all the bridges were free. This, like many other subjects pertaining to Portland's history, would be good material for a book, because it would take an entire book to do it justice.

I promised myself that this would be a short post, since the last one was rather large. So I am going to display an old Portland Railroad Company street car ticket to show readers the way bridge tolls were included in those days, and how the tickets dealt with areas of town. Most of the ticket is self explanatory, except for "Ford Street." When the streets were renamed in 1931, Ford Street became Vista Avenue, running uphill from 23rd Avenue.
ticket c. 1900

There are few memories that make me nostalgic for Portland of my high school days, but the shelters on the Hawthorne Bridge are one—as is the memory of Buttermilk Corner, Dave's Delicatessen, Cal's Books and Wares (where my record collection was purchased one 25 cent LP at a time), and, of course, eating hom bows with Oolong tea at Tuck Lung Café. I will stop now, except to say that Portland once felt like a city with its own character and culture. What is it today? A sort of fantasy emanating from Pearl District penthouse entrepreneurs; the name "Pearl District" itself being the fantasy of Portland art dealers in the late 1980s. Before 1987 it was known as the Northwest Warehouse District, a place I loved to wander around singing Bob Dylan's song, "Desolation Row" softly to myself.

What if these folks hadn't  come here from San Francisco, Bolder, Colorado, and New York City to work their magic flummery? We may never have had the T.V. show, "Portlandia," but the city would feel a whole lot more like home.

__________________________________________________________________
Anyone doubting my statement on the origins of the name, "Pearl District," or wanting to read more on the subject, please see: "A Recipe for Change," Jonathan Nichols Oregonian, Tuesday, September 1, 1987



The Cowboys Who Came to See the Elephant

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What is now the rather desolate reaches (except for the Alexis) lower West Burnside was once the wonder of the world. If you chanced to meet an English sailor on the streets of, say, Singapore or Alexandria, and you mentioned you were from Portland, Oregon, he would most likely break into a broad smile and begin to tell you of the grand time he had on B street. It was a magnet for other classes than seafarers as well. The streets were jammed with all sorts and conditions of men, loggers, mill workers, longshoremen, vagrants of various kinds, hobos, and cowboys from the ranges of Oregon and Washington. All sorts of men frequented the area, but only one sort of woman.
The spirit of the West survives to this day. A spirit of belligerence, pig-headed intransigence, self adulation, orneriness, and plain, unadulterated wickedness the like of which Sam Peckinpah was as accurate chronicler.

I read a news report in a Oregonian from February 1900 telling the tale of five cowboys who came to Portland to see the elephant in the zoo up at City Park. That evening they decided to go drinking down on B street, and to practice the sport of "closing up saloons." This was an endeavor that involved ordering drinks all around, then closing the saloon for the evening with the proprietor locked out in the street. The report follows as printed in the newspaper:


They saw him (the elephant), one evening, in dozens of different poses, and toward midnight their amusement took the form of closing up saloons in the North End. Their manner of procedure was to enter a saloon, have a fist and skull fight, make the bartender set up drinks all around, and then close up his place for the night.
They saw him (the elephant), one evening, in dozens of different poses

At that time Robert Shortell, who, for many years, kept a saloon of a better class in Portland, was selling whisky in the Whitechapel district. The block of five marauders entered Bob's place and made the usual demands. The leader said:
"We have just shut up six bars, and it's your turn next. Set up your refreshments and then get out—see?"
Bungstarter: a mallet for removing a cask bung

Shortell picked up a heavy iron "bungstarter" that weighed something less than a ton, and leaped over the bar, exclaiming,

"This is an Irish house, and we close up when we get ready."

Then the "bungstarter" began to come into play. Two of the outlaws fell inside the bar, another was dropped on the sidewalk, and the remaining pair escaped unharmed by timely and clever use of their legs…

 The effect was wholesome, and the habit that prevailed of closing up saloons galore was never resumed to any extent in Portland.


Back in the 1970s I was in a bar band that had the poor fortune, months on end, to play at Jake's High Tide in Newport, Oregon (Chinese food, dancing). On weekends the college kids from Corvallis would head over the hills for some fun, mixing with the grizzled and unwelcoming fisherman whose turf it was. Fights—flying chairs, breaking glass, torn clothing, bloody noses, even an occasional stiletto—were common. This was a volatile cultural mix, but nothing compared to the explosive potential present on the saloons and streets of Portland's north end.

I am of a mind that the cowboys were a tougher lot than the tars. For one thing they  carried firearms, for another, the were usually chosen from a healthier gene pool. The same article mentioned above went on to tell of another group of five cowboys. This bunch came from Montana and they were headed to the Alaska gold fields, stopping in Portland long enough to get outfitted. In their own minds they were certain to become millionaires. To celebrate their anticipated good fortune they rode together into a north end dance hall saloon and ordered drinks for themselves and their horses. The newspaper went on to state:


"Their guns were very much in evidence, and it is perhaps needless to state that the drinks were served. A party of barroom bums fell heir to the equine refreshments."


Cowboys were usually just cowboys to the news hacks of the day, but sailors were any number of things—most often, "Sons of Neptune" and jolly ones at that. When fights arose among Neptune's jolly sons the newsmen outdid themselves in reporting, "Naval Warfare" or some such amusing headline. Later on (about 1915) the name "Sons of Neptune" was appropriated  by members of the Astoria regatta for their yachting society, so the newsmen stopped using the term for sailors, to avoid confusion I suppose.

Money Matters All Things

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From: Money Matters All Things:
OR, Satyrical Poems, SHEWING The Power and Influence of MONEY over all Men,
 of what Profession or Trade soever they be. William Coward, et al. 1698




Shanghai Dock in Black and White

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Some time back I went looking for evidence of the mysterious "Shanghai Dock" that rears its head, from time to time, in horror stories of the Portland waterfront. What I found was the hard evidence that the Shanghai Building Company leased the old Columbia Shipbuilding site at the south end of town. The Army Corp of Engineers had to dredge out the river in front of the dock to make the channel deep enough for the freighters of the day. The company shipped lumber to China until the first days of WWII when the Japanese invaded. This dock took the name in 1923 when the Shanghai Building Company took over. The name lasted for some years after the company folded—until the area was taken over by Zidell for ship breaking. Of course this was quite awhile after the days of shanghaiing sailors for windjammer tours. The last reports of shanghaiing are around 1915, incidentally the same year that Charlie Chaplin made the move, "Shanghaied."


Although it was frequently mentioned in the newspapers, especially in the "Marine Notes" section, until today, I had never seen the name "Shanghai Dock" on a city map. This morning I had the good fortune to be at Tom Robinson's archives. He pulled out a large format city map printed in 1934, and as I scanned the waterfront my eyes lighted upon the words, "Shanghai America Dock." The location was right where I have been saying it was—almost beneath the Ross Island Bridge. I am including that small piece of the map for you to see. But don't ask me why they put the word "American" in there. The company name was "Shanghai Building Company" and in the Marine Notes it was always simply "Shanghai" or "Shanghai Dock."


A New Leaf

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The Portland Waterfront History website has been remodeled two or three times over the years, but last night I uploaded an entirely new version. This one is intended to be easy to use, mobile friendly, and captivating. It has new image galleries with over 240 large images, a timeline designed for easy additions and corrections, and a section for video. The images are from my personal collection. I admit that lot of these image are from postcards, not the highest definition, but I think even the hand colored ones have a certain nostalgic charm, and oftentimes they are the only images available from the time period. I hope you enjoy the new site, and please, don't hesitate to send me suggestions or additions. My whole existence is a work in progress, so I don't mind having errors pointed out, or new ideas suggested to me in a helpful manner.

A Note to my North Portland and Saint Johns friends:  The Multnomah County Library has asked me to give a series of talks on the subject of Portland's lost waterfront. They titled the series "Salty Dogs and Shanghai Tunnels" so I suppose I will have to discuss Portland's favorite fakelore. The first of thee will be:  

Wednesday, March 20, 2013 6:45 pm
St. Johns Library, Meeting Room


I must say, I am looking forward to talking about my favorite subject, so I hope someone shows up, or I will feel kind of silly.

Here are some links to the new pages. Here is a hint: if it looks funny its because you have some of the old page stuck in your browser cache--so hit the "Refresh" button and all will be well.

Landing Page (Home)

Photographs

Video




Boxcar Children

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At some point during my 33+ years on the waterfront I took to calling my fellow workers by the honorific title of "brother," preceding their Christian name, making it seem as though I were a Baptist elder at a camp meeting. Today I had the pleasure of visiting some of my "brothers" at the USDA/GIPSA/FGIS Portland field office located in the lovely, historic Albers Mill which abuts the north side of the Broadway Bridge. They all seemed glad to see old fatso (or "Brother Barn" as they call me, with what I trust is affection). In fact Brother Cleve had some remarkable old photographs he was waiting to show me, images from the early days of grain inspection that he had been given recently by his mother. Brother Cleve has grain inspection in his blood. His father was a field office manager and inventor of the famous "Ellis scoop," a device still in use to this day as a method of testing the accuracy of automatic grain samplers.
I intend to put all of these images on this blog in future posts, but for starters I love this rare photograph of official sampling of grain that is being transported by boxcar. Last year I was asked to write an article for Streamliner, the Union Pacific Railroad Historical Society newsletter about the subject of transporting grain into export elevators in boxcars. If you are interested in this subject, or the subject of the Portland export grain elevators in general, back issues are still available (Volume 25, Issue 4 http://uphs.org/the-streamliner/back-issues/). 

Sampling grain in the old days

As you examine the photograph, imagine the difficulty of climbing into one of these things at 7 am on a frosty morning, hung over (of course), and gagging from the hay fever attack brought on by airborne chaff stirred up as you stepped inside the tight air space. Boxcars were difficult to open, usually requiring a crowbar and lots of sweat. Sometimes the millwrights had to get involved, although usually they would just hand us a ratchet device called a "come-along" and tell us to do it ourselves. The "come-along" seemed like 100 pounds of ice cold steel, and in my hands (at least) it seemed impossibly difficult to use. One way or another the door was opened and the boxcar sampled and inspected before it was brought into the "tipper."

rail tipper at Terminal 4

The first time I saw a tipper grind into action I thought I was being gripped by hallucinations. If you can imagine gigantic steel lobster claws suddenly, with a groan like the aliens giants in War of the Worlds, reach down and grab a boxcar by both ears—that is startling, believe me! Then the "tipper" gets to work and lives up to its name. With groaning, whining and shuddering, alarming enough to frighten even the imps of perdition, it picks up the entire boxcar and slowly tips it backwards and forward until most of the billions of little kernels contained therein have fallen through the steel mouth of the "rail pit" and sent to their destination somewhere in the bowels of the grain elevator. 

Those days are long gone. As the railroads stopped serving the smaller trunk lines they moved to larger and larger hopper cars. Into the mid 1980s fewer and fewer boxcars arrived at the export elevators. And I  must say, even though I look back at that period with a wee bit of nostalgia, no one was sad to see them go—except, the small inland country elevators that were driven out of business by the changing methods of the day.

NOTE: The first in my series of talks on the subject of Portland's lost waterfront will be Wednesday evening at 6:45 pm in the meeting room of the Saint Johns Library

Multnomah County, Saint Johns Library

John P. Betts

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Accused of shanghaiing 53 years after his death

At 10 minutes before 8 o' clock on the evening of April 24, 1903 a meteor, much like the recent one in Russia, burst across the skies of Portland. The headlines in the Oregonian the next morning read:

Fire in the Sky

Brilliant Meteor Bursts over Portland

With Loud Detonation

Dazzles the Eyes of Many Startled Spectators

Moves Rapidly to the West

Heavenly visitor is the size of a moon. Sheds a dazzling radiance and leaves a trail of bluish white light.

The report included the testimony of many eyewitnesses. One of these was a prominent citizen whose address was given as "Thurman Street in Willamette Heights." This was John P. Betts (known as J.P.), a mild mannered and well liked gentleman, who lived quietly with his wife enjoying such bourgeois comforts as the city could provide.
John P. Betts, from his obituary in the Oregonian, May 12, 1908

Betts was born in 1850 in Nova Scotia. He and his brother, Albert came to the Pacific Coast when they were young men. Albert (known as Al) was a ship's captain skillful enough to become a Columbia River bar pilot, and a river pilot as well. John P. Betts made a fortune selling real estate in Astoria and Port Townsend. It can be deduced by an ad in the Astorian in 1885 that J.P. Betts was operating as a stevedore in that city, and did business with James Turk, hiring sailors. In 1888 he helped form the Puget Sound Stevedoring Company, a consortium of top stevedores from Astoria, Portland, Tacoma, and Port Townsend, to control the management of longshore work in those cities. By 1900 he was living in Portland where he was elected town constable for Ward 2, which included the "Whitechapel" district in the north end.  

Except in the case of meteors, John P. Betts preferred to stay out of the limelight. He was well known in business circles, and assumed the post of "shipping master" in Portland. His obituary in the Oregonian in May, 1908, states that he held this post for 25 years, but I doubt this very much, since he was reported to have been living in both Astoria and Port Townsend during many of those years. If I had the time to go rummage through dusty records I could probably pinpoint the years he was "Shipping Master" (as the position was called), but suffice it to say, he did it for a number of years, and he was working in this post when he died—peacefully, of pneumonia—in his house on Portland Heights. This dear little fellow was a faithful Elk (B.P.O.E.), a high Mason, being a Knights Templar, and a member of the Mystic Shrine. He was buried from the Scottish Rite Temple on 14th and Morrison.

I recently saw an article in the Saint Johns Review on shanghaiing in Portland. There were some things that made my eyebrows go up, but those things all happened a long time age, who cares? I was interested in the name J. P. Betts listed among the shanghaiers. I had seen the name mentioned by Larry Barber in a 1975 Oregonian article on crimping. After a little digging, I found the name listed, along with the names of Bunko, Turk, and Sullivan, etc. as one of the big time Portland shanghaiers, in the book Shanghaiing Days,  by Richard H. Dillon, published in 1961 by Coward-McCann. It could be that Mr. Dillon, who knew the San Francisco shanghaiing stories pretty well, came upon an article (March 1900) where J. P. Betts was named in a lawsuit, along with all the members of the Larry Sullivan, Grant Bros, and McCarron boarding house, and the ships master, for shanghaiing a fellow named Otto Ranft aboard the British Ship, MacMillan. The suit was thrown out of court for having no merit after Otto admitted to having signed the ship's papers.
Shanghaiers, as depicted in the silent film "Shanghaied", starring Charlie Chaplin

The United States Shipping Commissioner position was put in place by the Shipping Commissioners Act of 1872 (Dingley Act), an attempt by law makers to put an end to the kind of abuses sailors had been subjected to over the years. This is an complex and interesting subject, too big for a mere blog post. Suffice it to say the law was passed to combat crimping (shanghaiing). It required that a sailor had to sign on to a ship in the presence of a federal shipping commissioner (or, in some cases, a British consulate official). The law further required that a seaman be paid off in person in the presence of a shipping commissioner, and the he declare that he signed the ship's papers willingly and soberly. Needless to say, the law was circumvented in all ways possible, in Portland, and other ports around the country. In practice this was also done by authorized officials, such as J.P. Betts, or by U. S. Customs officials, or in the case of overseas ports, consular officials.

I don't think of John P. Betts as a shanghaiier. It was his laxity in enforcing the law that caused many a poor landlubber to go to sea. In social class, dignity, and the eyes of society this gentleman was far removed from the dockside ruffians who dealt with sailors. We have no way of knowing what sorts of arrangements Betts had with people like Larry Sullivan, or Jim Turk, but it is safe to wager that it had something to do with Bett's ability to pay for his Portland Heights home, carriage, etc. But had you called him a shanghaiier to his face, he, and all the gentlemen within earshot would have been appalled. Were he to know that in 1961, in a book that was to become the primary source of information on Pacific Coast shanghaiing, he was numbered among the lot—named beside Turk, Bunko Kelly, and Sullivan—he would have been devastated.

Since that book was published nearly every article on the subject has listed the same motley crew, usually in the same order—including the name "Dave Evans," the Tacoma sailor's boardinghouse master who, never did a dime's worth of business in Portland, and the obscure name, ”Jim Vierck," of whom nothing is known. It could be that the "Shanghaiing Days" author, Mr. Dillon, got this information from Stuart Holbrook, who could make up a good, historical fact with the blink on an eye. But it is disheartening to see this list repeated so frequently by people who go no further than a single document penned years after the time in question to find information.

This little instance of the weird list of Portland shanghaiers, along with the burgeoning fakelore of the shanghai tunnels, is a microscopic view at how "history" unfolds, and solidifies, to turn into words written in stone. I happened to have become interested in Portland's old waterfront, but I have a suspicion that whatever else I may have become interested in, the same sort of phenomenon would occur. A tiny piece of false information becomes wedged in the stream and gathers driftwood and leaves to support the fact that it is real.

I am sure Mr. Betts would much rather be remembered as a man standing on his front porch gazing up at a bright meteor as it crossed the sky--from the Oregonian tower to the forest above Linnton--bursting to pieces with an earth shattering roar, causing the valleys below to echo. Our lives come to us in moments along the course of the arrow of time, but our history is written by people who were not there.

present day depiction of the April 24, 1903 event

Portland to the Sea

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I must remind anyone who is interested that I will be speaking tonight at the Capital Hill branch of the Multnomah County Library, 7 pm, in the meeting room. I was a little worried last week when I did the first of this series of talks. "Why would anyone bother to come hear me?" I wondered. Then the little room filled up with about 30, very nice, people; and it was enjoyable. I only got through a portion of my prepared material, but I think I got a few ideas across.


Principal anchorage points, from a 1919 Pacific Marine Review


Someone labeled these talks "Salty Dogs and Shanghai Tunnels," and maybe that was a good idea, judging by the turnout for the first one. I don't feel that I can talk about shanghaiing without laying some ground work about the port itself. In my mind, the biggest "porky" (fib) told about the waterfront is that it was some magical "head of navigation" destined to become a leading port because of its serendipitous location, "where railroads and sea lanes meet." The fact that Captain Couch had a ship that drew 11 feet, fully loaded, seems lost on most historians. 


From the Oregonian's Handbook of the Pacific Northwest


The city, and later, the Port of Portland, spent 30 some years digging a channel to the sea that would handle the 20 foot draught of late 19th century maritime trade. Then they had to continue to dig to arrive at a channel fit for vessels that need the 43 feet that is currently there. Recently a river pilot was telling me that they still have to wait for the right tide to take vessels from deep anchorage to anchorage on the river. Look up at your ceiling, be it 8 ft, 10 ft, or the nice 12 ft of an old Portland house. Now imagine what 30 feet looks like, and imagine the expense, the stamina, and the determination it took to dig that deep channel from Portland to the sea. 

"From Portland to the Sea" was a common phrase back in old Portland. I read somewhere that even the county dog catcher ran for office using that as his platform. The story of from "Portland to the Sea" is a gallant, ecologically unsound, and little known story that still has no ending. The EPA superfund sites along the Willamette mean that the channel will not be getting any deeper in my lifetime. Looking forward, the Panama Canal will be opening a 50 foot deep channel next year that will add a new chapter to this story. Someday someone else will notice that they put the seaport 113 miles from the sea, then had to dig a channel deep enough for the ships

J.D. Chandler's "Murder and Mayhem in Portland, Oregon"

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I enjoy hanging out with J.D. Chandler for a number of reasons, but mainly because he knows more about Portland history than anyone else I know, and he does not hesitate to correct me if my assumptions about some historical event are unfounded. I especially enjoy a pleasant walk with J.D. in Lone Fir looking for the final resting place of some denizen from Portland's sordid past.

We met through our association with History Press, so I have been anxiously waiting for the day his book, "Murder and Mayhem in Portland, Oregon" goes to press. That day is here, and even though I haven't yet gotten the book into my hands, I can point others that direction with a hearty recommendation—knowing intuitively that it is sure to become a Portland classic.

J.D. Chandler, "Murder and Mayhem in Portland, Oregon"


The book can be seen and purchased here, at History Press:
 https://historypress.net/catalogue/bookstore/books/Murder-&-Mayhem-in-Portland,-Oregon/9781609499259

or here, at Powells: http://www.powells.com/s?kw=murder+and+mayhem+in+portland+oregon&class=

It is also available at Broadway Books, the Oregon Historical Society, McMenamins Edgefield Giftshop, and other Portland area shops.

An interesting interview with the author can be viewed here:
http://historypresswest.org/2013/03/24/interview-with-jd-chandler-author-of-murder-mayhem-in-portland-oregon/

The Turks in California Part 1

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Where it all took place, the little dot to the left is the first house of Jackson
In the early evening of twilight of a dank November in 1869 the activity along the "city's front" consisted of the usual howling drunks and raucous laughter. It was a region that had been San Francisco's no-man's land for decades. Not long before it had worn the name "Sydney Town" in honor of the Irish criminals drawn to California from Australia at the news of gold. Instead of "digging in the harmless earth" themselves, these boys had found it easier, and more profitable, to relieve the heavy burden of gold from those miners who wandered the streets of the city in search of pleasure. "Sydney ducks," was the derisive name the Americans gave them, but they set about beating the Americans at their own game. Democracy was made for such as they. It was simple enough to elect their own sheriffs and judges by stuffing ballot boxes and using threats and violence in the right places. The righteous Anglo Saxons of the city formed a "Committee of Vigilance" that with equal or greater violence scattered the "ducks" and with the use of assassination and lynching regained control of the city by the bay.

Along the old "city front"



James Turk, an Englishman who had come to America as a child, arrived in the city November 3, 1864, according to voter's records.  Along the way he had acquired a wildly beautiful wife of Irish descent by the name of Catherine—"Kate," of course. They had a son, a wee lad named Charles, and the most volatile marriage imaginable, fueled by alcohol and gross impertinence. The trade they chose to follow was not for the faint of heart, for they chose to open a boardinghouse for the accommodation of sailors.


In the year 1866 the Turks ran a house at 177 Jackson Street, within a stone toss of the wharves. Here they were licensed to sell spirituous liquors to such sea dogs as sought refuge at their door. Two years later they moved several blocks away to the 811 address of a street with the allegorical sounding name, "Battery Street," The Turks were operating a sailor's home at this location that fateful evening in November around which this story revolves. Rather than to try and improve upon this tale, I will relate it here, word for word, as it appeared in the Daily Alta California, in San Francisco, Wednesday morning, November 10, 1869. But first, let me point out that "Sullivan" is a very common name.

MURDER
A man stabbed to death in a saloon on the city front
About 6 o'clock last evening a cutting affray took place in the New World Saloon, corner of Vallejo and Front streets, from which one of the proprietors, known as Dutch Aleck, will probably meet with his death, being an innocent spectator, while two men named James Turk and --- Sullivan had a scuffle in his saloon. From what we can learn it appears that Sullivan, with a friend, had been out riding during the day. About dusk they put up their buggy, and both went to Charles Hanson's saloon, at the corner of Vallejo and Davis streets. After being in there a short time, Sullivan and Turk (a boarding-house keeper on Battery street) had some angry words. resulting in a quarrel. Both were separated and left the saloon. Soon afterwards  Turk and Sullivan met again in the New World Saloon, where they commenced scuffling again. Dutch Aleck, standing close by and laughing at them, but not saying a word. As soon as the men scuffling released their hold of each other, it is alleged Turk took from his pantaloons a pocket-knife, and rushing by Sullivan with whom he had been scuffling, ran up to Dutch Aleck, running the knife into his abdomen, inflicting a frightful wound, and then left the saloon. For some time afterwards Dutch Aleck did not know he had been cut, and took several drinks. Going into a back rook he fell down and fainted. It was then notice that a pool of blood was running from him and his intestines protruding. Medical aid was at once summoned, the wounds were dressed, and the injured man was conveyed to his room. Officers Lanyan and Devlin proceeded to the place as soon as they heard of the affair. They learned from the injured man, who was then in a dying condition, that Turk was the man who had inflicted the wounds which statement was corroborated by eyewitnesses. The officers immediately went after Turk, whom they soon found and brought to the Station House.

The next morning, at 3 o'clock, Dutch Aleck, a 26 year old Russian, whose full name was Alexander Gallagher, died at the City and County Hospital (another account says, St. Mary's Hospital). A post mortem showed that his intestines had been severed in four places. The coroner empanelled a jury, but was unable to proceed with the inquest because the principal witness was intoxicated. The inquest was postponed, the witness was locked up in the Station House on a drunk charge, and James Turk was carried off to the City Prison to await the outcome of the wheels of justice. A week later Turk was arraigned on a charge of manslaughter and sent to prison to await trail. He was 32 years old at the time. 

For unknown reasons Turks trial did not begin until November 30th of the following year. I would imagine he spent the entire time in prison, since it is unlikely that someone practicing such a disreputable trade would have been given bail. The trial went on for several days, and it appears that Turks defender earned his fee. After deliberating for ten minutes the jury pronounced him innocent. It was reported in the Sacramento Daily Union that, "two hours after (Turk's acquittal) he was reported on the city front declaring that he was the "chief," etc." A buffoon who, it seems, would kill a man for laughing at him.

There are many detail of this story I will have to be content to never know—I was surprised to chance upon this story, using a database I had never used previously. This adds an interesting chapter to the life of this infamous Oregonian. Next, I plan to post the story of the Turks move to Portland, their quick return to San Francisco, and how they bounced back north in no time flat.

The Turks in California, Part 2

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San Francisco was the sort of place that tolerated iniquity up to the point in which that iniquity threatened to take control, then—to use a phrase from the Rogue's Lexicon—it was curtains. Back in the gold rush days the city had been over run by Irish criminals from Australia. This group of scoundrels were drawn by the promise of gold, but found digging in the bowels of the earth too hard. It was easier, and more profitable to rob the miners after they had done the work. These criminals were called "Sydney Ducks" and the area close to the waterfront was "Sydney Town." The Irish Aussies got busy with American Democracy and began threatening voters and stuffing ballot boxes until many of the positions of authority in the city were controlled by them. What followed was the business men and former members of civil society formed the "Committee of Vigilance." The members of this committee invested themselves with the power of life or death over the perpetrators of iniquity, assassinating and lynching "Sydney Ducks" by the dozens, until order was restored.

Not long after this episode the San Francisco waterfront fell under the sway of powerful Sailor's Boardinghouse Masters, men who cheated sea captains, shanghaied sailors, and threatened to discredit the maritime business of the port in the eyes of foreign merchants. Jim Turk was among these crimps and operated from two different locations during the 1860s. In 1872 the San Francisco authorities, under the direction of the U.S. Shipping Commissioner Stevenson, began to crack down heavily on the sailor's boarding houses. Runners for the houses were arrested as they attempted to board ship. The merchants with commercial interests in shipping met with shipping masters and captains to agree on ways to suppress the "blood money" system of advanced wages. I suspect that San Francisco became too hot for the Turks, so they moved north to work the docks of Astoria and Portland.



From  the Portland, Oregon U.S. Census 1880

Turk was in Portland long enough to make himself odious, then his marriage hit rough waters. I would estimate the first period to be something less than two years. This I am deducing from two facts: their son, Frank, was reported to have been born in Portland, and the San Francisco Daily Alta California stated in January 1874 that the lad was "about 18 months" old. This was in a report, seen as amusing to most readers, of the fiery explosion of emotion that was thought to be the end of the Turk's marriage. The papers were wrong. Not only was the marriage not over, Portland had not seen the last of them. These vagaries will become somewhat clearer by reading in its entirety the article below, which appeared in the Morning Oregonian, January 22, 1874, and is a recap of the California story.

    The Turk Family


    The Portland public, and especially the members of the police force of this city certainly have abundant reason for remembering  Mr. Turk and his angel-faced spouse, Catherine. This detestable pair formerly resided in Portland, and were the proprietors of a low, disreputable sailor's boarding house, near the corner of Front and Ash Streets. Turk was a swaggering bully, and never allowed an opportunity to pass by unimproved to display his pugilistic talents, especially when his opponent was physically inferior to himself. His wife was a female of Amazonian proportions, with a temper alongside which Jezebel was an angel, and to which might be added that other commendable trait, intemperance. During her drunken sprees she was a terror to her husband and a source of annoyance to the police. Finally the family relations became so intolerable that Turk shipped on board an English vessel and left the country. Soon after Mrs. Turk took her departure for parts unknown, and rid the community of her unwelcome presence. But it seems that she is afflicting the good people of San Francisco. From an exchange of the 12th we learn that Mrs. Catherine Turk rushed frantically into the presence of Captain Dayton, of the San Francisco police force, and demanded a warrant for the arrest of her husband, who, she stated, had shipped on board the ship Cultivator, which was to sail the next day for Liverpool, taking with him her only child, a boy aged about 18 months. The captain suggested the idea that her husband was perhaps the lawful custodian of the child, and that a warrant for his arrest could not be issued. He told her, however, that she might be enabled to reach the case were she to sue out a writ of habeas corpus in the proper court. She went out swearing that she would have the child anyhow, and on the next day Turk was arrested by the Harbor Police to answer to a charge of larceny, based upon the fact that he had taken from his wife two trunks of clothing. He stated, by way of explanation, that his wife was a dissipated woman, and that he had shipped as steward on board the Cultivator, in order that he might convey his child to Liverpool and place him in the custody of his sister, who resided there. The case was inquired into on the following day, and Turk was discharged, but too late to fill his engagements with the vessel.

It is clear by reports of further drunken sprees and violence that the Turk family was back in the business of shipping sailors in Portland by November of that year. I don't think I would want to be in the shoes of the reporter who penned the article above should it have fallen into Jim Turk's hands. At the very least my eyes would be in need of beefsteaks and the rest of my body a good rub down with one of those miracle cures found in every corner drug store in those days.

The Turks were back for good, travelling between Portland and Astoria, shipping sailors from both cities. They would divorce and then live together in their drunken fits of rage. Jim Turk would remarry after Kate died of acute alcoholism in 1890. But when Turk died, five years later, he was buried with Kate on one side and his mother on the other. His grave can be seen today in the Lone Fir Cemetery, a simple stone marked "FATHER."

Belmont Library, Tomorrow

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Here is a brief reminder that I will be giving a talk tomorrow at the Belmont branch of the Multnomah County Library.

Salty Dogs and Shanghai Tunnels
Saturday, April 13, 2013 
3:15 pm
Belmont Library, Meeting Room 

The library is at 1038 SE César E. Chávez Boulevard, so it really isn't on Belmont--never has been. Maybe they should change the name to César E. Chávez library.



How Deep Is My River? Part 1

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Wreck of the USS Peacock at the Columbia River bar, Wikimedia Commons
If you take away the electronics and the air travel, this blue planet is huge. It took Europeans a long time to make it across the wide oceans. The Portuguese wanderer Fernão Mendes Pinto made it to Japan forty years before Columbus discovered the "New World." But it took almost another 300 years before the first Europeans made it up to the Pacific Northwest. Spanish explorers with exotic names began poking around the area in the 1770s, even establishing a base at Nootka Sound (off of what is now Vancouver Island) in 1780. Russians had been nosing around the upper regions since the 1740s, looking for furs. During all this time no one had noticed that a gigantic river was pouring down across a large swath of the North American continent and into the Pacific Ocean. There were a few minor references hinting at such a thing, but nothing definite.

In the spring of 1792 when Captain George Vancouver sailed past the Columbia River in route to Nootka Sound, he put this in his log:

 The several large rivers and capacious inlets that have been described as discharging their contents into the Pacific between the 40th and 48th degree north latitude, were reduced to brooks insufficient for our vessels to navigate, or to bays inapplicable for refitting.
Vancouver’s log, April 28, 1792

During this same period, the Bostonian entrepreneur, Captain Robert Gray, was roaming around collecting furs to trade to the Chinese for tea to bring home to tea loving Boston. He stood off the surf thrashing what he was sure was the bar of a great river for nine days, then gave up, to  try again later. When he met George Vancouver at Nootka Sound, he told him of the great river he had tried to enter. Vancouver assumed it was the same "brooks insufficient for our vessels to navigate" that he had noted in that latitude.

The next month, on May 11, a time when the river would have been at its highest, Gray was able to sound out a channel across the bar using a small sailboat. He entered the river, which he named, the Columbia, after his vessel, the full-rigged, Columbia Rediviva. Gray was able to sail upstream for 12 or so miles before the channel became too shallow. The Columbia Rediviva was an 83' 6" square rigger of 213 tons with a draft of 11 feet. When a replica of this ship sailed up the Willamette some years ago I was impressed with one thing, it seemed very small—especially compared to a medium-sized bulk grain carrier. 
Oregon forests drawn by Wilkes Expedition artist

(Please note for further reference the draft of the vessel was 11 feet and Captain Gray was unable to navigate up the Columbia in May, a time when the spring snow melt and rains swell the waters.)

As I read the account of early explorers on the Columbia River, two things impress me the most: the Columbia River bar was a fearful spectacle, and the river was treacherous—shallow sand bars, shifting currents, and hidden snags from the roots of fallen forest giants submerged in the rushing waters.
The bar was not impassable, but finding a channel was highly dangerous. Imagine: the great, wild, Columbia river rushing into the crashing surf of the Pacific Ocean. Silt dragged down from the distant mountains was piled in a six mile long sand bar where the two waters met in a dreadful roar. In 1841 Captain Wilkes wrote this of the bar:

Mere description can give little idea of the terrors of the bar of the Columbia: all who have seen it have spoken of the wildness of the scene, and the incessant roar of the waters, representing it as one of the most fearful sights that can possibly meet the eye of the sailor. The difficulty of its channel, the distance of the leading sailing marks, their uncertainty to one unacquainted with tem, the want of knowledge of the strength and direction of the currents, with the necessity of approaching close to unseen dangers, the transition from clear to turbid water, all cause doubt and mistrust.
Charles Wilkes, Narrative of the United States Exploring Expedition During the Years 1838, 1839, 1840, 1841, 1842  (in five volumes and an atlas), Vol. IV (London: Wiley and Putnam, 1845).
Astoria drawn by Wilkes Expedition artist

Lt. Wilkes had a special dislike for this bar that destroyed one of his ships, the U.S.S. Peacock, killing some of his men. But it was navigable. The Hudson's Bay Company had been sailing around the area from Fort Vancouver to their outposts in Canada in the S.S. Beaver since 1836. The Beaver came from London around the horn sailing as a schooner. It was then outfitted with equipment it carried aboard to turn it into a steam wheeler. She had an 8' 4" draught, which made navigating the shallow bar channel and the sand bars of the Columbia easier than that of a larger vessel. It may seem too obvious to mention, but the reason the ship went around the horn as a sailing vessel before being turned into a steam boat is simply this: steam engines ate fuel like nobody's business, several cords to go a few miles. Sailing cost nothing, and used no other fuel than the sea biscuits and salt meat fed to the sailors.

The SS Beaver


(Next: The Wilkes Expedition nautical charts of the Columbia and Willamette rivers, 1841)





How Deep is My River—Part 2

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Starting in the mid 1820s it had been Hudson’s Bay Company  (HBC) policy to create “fur deserts” in areas they didn’t want American trappers to venture. Since the lower Columbia River area was one of those “deserts” any poor critter with a pelt was hunted to near or total extinction. By the 1840s the HBC in Fort Vancouver, under the leadership of Dr. John McLoughlin, had gone into the provisioning business supplying outposts as far flung as the Russians in Alaska to the missionaries in Hawaii with articles grown on its farms. Dr. McLoughlin had a perfect solution for the transition from fur trapping to farming. Some miles south of the Willamette falls there was an area of meadowland the natives kept free from brush by seasonal burning. This was to make it easier to hunt game. By this time the native population had sadly declined, leaving this land ready to be turned into wheat fields.
 
Lt. George F. Emmons

Dr. McLoughlin used HBC resources to set up a group of his French Canadian trappers with their native wives and burgeoning families as wheat farmers. Dr. McLoughlin’s son set up a farm for his family as well. The land was ideal for any sort of crop, but wheat was especially useful. It was simple to grow and harvest, it traveled well, and was in demand wherever Europeans had settled. This was the beginning of a system that remains in place today, with wheat having been the number one export from Oregon from that time until recently. (Wheat was replaced by computer products in recent years, due mostly to the establishment of new, large, state-of-the-art export grain elevators on the Washington side of the Columbia River, which drew the business away from Portland.) The farms of the HBC also provided their far-flung customers with fruits, vegetables, and dairy products, as well as flour ground at the Fort Vancouver mill. The arrangement was very efficient, and the returns were bountiful enough to give Dr. McLoughlin many opportunities for generosity to the scraggly groups of new settlers arriving from the east.

In late May and early June of 1841 Fort Vancouver was visited by section of the U.S. Navy  Exploring Expedition,(Wilkes Expedition) under the command of Lt. George F. Emmons. The expedition team traveled upriver from Fort George (Astoria) to Fort Vancouver with two vessels: the USS Porpoise (230 tons, 10 guns, draft 14’) and a merchant vessel they christened the Oregon (250 ton, draft 11’ 2”, formerly the Thomas H. Perkins) which was purchased at Fort George.
 
USS Porpoise Wikimedia Commons

The expedition had planned to start exploring the Willamette River on the 3rd of June, but the weather was so stormy they delayed until the next day. (As any Oregonian knows, the first part of June, when Portland celebrates the Rose Festival, is inevitably a time of pouring rain.) The next day members of the expedition left Fort Vancouver and headed up the Willamette river in a large rowboat; even though this was the time of the spring freshet when the waters were at their highest the Willamette was too shallow for even the smaller of the two expedition vessels. Here is the account given of the start of that journey:

Dr. M'Laughlin had kindly furnished us with a large boat, and, although we had provided ourselves with provisions, we found in her a large basket filled with everything that travelers could need, or kindness suggest.

The barge in which we embarked was one that usually carried freight; but it had been fitted up with seats for our use, so that we found ourselves extremely comfortable, and our jaunt was much more pleasant than if we had been confined to a small canoe. These flat-bottom boats are capable of carrying three hundred bushels of wheat, and have but a small draft of water; when well manned, they are as fast as the canoes, and are exceedingly well adapted to the navigation of the river: they are also provided with large tarpawlings to protect their cargo from the weather.
  
These shallow draft boats were ideal for the Willamette. They were capable of carrying 18,000 lbs of wheat (about what a small farm truck is able to haul to the grain elevator), as swift as a canoe and outfitted with a tarpaulin to keep off the incessant Oregon rain. Exactly the sort of boat needed for moving large quantities of grain from the falls below French Prairie to the HBC fort on the Columbia.

Part of the expedition’s mission was to take measurements for the U.S. Geodetic Survey, including the task of sounding and charting the rivers and bays. Today many of those charts are available in large image format to be examined online, or downloaded from the NOAA Historical Map Collection http://historicalcharts.noaa.gov/historicals/search_attributes These charts are a tremendously valuable reference point. Anyone who wants to discover the depth and widths of these rivers at normal high water level (as opposed to flood stage), in their pristine condition prior to any artificial “improvements,” such as, dams, dykes, or levees, they need go no further than the 1841 U.S. Geodetic Survey charts compiled by this expedition.


On the charts you will notice the soundings are marked in numbers, some of which have the letters “ft” and some without. After researching this matter way longer than I should have, it appears that the obvious conclusion is the correct one. The chart is in fathoms (1 fathom = 6 feet) unless it is marked in feet. Keep in mind that Captain Ainsworth would, in the years following, develop a double-decked system of docks: the low deck for low water, the high deck for the spring freshet—such as the Wilkes expedition was experiencing. The difference between the two was dramatic, and the soundings on these charts are taken in the season when, in later years, the higher docks in Portland would be in use.

So just how deep were the virgin waters of the Willamette River in those days? Let’s examine the mouth of the Willamette, which was then comprised of three islands. A cursory glance of the chart shows that it would have been unwise to try to take a vessel with a 12 foot draft into the river. Medium-sized sailing vessels of the day had drafts from 11 to 14 feet. The larger vessels, the size preferred in maritime commerce, required at 17 foot channel for navigation.

In the river’s mouth the deeper channel was in places a mere 2 fathoms—excluding the USS Porpoise and making it unwise to attempt to use the USS Oregon without considerable risk.
 
Mouth of the Willamette 1841

Slightly further upstream, below where the Multnomah Channel (called the “Wapato Branch” on the chart) enters the river, at the south end of Sauvie Island, is the shoal that would later be named “Post Office Bar,” and become a major project for the U.S. Army engineers. This section of the Willamette is shown to be only 5 feet deep in places. If this was the wet season, then what was it like in the dry?

Post Office Bar


Moving further upstream, past the place marked “Clay Bluff” or what would come to be called Mock’s Crest, sits the huge shoal surrounding Swan Island (called “Willow Island” on the chart). In 1869 this would be the major impediment to navigation and of great concern to the city fathers of Portland. Especially concerned would be H.W. Corbett, the United States Senator from Oregon, and a grain merchant interested in shipping directly to Great Britain. The situation was such that Portland needed to become a port with a U.S Customs house, or else all its merchandise would need to go through the Customs House in San Francisco. Portland merchants had been shipping grain through Astoria and San Francisco for some years. When vessels were unable to load, or take a full load in Portland the grain was “lightered” down river to Astoria. Grain lightered to Astoria was put on customs records as having been shipped from Portland. In 1869 the City of Portland purchased an expensive, top-of-the-line dredge, and Portland supporter, grain merchant, Senator H.W. Corbett arranged for the U.S. Army to operate the dredge. So began the deepening of these shallow waters, and a process that has never seen a conclusion.

Swan Island Bar



Near the south part of the “Willow Island” (Swan Island) the shallow sandbar is obvious in the charts. Once again one is left wondering: what was this like in the dry season? Beyond this point is a deeper area of the river that will be called the “lower harbor,” where, in later years, sailing vessels will sit at anchor waiting for a berth at one of the grain docks. Above the lower harbor comes the river’s pronounced bend where the Steel Bridge will cross, and where Captain John Couch will place a land claim of forest and swamp land. From here to the famous “clearing,” where a city will soon begin to grow, the river is consistently deep—a healthy 5 fathoms next to the clearing.

The Clearing



The one single legend that has made it into all the history books is the story of how Captain Couch declared this area to be the “head of navigation,” or as far upstream as was navigable. This story is undoubtedly true. Captain Couch says as much in an 1849 letter to the Oregon City newspaper, the Spectator. At that time there was a faction, headed by the builder of the steamboat, Lot Whitcomb, supporting the idea that Milwaukie was the head of ship navigation. In his letter Capt. John Couch ridicules the idea by telling of times he has seen people wading across the Willamette in the waters above Portland.

I have a strong inclination that Captain Couch was thinking of flat-bottomed steamboats when he argued that Portland was the head of navigation—and he was most certainly doing so in his letter to the Spectator. My reasoning is thus: When he came here the first time in 1840 aboard the Maryland the Willamette was extraordinarily high, enough so that he was able to take the vessel all the way to the Willamette Falls. He returned in April of 1844, aboard the Chenamus, with a shipload of merchandise to open a store in Oregon City, he was unable to enter the Willamette, but needed to transfer the goods by small boats. This is according to a report by an eyewitness recorded in the 1875 Oregon Pioneers Association Journal.

Captain Avery Sylvester, who would take command of the Chenamus, had been in the river the previous September with his ship the Pallas. Here is his description of the conditions on the Willamette at that time.

On the 18th  [September] we arrived safe into the Willamette, this being the river on which the Settlers reside, being much more advantageous for farming purposes than the Columbia. This river comes into the Columbia about 90 miles from Cape Disappointment, and is navigable for vessels drawing 9 feet water about 30 miles at any season of the year, when you come to rapids passable only for boats drawing 2 ft. for about 4 miles when you come to what is called the Willamette Falls. And a beautiful fall it is extending nearly I/4 of a mile, intercepted with 3 rocky islands; and when the water is low it has a dead fall about 40 feet. At this place on my arrival, there were about 20 houses, two saw mills, and one flour-mill nearly finished, all having been built within a year. This is the place to where we have got to get our cargo, and a tedious job we had of it; for the residents thought it was unsafe to go nearer than 12 miles of this place on ac't of a shoal bar which extended across the river. From here we take our cargo in boats to the Falls; and what made it much worse, it rained much of the time, making it difficult to keep the goods dry.


Captain Sylvester must not have had a good map, or was writing from memory. He estimates 30 miles to the Clackamas River rapids, which is actually about 23 miles from the mouth. The 9 foot depth would exclude all but the smallest sailing vessels of the period. I wonder what the good captains, Sylvester and Couch, would have said if you told them that one day Portland would be a major seaport handling vessels with a 40 foot draft? They would, of course, wonder how such a thing was possible. It would take a miracle. But then, someone once said that “faith as a grain of mustard seed” could move a mountain into the sea—or in this case—the sea into the mountains.

The little known epic of the ditch from Portland to the sea was decades in the making and seems now to be headed towards a catharsis. Senator Corbett and his fellow merchants wanted a channel with a depth of 17 feet. Work commenced on this project in 1869, and “river improvements” most importantly included a jetty at the mouth of the Columbia to force a deep channel through the bar. Dykes were constructed along the water’s edge. Dredging, snag pulling, and sluicing (a method of using riverboat sternwheels to stir up the sandy river bottom so the current would take the silt away) efforts were put into place from Swan Island to Young’s Bay.

In 1879 the U.S. Congress enacted one of the biggest pork barrel frenzies in American history, the Rivers and Harbors Act. Suddenly any little hamlet on a creek within a day’s canoe trip of the sea started having visions of becoming a great seaport. Senator Corbett (no longer a senator, but well respected in Washington D.C.) saw to it that the Columbia/Willamette Rivers area was well placed in the line for appropriations. Congress approved a plan to create a channel with a depth of 20 feet from Portland to the sea. It took nearly until the end of the century to accomplish this, and by that time the required depth had grown to 25 feet. To accommodate the vessels that would be arriving when the Panama Canal opened in 1914 the requirement grew to 30 feet depth. By 1935 the required depth had grown to 35 feet. Following World War II a depth of 40 feet was sought, a goal which was met in 1960.

The Present and the Future

The Columbia River channel is currently maintained at a depth of 43 feet and a width of 600 feet. The Willamette River channel is 43 feet deep up to the area of Terminal 4 at Saint Johns, from there the controlling depth is 40 feet. Larger vessels are usually moved from one deeper anchorage to the next using the rise of the tide in the river.

At several places along the Willamette river industrial waste has created EPA Superfund sites where further dredging would stir up a noxious soup of heavy metals and other poisons. Further dredging in these areas would require that the waters be completely sealed off from the river and all the sludge and other materials from the river bottom, as well as the polluted waters in the sealed off area would need to be disposed of as hazardous waste. At this point in time it seem unlikely that the river will be dredged deeper, even though the requirements have continued to grow. In 2014 the new channel of the Panama Canal will allow vessels with a draft in excess of 50 feet to pass through. The canal has been a template for ship construction, using the word “Panamax” to indicate a vessel that is at the maximum size to fit through the locks of the canal. With a “new Panamax” coming into play it will be interesting to see how that affects the Port of Portland. Already, in recent years, a large part of the grain export business has gone across the Columbia to export elevators in Vancouver, Kalama, and Longview. Swan Island’s new dry dock will bring some business, and a ship headed for dry dock is normally in ballast, and  not loaded to the load line. Medium sized bulk carriers will continue to visit the Portland inner city grain elevators, LDC and Tempco. Columbia Grain at T5 is in the 43 foot zone, and further dredging may even be allowed to take place in that area in the future.

The centralized notion of Portland as the Columbia River seaport is no longer important to business interests. The port of the Columbia River basin runs from The Dalles to Astoria with a sideways jaunt up the Willamette as far as the Steel Bridge. Many a long day and night I worked at “Globe” as the elevator next to the Steel Bridge is familiarly known. Some nights I worked in the scale room, up above the tanks, with a stunning view of the lights of downtown. The work I did then is now done remotely from computers on the dock level. During the early 1980s the elevator worked day and night without stopping—except for Christmas, New Years Day, and the Bloody 5th when the longshoremen commemorate their union members killed in the strike of 1936 when police and National Guardsmen were used against them. The life of the port was unique, interesting, and lively. By the time I retired a sort of ennui had settled on the waterfront that made it easy to leave.

It’s interesting to me, reading lots of old newspapers and such, how passionate Portlanders once were to make sure the city was assured a place among the great seaports. It was incredibly difficult to dig the ditch from Portland to the sea, but now, find me someone who cares if we remain a seaport. For the present we are the hipster capital of the world, but that never lasts either.

The Shanghaied Boy -- the movie

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If you are looking for the movie, I took it down for a bit. J.D. Chandler (Murder and Mayhem in Portland, Oregon) pointed out a couple of things that I got screwy, so a new, improved version will be put up soon.

Thank you

How Deep is My River Part 3

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The long and difficult project of making a shipping channel from Portland to the sea involved a lot more than simply dredging. As anyone knows who has played in the mud as a kid, channeling water to go the way you want it to go involves building dikes and dams as well. From the lower Columbia all the way to the Portland harbor the Army Engineers erected these dikes and dams in places where the water could be directed in a way to make the channel deeper, and to insure that the flow of the river would keep the channel from silting up. Before these efforts the charts of the river would change dramatically over the course of several seasons of the rivers fluctuating from the late summer and early autumn low water to the floods of the spring freshet. Sand bars would appear where there were none before and large snags dragged downstream by the current would create barriers and hazards.

A dam at the Willamette's mouth

The U.S. Army Engineers operated several snag boats to deal with the roots of mighty forest giants washed into the sand by river currents. This is a picture of the snag puller, Mathloma.
Besides dredging, and building dams and dikes, the Army Engineers used a method of channel deepening they called "propeller sluicing." This could be carried out in areas where the river bottom was made from hardened silt and sand. A riverboat with special propellers would stir up the sand at the river bottom and pull a system of drags over the slurry to bring it into the river current where it would be carried downstream to settle in deeper pools and troughs.
Propeller sluicing at St Helens


A U.S. Coast Survey chart from 1851 shows the original depths, in feet, of the beginning of the river channel above Astoria. This was the area where the original discoverer, Robert Gray, turned back after briefly running aground.



 By the 1890s dikes and dams ran along the rivers from Portland to the sea. Here are some images from an 1894 map of Portland showing the dikes along the Portland harbor and on to St Johns. The dike running from the lumber mill in northwest Portland to Swan Island acted as a harbor wall for a large community of "scow dwellers" on both sides. They used the dike as a walkway to access their houseboats.
Dike from lumber mill to Swan Island

Dike below Saint Johns

River channel by Swan Island (appx 25 feet deep)


The dike in front of North Pacific Lumber mill as seen from Portland Flouring Mills


 In anticipation of the completion of the Panama Canal the Port of Portland developed a remodel of the entire harbor. The original wharves were razed and a seawall constructed. The larger wharves were already operating north of the city, or across the river in lower Albina by that time. The river channel was moved to the west side of Swan Island, and a large system of docks was proposed for Mock's bottom and Saint Johns.


It seems to me that there is no financial incentive to dredge the Willamette deep enough to accommodate ships designed for the new Panama Canal channel opening in 2014-especially with the industrial waste superfund sites preventing normal dredging. This is a subject that would take me far too long to do justice in my little blog. I am so immersed in the old days that I recently realized that dyke (as seen on the maps) is now spelled "dike." I am probably the wrong person to write about the present state of affairs, or those to come.

I won't be here to see much of what will happen, but it seems  that Portland harbor is sliding into the shadow of larger Columbia river grain terminals and larger Pacific Coast docks. Maybe the best use of these old dockyards would be to invite the scow dwellers back. That would surely humanize these sad areas of desolation that one sees as one travels down the river from Alber's Mill to Kelley Point. Finally, it goes almost without saying, we should rebuild the old Willamette River Light Station. What good is a river mouth, obscured by the fog, without a bungalow on stilts shining its light into the mist? Once the industry is gone Portland will need to survive by being a place of unique weirdness to attract future generations of hipsters.




Willamette River Light Station


The Steel Bridge and the Railroad

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I don’t know if anyone has noticed this, but the Steel Bridge on old postcards is often designated as being owned by any one of three different companies. Most often you will see the words “O.W.R. & N. Co. Bridge across the Willamette,” or something to that effect. Other times the card might read, “O. R. R. & N. Co. bridge, Portland, Oregon.” Then, on occasion, a card might say, “Union Pacific bridge, Portland, Oregon.” This was confusing to me at one time, until I read a little something on the history of the Union Pacific lines in the west, then I became even more confused. The lines were in and out of receivership, leased, sold, given different, but very similar names, and called different names by different levels of railroad hierarchy.


When the first Steel Bridge was built in 1888 the company behind the construction was the Oregon Railway & Navigation Company (O. R. & N. Co.), an old and powerful entity that had evolved from the Oregon Steam Navigation Company hearkening back to the earliest days of transportation on the Columbia and Willamette rivers. This company was huge, with rail stretching to Chicago, 3 large ocean steamers, 16 large riverboats, serving all points from the Snake River in Idaho to Eugene, Oregon, up into the Puget Sound, the company also ran numerous barge services—there is nothing quite like it today.

But, it isn’t that simple, the story of railroads is a story of monopolies, lawyers, lawsuits, bankers, and continual bankruptcies. Railroads were a shell game played by billionaire monopolists to hide money, lose money on the books, and to make money by the hopper car load. As far as I can make it out, in 1888 the O.R. & N. Co. was leased to the Oregon Short Line, a Union Pacific company. In 1889 the OSL merged with the Utah & Northern, forming the Oregon Short Line & Utah Northern Railway, which continued the lease of O.R. & N. Co. Later that same year the O. S. L.. & U  N. Railway purchased a controlling amount of stock in the O.R. & N. Co. The merged group of railroads was called the O.R. & N. Co. and became the Union Pacific’s branch in the west. (To make matters worse for people trying to sort this out in 1897 the Oregon Railway and Navigation Co. was reorganized, having been in receivership for several years. The new name they chose was the Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company.)



So where did the O.W.R. & N. Co. come from? In 1910, the year the new Steel Bridge was built, the Oregon Washington Railroad & Navigation Co. (OWR&N) was incorporated as a consolidation of Oregon Railroad & Navigation Co. and 14 other, smaller railroad companies in Oregon and Washington.  This franchise continued on for a long time, until December 29, 1987, when it was merged with the Deschutes Railroad into the Oregon Short Line Railroad. The following day the Oregon Short Line Railroad was merged into the Union Pacific Railroad.

I have tried to make this simple, so I may have over simplified and made something go screwy. I welcome any comments by railroad historians if I have led anyone astray. I realize it is way more complex than how I have stated it, but it has to be honed down to where people can at least get the idea. In my overly simple way of looking at things, I think it is safe to say it was built and owned by the Union Pacific from the get go.

The not-so-great, but very hip looking, first Steel Bridge



In the years before the decline of river transportation, not a single bridge that was built in Portland was welcomed by mariners. They were all impediments to maritime traffic. This is why in the early part of the century mayor Harry Lane was in favor of tunnels instead of bridges, and he had lots of supporters, especially among men with with anchors tattooed on their biceps. The War Department had to sign off an any bridge built over navigable waters, but in the case of the old Steel Bridge there was a great deal of incompetence on several levels. For one thing, it was too low. The tiniest little dingy needed the bridge to open for it to pass. During high water in the late 1890s it was only 2 feet above the freshet. Another fault, that affected everyone from the streetcar passenger to the ship captain, was that the bridge was slow to open and close. With the main transportation artery, in those days, being the river, the bridge was swinging open and closed all day and most of the night.




In April 1907 the Portland Evening Telegram ran an article with a headline that read:
“Draw Open Three Hours Every Day. More than that time lost to traffic crossing the Steel Bridge.”
 The article stated that:
 “…according to officials (the bridge) now opens 50 times a day to let vessels pass.  The average time taken for opening and closing this bridge is four minutes, and thus team, streetcar, and pedestrian travel is stopped for three hours and 20 minutes every day.”
Then, in September of 1908, after being up for only 10 years, the bridge was showing such signs of stress that the O. R. & N. Co. felt it necessary to order 4 streetcar lines that were using the bridge, off the bridge, forcing them to use other, less ideal routes on other bridges.

When work was begun on the new Steel Bridge in 1910 it was necessary to build it in a different location so as to keep the railroads running during construction. The condemnation of riverfront property and the loss of streetcars in front of some businesses gave rise to a lot of bitter complaints. In spite of opposition this time they did it right. The railroad built a bridge strong enough to withstand the stresses of heavy rail traffic, vehicle traffic, and freezes and floods into the 21st century and beyond. The addition in 2001 of the pedestrian and bicycle cantilevered walkway, which was added to complete the circle of the downtown river walk, was a brilliant achievement in good design, adding rather than detracting from the strength and beauty of the bridge.

Back when the original bridge was built the papers often referred to it as “Harriman’s bridge,” after the O. R. & N. Co./Union Pacific president, E. H. Harriman. He died in 1909, the year before work on the present bridge was started, but if he could see it today—over one hundred years later—he would be quite pleased with the condition of this gift the Union Pacific has given to Portland for over 100 years.

Portland Noir

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I am hesitantly thrilled to announce that the OPB, Oregon Experience series has created a program called "Portland Noir," examining the seedy days of yore. Since I am either seedy enough, or ancient enough, I was invited to add my thoughts on the workings of Portland's old waterfront.

There will be a screening of this program Friday, October 11th at 7 p.m. (the doors open at 5:30) at the McMenamin's Mission Theater Pub 1624 N.W. Glisan St. (The old longshoremen's hiring hall).
You are invited.

My hesitation comes from a certain uneasiness at seeing myself on a screen of any size.

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