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THIS

WAS

SAWMILLING

This Was Sawmilling

Ralph W. Andrews

(opposite) SCHOONER EN PACIFIC "DOG HOLE" loading red
wood lumber by chute from mill on California cliff. Schooners
could anchor in these holes only when weather and sea were com-
paratively calm. They swung twenty or thirty feet with tides and
when beneath end of chute, clapperman released brake on stick of
lumber and dropped it on deck. Captain "Midnight" Olson was a
famous dare-devil skipper in this trade, t Photo Union Lumber
Co. Collection*

SUPERIOR PUBLISHING COMPANY

SEATTLE

AUTOGRAPHED EDITION

Three thousand copies of this autographed

edition have been printed

This copy is Number

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

DEDICATED

to the men

who with great enterprise

and inventiveness put power

behind saws and produced

the world's most useful

product

INTRODUCTION

The sawing of lumber has gone on continuously in the Pacific Northwest since
1825, when Governor George Simpson of the Hudson's Bay Company raised the
British Union Jack above new Fort Vancouver. Some two years later he left this
order for Dr. McLoughlin :

"The Sawmill will require 8 men and should be kept constantly at Work, as I
expect fully as much advantage will be derived from the Timber as from the Coasting
fur trade ... I recommend that you build 2 vessels of 200 tons each for the Timber
trade . . ."

The Northwest's pioneering missionaries, the Rev. Jason Lee, Dr. Marcus
Whitman and the Rev. Henry Harmon Spalding, were all sawmill men and carpen-
ters of some experience, as well as persons of professional education. Dr. Whitman,
while practicing medicine, had been a partner in a Yates County, New York, sawmill.
The first missionaries of the Northwest did "the very hard work of pit sawing" to
produce their first construction lumber. Jason Lee built water-power sawmills at
Salem in 1840 and at Willamette Falls in 1841. It was four years later before Dr.
Marcus Whitman was sawing lumber to the creaking of a waterwheel. The site was
20 miles up the Walla Walla River from his mission, in the yellow pines of the
Blue Mountains. At the time of the "Whitman Massacre," in November, 1847,
10,000 board feet of lumber were in stacks at Waiilatpu Mission, as material for
the building of a school.

In 1847 the American trail-blazer on Puget Sound, Michael Simmons, erected
a water-power sawmill at the site of today's Tumwater and a famous brewery. He
sold the mill to Cranick Crosby and moved to Mason Couny in 1853, to build the
first sawmill in that historic area.

Four steam sawmills were started on the shores of Puget Sound in 1853, beside
ten that were powered by waterwheels. Pit sawing remained a common practice
among the settlers, who also learned to split planks and shakes from straight-
grained logs of Western red cedar.

In 1856 lumber trade with Japan was added to the ever-growing California
market for the products of Northwest sawmills. Pope & Talbot, starting at Port
Gamble in 1853, have sawed lumber right on through the years. In the 1880s they
had 84 lumber carriers sailing in world trade.

Railroads were built, over the mountains from the Midwest and up from Cali-
fornia valleys, to haul Western fir, cedar and pine lumber to rich farm-building
markets. Montana, Idaho. Washington, Oregon and Northern California, began to
grow into the giant lumber-producing region of today — the greatest sawmilling
area in all the world.

Here is Ralph Andrews' story of that triumphant growth and its undying
promise, shown in superb photography and told in true and vital words. The
utilitarian waterwheel, the great days of the steam sawmill, the epic courage of the
schooner masters, are glorified here. And this glory is rooted in reality on every
page, each scene projected with basic facts. This a backward look at West Coast
sawmilling — by the holy old mackinaw!

JAMES STEVENS

This Was Sawmilling ... Contents

WATER WHEELS IN THE WEST 11

Georgetown Mill Had Long Career 17

Big Waterwheel Turned But Fidalgo City Died 19

The Old Deter Mill 20

Waterpower On Tidewater 23

Steam Replaces Waterpower 26

Sawmilling In Klamath 1900-1943 28

TIMBER VENTURES AND ADVENTURES...... 31

Pioneer Lumbering In Montana 32

Echoes From The Spokane Pines 39

Sawmilling At Silverton 42

Drama In The Sugar Pine 43

When Sawmilling Was Two-Handled 44

GULLET CRACKS 45

Thomas Askew's Dream Came True 54

McLaren Mill Grows Up 57

Alberni's Famed Five 58

Historic Westport 61

MILLS FOR THE RAIL TRADE 63

The Night Shift 64

The White River Story 69

Gold Rush Started Olympic Area Lumbering 73

Sawmills Of Southwestern Siskiyou 75

TIMBER AT TIDEWATER 77

Home Of The Brave And The Free 86

Fabulous And Famous 89

Prayer In The Planing Mill 94

"Spotless Town" Gone But Not Forgotten 95

Portland Harbor Sawmills 99

Three Whistles Saved The Mill 102

Brookings Had A Sawmill 105

Lumber On The High Seas 107

Coos Bay Goes Sawmilling Ill

Mendocino County Has Colorful Past 115

The Cook House Is Gone 126

Marvellous One-Man Sawmill 128

CLEARS AND STARS 131

The Influence Of Swedish Breakfast Food On The Lumber Industry 140

WATER LINES TO MILL AND MARKET 149

Silvertip's Ride 149

SAWS AND MEN .. 157

Sawmill Sign Language 159

Sawyers And Setters 161

Filers Are Key Men In The Mills 163

STIFFS AND SAVAGES 167

Erickson's 169

"Free Fare To Happy Valley" 174

WATER WHEELS

in the West

"Yes, I knew the Gordon mill. It was one of those
up and down affairs — up today and down tomorrow.
Grandpap used to start the saw in the log then go away,
sometimes catch a fish, then after a while go back to see
what effect the saw had had on the log."

This whimsical reference, credited to an old-timer
of Bonanza, in Klamath County, Oregon, makes it easier
to understand the facts and circumstances surrounding
the first sawmills of the West Coast — the mills powered
by little creeks and water wheels.

Frank Nichols, also of Bonanza, who operated one of
these sash mills in the early '80s, said:

"It didn't cost much to make lumber in those days
since I cut free government timber, then hired a man
and team to haul in the logs. I ran the mill by myself
so I didn't have any payroll to meet, and the only supply
bill was for axle grease for the sash saw."

The sash mills were very crude in construction, most
of the equipment homemade, largely of wood, and all
powered with old-fashioned water wheels. In areas with
sufficient head of water the "overshot" type of wheel
was used. A low head of water demanded the "under-
shot" type.

(opposite) CREEK POWER MADE LUMBER

Classic photograph of stream water in action mak-
ing power for early Oregon sawmill. As late as
1904, 10% of U.S. sawmills used waterwheels.
(U.S. Forest Service photo from W. C. Lumber-
men's Association)

Overshot wheels were built of wood with the diameter
about the same as the waterhead, usually about eight
feet, and with paddles or boxes four or five feet long.
The undershot wheel used a log, eight to twelve inches
in diameter for the shaft, with 2x4 or 2x6 paddles about
ten feet long fastened on the log lengthwise — the wheel
about two feet in diameter, ten feet long. The water
flowed under the wheel, hence the name "undershot."

With either type an iron crank was fastened to the
end of the shaft with a wooden connecting rod trans-
mitting the up-and-down motion to the sash or wooden
saw frame, about four feet wide and six to eight feet
high. The "muley" was held taut by an overhead spring
pole as crank operated it, steadied by wooden guides.
The saw blade- of very heavy gauge was from eight to
twelve inches wide, six to eight feet long, secured to the
extended rails of the sash. Sometimes two saws were
used in this frame.

The carriage was pulled by a cable wrapped around
a drum mounted on a shaft which was turned by a cast
iron ratchet bolted on the side of a wooden wheel about
four feet in diameter. With each revolution of the crank
shaft, a dog engaged the ratchet and advanced the car-

( below) JAMES CLARKE MILL AT SPRUCE

CREEK — ATLIN Flume water turned power wheel
in this early day mill. (Photo British Columbia
Provincial Archives)

K f

1 .■_<ui

^^Ifct'.

f'tl- v

STUART LAKE WATERPOWER MILL in Fort George district, 1924. (Photo courtesy British Co-
lumbia Forest Service)

riage just enough for the next cut of the saw, thus con-
stituting an automatic feed. Another device disengaged
the dog when the saw line was finished, providing an
automatic carriage stop. Water turned upon a small
water wheel would gig the carriage back.

It required only one man to operate the entire mill.
With the automatic carriage feed and stop he would
simply start the carriage, then leave it while he took care
of the lumber, slabs and edgings. When the saw line was
finished he would return to the operation, gig back the
carriage and set the log for the next cut with a pinch
bar used first on one end of the log, then the other. When
the log was squared, the side lumber was piled on top
of it so that the next run of the carriage would edge it.
Sash mills usually cut from 500 to 1500 feet a day,
depending upon the water availability.

The better mills had circular head saws and were
run by water turbines which developed much more power
with the same amount and head of water. The circular
saws were cutting all the time in the log, the sash saws
less than half.

Most of the very early Western mills sawed logs from
homesteads or helped themselves to government timber.
Lumber was sold at the mill and $10 a thousand was
considered standard for log run of grades.

There were water-powered mills in all the Coast states
and British Columbia in those early days, including the
shingle mills in the redwood areas of California and
the cedar of Washington. It is estimated that as late as
1910, 10% of the lumber cut in the West was by water
power.

The U.S. Government operated several of these saw-
mills in its Indian agencies. In 1870 it built a circular
mill powered by a water turbine at Klamath Agency,
capacity probably three thousand feet a day. At com-
pletion of mill, Capt. 0. C. Knapp, sub-agent, reported
. . . "today cut from a log 18 feet long, 10 inches in
diameter, 10 planks in four minutes." The following
year, J. N. High, sub-agent, stated:

"The completion of the saw-mill has worked a great
reformation and inspired them (the Indians) to extra-
ordinary exertion to amass various kinds of property.

'— --^*"Ti

WATER POWER AT THE DALLES Manchester and Lester waterpower sawmill at Five Mile
Creek, Oregon, about 1908. (Photo courtesy G. E. Manchester)

Savages in skins, paints, and feathers, as they were two
short years since they have donned the white man's cos-
tume, taken the ax and cross-cut saw and hauled to the
mill a half-million feet of lumber and today are lumber
merchants with stock in trade constantly on hand evinc-
ing shrewdness and business integrity that make an
agent's heart strong to work with and for them."

Indian Agent 0. C. Applegate, in his annual report
for 1900, stated:

"The only sawmill now in operation on this Reserva-
tion; the antiquated water mill located at this Agency
and constructed 30 years ago, cannot begin to supply
the lumber required for use by the Indians — age and
long use have impaired its capabilities and 30 years of
almost continuous operation have exhausted the available
timber for many miles."

But private mills had sprung up all over the Coast.
John Halsey Jones, founder of Portland's Jones Lumber
Co. had first invested his savings in timber on Cedar
Creek and with his father, Justus Jones, built an up-and-
down sash mill with water wheel. Earlier than this the
Hudson's Bay Co. mill at Fort Vancouver, a mill at
Oregon City and Henry Hunt's mill on the Oregon side
of the Columbia were cutting and shipping boards milled
by water. About 1880 came another mill of the same
type — Hunt and Martin's at Tongue Point. Miners on
the Coquille River had a sash saw operation as did Julius

Hult at Colton in Clackamas County, E. P. Castleman in
Lane County and the Myrtle Grove Mill built by Grube,
Pohl and Rink in Coos County — all in Oregon. Wash-
ington had dozens of water-powered sawmills, starting
with Michael Simmons' at Tumwater and the Willy mill
at Allyn.

Details are given of the Naylor and Hockenhouse mill
built on Spencer Creek in the Klamath Basin, Oregon,
in 1869. It was a "muley" rig, the sawing unit being
similar to a gang saw, and was propelled by water power.
This mill could cut about 1.200 feet of lumber per day.
The carriage had no head blocks, the log being set up
on the carriage by means of a pinch bar while the power
was turned off. This mill cut the lumber for the first
bridge across the Link River at Linkville — now Klamath
Falls. H. E. Spencer purchased this mill in 1870, operat-
ing until 1886.

There was the first Daniel "Grandpap" Gordon mill
in Scott's Valley near Yreka, California, and the second
on the south bank of the Klamath River about a mile
west of Keno. It was a sash mill, powered by an overshot
water wheel and had a capacity of 1500 feet a day. In
1875, Gordon sold the mill to his son-in-law, Newton W.
Pratt, who in turn sold it to Charles Withrow a few
years later, R. E. Dusenberrv buying it in 1888.

Prior to 1880, the Cooper Brothers built a water
turbine, circular mill on the north side of the Klamath

near Cooper Stage Station, about three miles west of
Keno. This mill could cut three or four thousand feet
of lumber but was handicapped by insufficient water
due to a long, small canal. In '88, Herbert Cooper and
Dusenberry took the better part of both mills to the
better Dusenberry site, borrowing a large amount of
money from Dan Van Bremer, on notes secured by mort-
gage, building 10,000 feet mill. The notes became delin-
quent. Van Bremer foreclosed and took the property.
In 1892 Van Bremer then sold to Thomas McCormick,
who ran the mill until 1909. The machinery was after-
ward moved to Sheep Mountain, fifteen miles south of
Dorris, California.

In 1895 John Connolly built a sash mill on the Klam-
ath River, at his ranch about a mile down river from
the present highway crossing west of Keno. Since the
water was insufficient, this mill sawed only 400 to 500
feet per day.

"Grandpap" Gordon built the first mill in the Bon-
anza district in 1876 or 1877. This was a sash mill, run
by an undershot water wheel, and was located on the east
bank of Lost River, one-eighth of a mile south of Bon-
anza, opposite the lower end of the island at that point.
This mill ceased operation about 1883.

In 1880 or before, Orson Lewis built a similar mill
for G. B. Van Riper on the west bank of the river, op-
posite the Gordon mill. The island provided each mill

with a separate channel of the river, but that did not
prevent trouble over the water question, since the volume
was insufficient for both mills. Van Riper hauled logs
about four miles with oxen and wagons and cut 700 or
800 feet per day. About 1882 he sold out to a nephew
of Lewis, Frank Nichols who doubled the capacity of
the mill by logging with horses and wagons, operating
it until 1885.

Now let T. T. Gear tell of his personal experiences
in the Grande Ronde Valley. (From "Fifty Years In
Oregon," T. T. Gear, The Neale Publishing Co. N. Y.
1916.)

"The first summer I was in the Cove, 1867 (Union
County, Grande Ronde Valley), my father hired me out
to a Mr. McLoughlin who owned a sawmill on Mill Creek,
two miles away. We had moved on a piece of land con-
sisting of 40 acres, perfectly new, and had obtained the
lumber for a very cheap house from Mr. McLoughlin,
agreeing to pay for the greater part of it as we could.
It was partly to discharge this obligation that I became
his helper for a couple of months. It was the only saw-
mill within a distance of ten miles and the only one of
its kind on the Pacific Coast — I should hope. It was
driven by an overshot wheel, twenty-four feet in dia-
meter and thirty inches wide, which required three min-
utes to make one revolution, and the machinery was so
geared up that every time the wheel revolved once the

WATER AND MULE POWER ran the Hult Lumber Co. mill at Colton, Oregon, in
1906. Julius, Oscar and Phillip Hult named the mule Budweiser and worked ten
hours a day to build a business. (Photo courtesy West Coast Lumbermen's Asso-
ciation)

OLD INDIAN SAWMILL — PRINCE RUPERT AREA. (Photo British Columbia Forest Service)

sash saw would be raised and lowered at least ten times.
The cog gearing was made of fir blocks and would wear
out after one week of service, making necessary the
replacing of one every hour or two, while the only belt
was the one reaching to the drum to which the sash was
attached. This belt, made of cow skins, with the hair
still on one side, would stretch to such an extent that
when we were not making a new block for the cog we
were taking up the slack. We made a new one one day
which measured forty feet. The first afternoon we used
it we cut out a surplus foot four times, and by the time
it was worn out — it lasted a week — we had fifty feet
of surplus hide and still forty feet of belt. There was
no waste material about the mill anywhere.

"My special task in this work was to 'offbear' the
mill's output, to do which, however, was not difficult.
The logs were delivered on a hillside just above the mill
by a team of oxen, and we could easily saw one every
half-day. When we wanted a new log, we cleared the
mill of all obstructions and removed the 'chunk' which
retained the 'boom' on the hillside. This done, the log
would surrender to the law of gravitation and with great
velocity roll into the mill, usually taking its place on the

carriage without assistance. In fact, the speed made by
the logs in this operation was the only rapid motion ever
seen about the mill, and was an event to which we looked
forward with great interest twice a day.

"But the one feature about that mill which I enjoyed
to the full was the progress of the carriage as it pushed
the log into the saw. It was a constant struggle as to
which would surrender. Sometimes the saw would give
up, and as the carriage endeavored to proceed against
the dead saw, the mill would shake and tremble for a
moment and all motion would cease, while the water
would pour over the stationary wheel until the extra
force would cause the belt to slip, when the wheel would
turn halfway over, empty out its buckets and again come
to a standstill. Sometimes a cog in the carriage gearing
would break while the saw was savagely eating its way
through a pine knot and, having no resistance, the re-
maining machinery would virtually run away with itself
until the excited 'foreman' succeeded in shutting off
the water. Oh, there were times when things were excit-
ing in that old mill!

"But when everything was running smoothly it was
great fun. Having 'set' the log and started the works

. *.

I '^**'»v

POWER FLUME RAN UP HILL? Camera angle distorts water line of Charles Brown's waterpower
mill two miles south of Grangeville, Idaho. (Photo Idaho Historical Society)

going, there was a good long rest in store until the saw
reached the further end. There was nothing unseemly
about the gait of the carriage. It was deliberate part of
the time. With the screws turned, the 'dogs' firmly driven
in and the water turned on, as soon as the big wheel
became filled, the picnic began. Mr. McLoughlin was a
devoted reader of the Weekly Oregonian, and after he
had satisfied himself that the belt was not going to slip
on that trip, he would settle himself on the log and begin
reading one of Mr. Scott's editorials, for which he had
great admiration. Sitting on a gunnysack filled with
straw, which he used as a cushion, his happiest moments
I am sure were those which found him deeply buried
in the columns of the Oregonian, the music of the saw
mingling with the splash of the pouring water, indicating
to his subconscious mind that all was well, that the gait
he was traveling was not transcending the speed limit,
and that sometime before dinner there would be another
contribution to the world's lumber supply.

"Of course, in a mill of this character it was utter
impossible to saw lumber accurately. Nearly all planks
intended to be an inch thick were two inches at one end
and half an inch at the other — often a mere feather in
the middle. For this reason the house we built was a
foot wider at one end and narrower in the middle than
at either end and we had great difficulty in making a
roof that would force water to run from its comb to the

eaves.

the woods and Mr. McLoughlin concluded that, as it
was soft material, it would be a good thing to saw it up
into thin stuff, half-inch thick, to be used probably for
making boxes of some sort. This was done or rather
attempted. On account of the uncertain cut of the saw
it usually used up an inch of material as it went ham-
mering its way through a log, and to get a half-inch
board from this process was not only a fearful waste of
raw material but the precise result obtained was a matter
of the wildest conjecture. However, we sawed up that
cottonwood log, three feet in diameter, got seven thin
boards — and a wagon load of sawdust. I stacked them
out in the sun in a loose pile to season, and within three
days they had warped themselves out of the lumberyard
and were found in a neighbor's corral a mile down the
creek.

"In 1870 Mr. McLoughlin sold his mill and moved
to the Willamette Valley, settling on the Abiqua, near
Silverton, where he died soon afterwards. Two years
ago (in 1910, presumably) when on a visit to the Cove,
I sauntered across to the old mill site but there was no
sign anywhere that there had been a mill there — that
the hum and buzz of a great manufacturing establishment
ever disturbed the local quiet by its sporadic efforts to
supply the local market with lumber. All was changed
and there was in place of the old mill a pretty garden
in front of a cozy cottage, with two children playing
where the logs used to rumble down the hillside."

"One day a cottonwood log was brought in from

OLDEST SAWMILL IN NORTHERN B.C. Famous Georgetown mill built of hewn timber by
George Williscroft in 1875 on Big Bay, 17 miles north of Prince ' Rupert. Water wheel was used
for power at first giving an output of 5000 feet a day. Mill was improved and after George Wil-
liscroft's death in 1895, operated by his brother W. A. Williscroft and several other succeeding
companies including Big Bay Lumber Company. (Photo British Columbia Forest Service)

GEORGETOWN MILL HAD A LONG CAREER

At Georgetown, seventeen miles north of Prince Ru-
pert, the Big Bay Lumber Co. operated the oldest saw-
mill in Northern British Columbia, one which had its
beginning in the water-power era. The company, in the
persons of H. R. MacMillan and George McAfee of
Georgetown, leased the mill in 1918 and the following
year bought both plant and wharf.

The Georgetown mill was established in 1875 by
George Williscroft. C. F. Morrison, of Metkakatla, was
interested with him in the original establishment of the
mill.

The old original mill of 1875, which was a unique
part of the plant as late as 1920, was built of hewn
timber. A water wheel was used for power and the output
was about 5,000 feet per day. Williscroft kept enlarging
and improving the plant right along until its output was
raised to 20,000 feet. Among the improvements was the
putting in of a water turbine to supplement the power.

The mill supplied the most of the local trade of the
early days and box lumber was manufactured for the
canneries of the Skeena, Naas, Rivers Inlet and Alert
Bay. One of the first shipments ever sent to the Yukon
country was made by the Georgetown mill.

The old steamer Nell was built here by the original
company and was used for the towing of logs and the
distribution of the finished product. It was a twin screw
vessel and made monthly trips to Victoria. Captain
William Madden and Captain William Oliver were well
known at various times as the masters of the boat.

George Williscroft owned and operated the mill until
his death in 1895, after which W. A. Williscroft, his
brother, operated it for three years for the trustees. After
this a new company, of which James Brown, now of Port
Essington, Capt. William Oliver, and a number of mis-
sionaries, were members, took it over and operated it
until 1907 when Haliburton Peck and brothers and Dr.
W. T. Kergin bought it. They carried on for eleven years
steadily adding improvements and increasing the output.
Walter H. Williscroft, son of George Williscroft, was in
charge of the mill for the Peck and Kergin interests for
many years and R. H. Cole, who later went to Sandspit,
was storekeeper and accountant. It was during the con-
trol of these interests that the steamer Nell, which was
used right along in connection with the mill, was caught
in a south easter off Metlakatla and, going ashore in
Duncan's Cove, went to pieces.

(opposite) MTLL IN MIGHT-HAVE BEEN CITY

Ed Knapp's waterpowered sawmill on Deception
Pass on Puget Sound, site of highly promoted
Fidalgo City which never got a start. Flume car-
ried water off hill to the 35 foot wheel. (Photo
Stacey Collection, Mt. Vernon)

WOODEN BUT THEY WORKED Gears fashioned
from hardwood by which power from revolving
water wheel was transmitted to saws in water-
power mills. Gear cogs were individually cut and
inserted in solid wood wheels. (U.S. Forest Service
photo from W. C. Lumbermen's Association)

BIG WATERWHEEL TURNED . . . BUT
FIDALGO CITY DIED

In 1890 it looked to people around Puget Sound that
the hamlet of Dewey, on Deception Pass, had a sparkling
future. It had a water-powered sawmill with a 35-foot
wheel owned by Ed Knapp. It had a 40-room hotel oper-
ated by a Mr. Van Loon. It had general stores run by
W. H. Halpin and C. J. Carlyle. It even had a 3-story
bank building built by Will Potter and his brother Julius.

But the best reason for Fidalgo City's bright future
was that F. J. Carlyle and George Loucke had made a
plat of the metropolis-to-be on Fidalgo Island. 341 blocks
were surveyed and the first day lots went on sale. 252
of them were snapped up, not only by local people but
by buyers in New England. Even an electric interurban
line was expected to run from bustling Anacortes, the
rails already laid.

This was the situation the dav the Rothschild bank

in England failed, the spark that set off the financial
panic in 1893. Disastrous all over the world, it swept
Fidalgo City right into Puget Sound as it were, a blow
from which it never recovered. The city-in-prospect went
back to just Dewey and the people who paid $3000 for
lots later sold them for $20 and were glad to get it.
The bank building became a housing project for 2600
chickens.

Ed Knapp went on sawing timber in his waterpower
mill. Most of the men around Dewey worked here or
logged into the Sound and towed the fir to the mill by
rowboat. Others cut wood for the boilers of the steamers
or towed the cut lumber to market in Port Angeles. But
the timber receded and the log haul got too expensive.
The mill was never rebuilt and its ghost joined that of the
saloons and hotel of the city-that-never-was.

AND LOG WAS FED BY
HAND Early sash or up-
and-down saw powered by
waterwheel. At first, short
log was inched into saw by
hand, later ratcheted by wa-
terpower. (U.S. Forest Serv-
ice photo from W. C. Lum-
bermen's Association)

THE OLD DETER MILL

by LILLIAN DETER BALIS

In Siskiyou County Historical Society Yearbook 1948

The Deter Mill, at the foot of Goosenest, was built
by my father, George W. Deter, in 1881 and operated
by him for 14 years. This sawmill supplied lumber to
Butte Valley, Shasta Valley, the Klamath River and for
many of the fine homes in Yreka. The old ferry boat
at Anderson's Ferry was built of lumber and timbers
from this mill.

Shortly after my father and mother were married in
Yreka in 1868, they bought a farm in Little Shasta from
a Frenchman named Poncho. (This farm is known as
the old Janson place and now owned by Dale Burke.)
Three of us children were born on this farm and our
family lived here until we were obliged to move to a
higher altitude because of my mother's health. Father
sold the farm and went to the foot of Goosenest where
he took a homestead on the site where he later built a
sawmill. Nestled at the foot of Goosenest Mountain on
Little Shasta Creek, on the main road over Ball Moun-
tain, this beautiful spot was named "Forest Vale" by my

father. Being the only stopping place between the Ball
Ranch and Shasta Valley, our house soon became an
overnight stop for travelers. Later, father built a large
20-room hotel which became very well known as the
Deter Hotel.

Father went to work at the old Cleland Sawmill four
miles below our place. He would walk the four miles,
work in the mill from six in the morning until six at
night, and walk back home again. After two or three
years this mill shut down and father began selling shakes
and shingles which he made by hand. Having a few cows
he also made cheese to sell.

As there were no sawmills in operation any place
near, the Shasta Valley farmers persuaded father to build
a mill on his home place. So in the spring of 1881, he
hired two men to go with him into the fine timber which
surrounded our home and h»w out the lumber for the
frame and all needed to build trestles etc. for the mill.
Next he made the shingles to cover it. All the work was

HISTORIC MOORE BROS.
MILL below falls on Link
River near Klamath Falls,
Ore., about 1905. Logs were
floated down from Upper
Klamath Lake to mill race
of this waterpowered mill.
Moores later built mod-
ern mill on Lake Ewauna.
(Moore Collection Collier
State Park Logging Mu-
seum)

done by hand. Nails were so scarce he sat up nights to
make wooden pins out of old wagon spokes. The timbers
had to be mortised out and holes bored in the end to
drive the pins through and hold the corners together.

After putting up the frame, roofing it all and laying
the flooring, father sawed out all the lumber to finish
the mill satisfactorily. Pulleys and wheels had to be made
of wood, as there was no railroad this side of Redding
over which to ship iron pulleys etc. There were long
tramways and high trestles to build and a mile of ditch
to dig. This ditch or mill race was 5 feet wide and 3
to 4 feet deep.

Water to furnish power for the mill was taken from
Little Shasta Creek and a flume about 300 feet long
carried the water from the mill race to a penstock through
which it dropped onto a turbine wheel at the bottom.
This penstock or pipe, built by the side of the mill was
40 feet high and 5 feet square and was made of 4 inch
by 8 inch plank mortised in. The mill was built in a
gulch4ike spot, a drop of about 25 or 30 feet below
ground level. So that brought the saw, carriages and logs
on the first floor. All the big belts and main machinery
were placed under the floor.

One of the most tedious tasks was the building of
the coal pit to supply coals for the blacksmith shop.
A small pile of kindling was placed on a level spot and

MOORE MANPOWER— 1905 Crew of Moore Bros,
waterpowered mill shown above. Front row, left
to right — "Bull" Thompson, Indian fighter and
strong man, engineer who also set "fractions" on
screws to determine thickness of boards; Peterson,
operating "dolly" which took sawn boards to yard;
Dick Bartlett, offbearer. Hook kept hands out of
saw; Fred Arnold, operated lath mill and picked
out edgings; Charles L. Moore, (with teasel) son
of one owner, dollyman and piler; Al Carlson,
sawyer and millwright. Rear row, left to right —
Chino Reed, offbearer and slab man; John Wil-
lard, pulled boards down rolls and loaded dolly;
Jim McClure, edgerman, yard foreman, lumber
salesman; John Cables, pond man. (Photo Moore
Collection Collier State Park Logging Museum)

small short limbs put around it in a circle. Gradually
longer limbs were used, leaning them to the center and
leaving a small hole on one side to start the fire. After
the small limbs were on, larger ones of yellow pine 4
or 5 inches across, were used. The pit could be any
desired size but this one was about 12 feet across and
8 feet high. It was built like an Indian wigwam — large
at the bottom and small at the top (about 5 feet). The
limbs were placed close together all around until the
pit would measure 12 feet across the bottom, then hay
or straw was placed all over it and half stove pipes
placed around about every 8 feet, halfway up, for ven-
tilation. Then dirt was spread all over it — 5 inches
deep to keep out all air. Now it was lit and let burn to
get well started. Then the holes were plugged to put out
the fire and leave the coals to smoulder for a short time.
One or two pipes would then be opened to let in air
enough to keep it from dying out. It would have to be
watched day and night for eight or ten days to keep it
from getting on fire; if it did all holes would be plugged
up for a time. The pit wouldn't be opened for several
days or until it was all cold. Then the coal was spread
over the ground and we children carried water over any
live coals we saw.

The building of the two big ox trucks was another
big undertaking. From the woods a clear yellow pine
tree about 4 feet through was cut down and eight cuts
of 4 feet each were sawed off for the wheels. These were
hauled to the blacksmith shop, the bark removed and a
tire about 8 inches wide placed on each wheel (the tires
had been bought from another mill). One side was to
be inside next to the truck bed, the other trimmed out
on a bevel to about 24 inches all around the wheel and
a hole made in the center about 8 inches wide to insert
an iron spindle to fit on the axle. It was a big job to
"iron the trucks all off," as it was called, and make them
strong enough to hold up the big logs we had in those
days.

At off times during the building of the mill father
worked on smaller jobs, such as making grease. Beef
tallow did not wear long enough for greasing ox trucks,
so he made his own grease by getting a pitch stump,
cutting it up fine and filling a big old iron kettle full
of it. The kettle would then be turned upside down on
a big piece of sheet iron which had a bent place in it
so the pitch could run out. The pitch was set on fire
and let burn under the kettle which was lifted a bit until
it got to burning. As the pitch started to run out, the
kettle was let down, putting the fire out enough so it
just smouldered for hours until all the pitch had run
out into a big bucket. Then beef tallow was mixed in
with it until it was the consistency of axle grease. This
was used for all greasing about the mill as well as on
the ox trucks.

Other tasks, such as tanning small beef hides for
small pulleys, and making deer hides into lacing, kept

father busy far into the night. Finally the mill was
ready for the machinery. Father hired a millwright to
place the machinery in order but he got it in wrong and
it wouldn't work. Oh, the hard time my father had to
get it in running order for there were very few men who
knew how to place machinery in a sawmill.

In May of 1882, father went out to the valley as it
was then called (now Weed or Mt. Shasta) to buy oxen
for his log hauling. He bought some of Mr. Dave Elton
and some from the old Maxwell Mill (the Dobkins
people). When he got home with his 16 head of oxen
and 8 yokes, he built a platform and chute for shoeing
them. He had to make all the iron shoes but had a fine
blacksmith to do the work.

In late May the mill was ready for operation. After
a year an edger was installed. Then in another year and
a half father put in a planer. But the stream of water
did not furnish power enough to run both saws and
planer so he had to run the saws in the daytime and
planer at night. He was head sawyer and then would
run the planer from 7 p.m. until 2 and 3 a.m. I could
never see how he stood the hard, long hours! This mill
was large enough to cut 30 thousand feet a day which
it did early in the spring. But the water did not hold out
long and the average was from 20 to 25 thousand and
even less as the fall came. In those days it was possible
to saw more lumber per day than one might expect, due
to longer working hours, the heavy timber close at hand
and the demand for so many large timbers such as used
in barns and granaries.

After operating the mill for about fourteen years,
father sold it to Mr. Hugo Miller. To the best of my
knowledge Mr. Miller operated it for two or three years,
then sold the machinery and shut down the mill. Some
years later the property came into the hands of Harcourt
G. Biggs and Reginald Mills. Mr. and Mrs. Mills, an
English couple, spent a number of happy years there,
cultivating a small garden, raising chickens and hogs
and milking a few cows. From these people, this pretty
little mountain valley comes by the name it is now known
as — "The Mills Ranch," and Forest Vale has passed
on to history. On Nov. 6, 1916, the property was sold
from Mills and Biggs to Charles Soule, though Reginald
Mills and his wife reserved the right to live there which
they did for a few more years. At the present time the
land is owned by John Soule of Edgewood who uses it
as a summer pasture for his cattle.

Above all the hardships we endured at Forest Vale,
it was the happiest time of our lives. The last three chil-
dren of our family were born there and mother, though
an invalid, made all our clothes by hand including the
tatting, crocheting etc. for trimming.

INDIANS CUT 2000 FEET A DAY in this old sawmill at Aiyansh in 1913. (Photo British Columbia
Provincial Archives)

WATERPOWER ON TIDEWATER

The brig Chenamus was leaving the dock headed
down the Columbia River for the open sea. She carried
the first cargo from Oregon's first independent, Amer-
ican-owned, export mill — fifty thousand feet of two
by fours and one-inch boards sawed in a mill with three
thousand feet capacity in a twelve-hour day.

The sawmill was the pride and joy of Henry H. Hunt
who had hauled the "mill irons" from Ohio across the
plains by oxen and prairie schooner. The mill irons
consisted of the headrig, iron crankshaft, an assortment
of iron bolts and a set of millwright's tools.

Henry Hunt was 33, fit and bull strong when he ar-
rived at Oregon City in 1843. He was also intelligent
and saw at once the sawmills at Willamette Falls and
the Hudson's Bay mill at Fort Vancouver were not well
located for export trade. Sailing vessels had too hard a
time getting up the Columbia under canvas. Why not
locate a mill near the mouth of the Columbia at a place
where there was plenty of creek water?

There was no way of getting down river except in it
since both banks were covered with trackless virgin
forests of big firs and cedars. So Henry Hunt sold his
ox team and bought a flatboat, at the same time picking

up a partner — Tallmadge Benjamin Wood, a 26 year old
New Yorker. The pair then took in as a third man,
Edwin M. Otey, a millwright. The three loaded the boat
with the mill irons, provisions, blankets, cooking uten-
sils and personal gear and took off down the Willamette.

Ben Wood and Otey steered with paddles past the
future site of Portland, keeping their eyes open for likely
spots to build a sawmill. Hunt was not interested until
they paddled past the area of the present St. Helens
and on down until they came to a stream about two and
a half miles beyond what would be Clifton. He was
afraid to go further as he did not know just where the
mouth of the Columbia was or that there was no activity
between them and the mouth, only a Scotsman's shanty
at Astoria.

The three partners tied up and unloaded their craft.
They built a cabin and began work on the mill. They
hewed timbers, split planks and shakes, constructed a
twenty foot water wheel at the bottom of the canyon
where the creek gave them a sixty foot fall. They rigged
up a whip saw and cut boards for the mill, connected
the crankshaft to the wheel, put the mill saw in a frame
and the frame between uprights so it could slide up and

MILL AT MOODYVILLE ON BUBRARD INLET

chives)

1885. (Photo British Columbia Provincial Ar-

down. Gears and cog wheels were shaped and whittled
from oak or crabapple wood. They rolled the bucked logs
directly into the mill from the hillsides and planned on
floating the sawn lumber downstream to the cargo ships
which would be putting in. But it was a year before the
mill cut its first log.

Meanwhile news of Hunt's new mill was going around
Oregon City and hungry men showed up for work. Hunt
started the mill with fifteen of them, paying what cash
he could with orders on merchants Allen and McKinley
and Pettvgrove and Abernethy — both in Oregon City —
and on Hudson's Bay in Fort Vancouver. This paper
became known as "scrip and grindstones." For when
a merchant doubted the worth of the paper, he said he
was out of everything but some old grindstones.

Hunt's mill turned out boards, planks and scantlings,
twelve to fourteen feet long. Logs were rolled on the mill
deck with a crowbar, fed to the saw by a ratchet arrange-
ment called a "ragwheel," then for the next cut pried
over again with the crowbar. As the water wheel turned
so turned the master wheel on the same shaft. This
meshed into the counter wheel which meshed into a
wheel on the crankshaft. As the wheels revolved, the saw

moved up and down, cutting on the downstroke only.
Scantlings were cut in blocks, with several saws in the
sash or frame, a process forerunning the gang saw. The
cut was stopped short of the end so some solid timber
could hold boards together until carpenters were ready
to use them.

When water was abundant in the creek, Hunt's mill
sawed 10 thousand feet in twenty-four hours but this was
not every day. The men were lucky to have 50 thousand
feet when the brig Chenamus hove to and took the whole
stock. Other ships made Hunt's mill a regular stop,
among them the bark Toulon and brig Henry.

When the three partner's had been operating a year,
Astoria had grown to a settlement of 30 white people.
Storekeeper A. E. Wilson, Astoria's first white citizen
bought Ben Wood's interest in the sawmill. He also
brought in oxen for logging and five Kanakas, hired
from King Kamehameha of the Sandwich Islands, paying
them $5 a month, salmon and potatoes. In 1847 he sold
out to Henry Hunt. Ben Wood had gone to California
and been killed by sluice robbers at Spanish Bar.

Meanwhile another man bought into the Hunt enter-
prise— James Birnie, retired Hudson's Bay Co. factor

m£tf i I

FIRST SAWMILL ON VANCOUVER ISLAND at Sooke. In 1853 John Meier acquired Capt. Grant's
old waterpower mill where West Sooke is now, rebuilt and established lumber yard in Victoria.
(Photo B.C. Provincial Archives)

who had founded Cathlamet on his land claim. His
Hudson's Bay connections enabled the mill to get better
provisions than it was getting from Oregon City or from
Pettygrove's new store in the settlement of Portland.

In the summer of 1848 the brig Henry brought news
of the California gold strike and Hunt's mill began to
hum. He then bought the small mill of H. B. Polley,
built at the mouth of the Clatskanie River. Then Hunt
and Martin bought a third mill just above Tongue Point,
beginning to saw here in 1949. Lumber prices were now
soaring. 100 thousand feet at the original Hunt mill
brought $100 a thousand.

But where to get sawmill workers? Almost every able
bodied man had left for the California gold diggings.
Clement Adams Bradbury, later a noted citizen, had
been working for Henry Hunt, but with three other men
built a twenty-ton boat, the Wave, took aboard a dozen
passengers and headed down the Coast, arriving at San
Francisco after 15 days. Hunt and Martin advertised
their frantic need for men, especially sawyers, in the
Oregon Spectator.

During 1949 the brig Henry and bark Quito took on
regular cargoes at Hunt's mill at fabulous prices. Then
the old packet, Sylvia de Grasse, built in New York of
live oak and locust, the same vessel which had brought
the first news of the French Revolution to the United
States, anchored at Hunt's dock. Lured to the Pacific

by the gold rush, she had been bought by a man named
Gray who had hastened north leaving orders for the
Sylvia to follow.

Now she finished loading at Hunt's and with 600
thousand feet of lumber left for Astoria to pick up a
pilot named Pickernell. However, when the anchor was
raised, the packet drifted onto a submerged rock and
went aground. Gray, frantic over the delay, tried in vain
to find another ship. He offered the skipper of the
newly arrived Walpole a $10,000 bonus to take on his
lumber but being under U.S. charter, the skipper had
to refuse. Weeks passed and Gray fumed. Finally he
secured three small schooners and divided his lumber
among them but by that time prices had fallen and his
chance at a fortune was lost. The Sylvia de Grasse sank
but her timbers were still good enough in 1894 for an
Astoria ship builder to cut a section out of her hull for
another ship.

With lumber prices down, Hunt's sawmill went into
a decline. Steam mills were beginning to come in and
water power was too slow and expensive. But Henry
Hunt went on. With S. Coffin he built a ship in New
York City to ply between Oregon City and San Francisco
and became a longtime citizen of Clatsop County. By
1852 there were three steam sawmills and two water-
power mills in the area.

■ ^»

\ ■ <:

t ,

•

■r

' V \ i • —

- .

yp*^^^ k ^^

PERKINS MILL— CARLTON cutting ties and rough lumber.
(Photo Oregon Collection, University of Oregon)

Office and boarding house at left.

STEAM REPLACES WATER POWER

- By 1885 it was fully evident that a West Coast lumber
industry was growing well beyond the producing power
of water wheels and sash saws. Stationary engines and
boilers were being shipped west from Chicago and north
from San Francisco. Circular saw equipment was being
refined and with steam, mills could produce ten and
twenty times the footage they had a few years earlier.

Steam and the circular saw arrived about the same
time and sent the manufacture of lumber into a headlong
pace. Then another element entered the picture — labor
troubles. At an earlier time whip sawyers had opposed
the introduction of water power fearing the loss of their
jobs. Now the water power sawmill laborers looked with
jaudiced eye on the new-fangled saw and boiler-driven
machinery. Would it deprive them of their livelihood?

A hundred mills went through transformation and
another hundred mill owners simply abandoned water
power plants and built steam mills. The early history of
lumbering in the Klamath area, given in a Lamm Lum-
ber Co. publication, shows the rapid growth of early
steam powered sawmills.

James P. Colahan built a circular mill on Blv Moun-

tain, north of Bonanza, about 1885. Run by a steam
traction engine, it was the first steam driven mill in the
county and had a capacity of 5 thousand feet or more
a day. This mill was portable and was often moved to
various sites on Bly Mountain, probably to shorten the
log haul. One site was the White Ranch in 1889, another
Keno Springs in 1898.

Al Fitch built a steam driven circular mill near
Hildebrand in 1894, the first mill in the area to have a
stationary boiler and the fastest mill in Southern Oregon
at that time, capable of cutting 15 to 20 thousand feet
a day. The mill ceased operating in 1903 when Fitch
was crushed by a log.

In 1888, Jesse D. Carr, owner of the Dalton Ranch,
financed the building of a sawmill on Bryant Mountain,
about ten miles northeast of Malin. This circular with
stationary boiler and engine was operated by Rogers
and McCoy until 1892.

William S. Moore, the most prominent pioneer lum-
berman of the county, had migrated from the Illinois
plains to the Willamette Valley, moving to the Klamath
Agency in 1868. Two years later he built the sawmill

MILL YARD OF SINCLAIR AND SCHULTZ Atlin, B.C. (Photo courtesy British Columbia Forest
Service)

there for the government. In 1877, Moore built a saw-
mill on the west side of Link River, about half way
between Linkville and Upper Klamath Lake. A canal
was built from the lake to the mill to provide water for
the turbine and also to float the logs to the mill. This
was the finest site in the county since ample water power
and an unlimited supply of timber were available. The
mill equipment consisted of a water turbine, circular head
saw, friction-driven carriage and a push feed ripsaw to
edge the lumber. The capacity of the mill was eight to
ten thousand feet per day with a crew of ten to twelve
men.

In 1887 William Moore sold the mill to his two sons,
Charles S. and Rufus S. Moore, after which it was known
as the Moore Brothers' Mill. Later a planer was installed
on the ground floor of the mill building in order to fur-
nish surfaced lumber, flooring, and siding to the cus-
tomers. This was the first planer installed in conjunction
with a sawmill in the county. Lumber was sold right
from the pile and loaded on the wagons of the customers,

as was the general custom in those days. This mill, the
fourth private sawmill built in the county, had by far
the steadiest and longest run of any of the early mills.
The operation was unusually successful and continued
until 1907, covering a period of thirty years.

At first logs were skidded into Shoal Water Bay with
ox teams, and the rafts of logs were towed down the lake
with a mule tread mill and a sail. Later horses and
wagons supplanted the ox teams, the towing being done
with a steam boat.

In 1891 John F. Goeller arrived in Linkville and pur-
chased one-half interest in the planing mill and cabinet
shop of A. M. Peterman. The name of the town was
being changed to Klamath Falls and the firm name be-
came The Klamath Falls Planing Mills. After a succes-
sion of partners, Goeller's son Harry entered the com-
pany, the business continued as J. F. Goeller and Son
until 1920. It was sold that year and the plant burned
a year or two later.

ALGOMA LUMBER COMPANY had bought the D. B. Campbell mill on Rattlesnake Point, Upper
Klamath Lake, rebuilt and installed the machinery from Pokegama. E. J. Grant was part owner
with Faye Fruit Co. and took over management in 1915. Plant was dismantled in 1943. (Photo
courtesy H. H. Ogle)

KLAMATH FALLS IN 1913 At this time some of the sawmills operating in and near the city
were Pelican Bay Lumber Co., Klamath Manufacturing Co., Ewauna Box Co., Algoma Lumber Co.,
Ackley Brothers, Long Lake Lumber Co., Big Basin Lumber Co. (Photo courtesy H. H. Ogle)

SAWMILLING IN KLAMATH 1900-1943

Shortly after the turn of the century, when it was
learned that the Southern Pacific Railroad would build
into Klamath Falls, lumbering in the county took heart,
the smaller mills expanding and many new ones built.
(From historical records given in Lamm Lumber Com-
pany presentation.)

Ray Potter built a small sawmill at Pokegama in 1903
which ceased operations in 1906. Four years later the
Algoma Lumber Company built there and ran three
seasons. High up on the northeast slope of Stukel Moun-
tain in 1901, W. P. Rhoades built a circular mill, later
the capacity almost doubled by adding another boiler
and engine even though water had to be hauled from a
spring a mile away. After operating four years this mill
was sold to Turner Brothers who first moved it to the
spring and then to a site two miles south of Olene.

In 1904 John and Harry Acklev purchased the Al
Fitch sawmill near Hildebrand and moved it to Klamath
Falls on Lake Ewauna. It was later leased and operated

by Modoc Pine Company. About 1905 William Huson
and Roscoe Cantrell built a circular mill of 20 M capacity
on Long Lake operating under the name Long Lake
Lumber Company. In 1908 the mill was moved to Ship-
pington, the first sawmill on Upper Klamath Lake. It
was sold and dismantled in 1915.

In 1907. after closing down their old sawmill on
Link River, Moore Brothers built a fast, steam driven
circular mill on the west shore of Klamath Lake, selling
this plant in 1910 to Walter Innes and W. I. Clarke who
operated as the Innes-Clarke Lumber Company for two
vears, and then sold in 1912 to the Big Basin Lumber
Company, at that time a subsidiary concern of the Klam-
ath Development Company. The plant was operated for
an additional two seasons and closed in 1914.

The California Fruit Canner's Association in 1908
built the first box factory in the county, adjacent to the
mill of the Long Lake Lumber Company at Shippington.
and hired Charles McGowan as manager. This company
shipped the first box shook from the county by hauling

KESTERSON MILL ON KLAMATH RIVER when completed in 1930. Kesterson Lumber Co. had
been operating in Dorris, Calif., but reorganized and built mill two miles south of Klamath Falls
using Long-Bell logs transported over Lamm Lumber Co. railroad and Southern Pacific. Later used
timber from Walker and Henry's holdings. (Photo courtesy H. H. Ogle)

fiO0

it in wagons to Pokegama, where it was shipped over the
Klamath Lake Railroad to the California market. The
factory was sold in 1912.

The railroad being completed into Klamath Falls in
1909, H. D. Mortenson came to Klamath in 1910 and or-
ganized the Pelican Bay Lumber Company, which con-
tracted for a large unit of Government timber lying west
of Pelican Bay in the Crater National Forest. The com-
pany, in 1911 built a complete and strictly modern saw-
mill plant with the first band head saw, the first shotgun
carriage feed, and the first complete planing mill in the
county, all entirely planned for supplying the United
States markets. The plant had a capacity of about 60,000
feet per shift and was the first plant to run two shifts.
Dry kilns were added in 1912. The sawmill burned in
1914 and was promptly rebuilt with a larger mill, consist-
ing of two band head-rigs and a band resaw. In 1918 a
fire destroyed this second mill, and it in turn was replaced
with one of similar size. This third mill was the first
completely electrified mill in the county and until 1926
was the largest mill. In 1921 a large box factory was

added.

In 1914 W. E. Lamm organized the Lamm Lumber
Company, and contracted for the Odessa unit of timber
on the Crater National Forest. Logging operations
started in January, 1915, and the logs produced that year
were sawed at the Long Lake Lumber Company mill at
Shippington under least. Late that year construction was
started on a single band mill at Lelu (later Modoc Point)
and operation started in the spring of 1916. Dry kilns,
planing mill were added and in 1929 a resaw, in 1932 a
box factory. The plant closed down in 1942 and was
dismantled.

In 1916 Wilbur Knapp built a small circular mill on
Williamson River, north of Chiloquin. selling out two
years later to Modoc Lumber Company, operated by
J. 0. Goldthwaite, which concern sold out to the Forest
Lumber Company in 1924, a larger, more modern mill
being built. Fire destroyed the entire plant in 1939.

The Big Lake Box Company was organized in 1917 by
A. J. Voye, M. S. West and Burge Mason and purchased
the lumber yard property of Savidge Brothers in Klamath

za^C**

FREE CIGARS WHEN CUT WAS 40 THOUSAND Collier mill at Swan Lake near Klamath Falls,
Ore., in 1921. "This was some mill," says A. D. Collier. "Logs came in mill on rollway and tram
cars. We usually got about 35 thousand feet in 9 hours with 50" top and 44" bottom saw, 2-block
carriage with screw feed and hand setworks. When we hit 40 thousand all hands got free cigars.
We had water buckets on the roof and open fires in the slab pit. This was sawmilling!" (Photo Col-
lier Collection Collier State Park Logging Museum)

Falls, changing it into a box factory. In 1920 the com-
pany built a band mill on Lake Ewauna.

In 1917 Curt F. Setzer organized the Chelsea Box
Company, which built a factory about a mile south of
Klamath Falls. In 1920 the plant was sold to the Growers
Packers and Warehousing Association. The factory
burned in 1924, and the balance of the property was then
sold to the Shaw Bertram Lumber Company.

In 1918 E. A. Blocklinger organized the Chiloquin
Lumber Company which built a circular mill on the
Sprague River at Chiloquin, and also put in a box factory.
Later the mill was changed over to a single band plant.

In 1919 John Bedford and Harold Crane organized the
Sprague River Lumber Company, which built a small cir-
cular mill on Sprague River, three miles east of Chilo-
quin. After operating two years, Mr. Bedford sold out in
1921 to William Bray, who later organized the Braymill
White Pine Company, in which Mr. Crane retained an
interest and became the manager. Part of the logs for
this mill were shipped in from Mr. Bray's timber hold-
ings in California and part were obtained from the Little
Sprague unit of timber. The mill closed down in 1928.

J. R. Shaw and W. J. Bertram organized the Shaw-
Bertram Lumber Company in 1920 with plant on Lake
Ewauna which was sold to the Southern Pacific Com-
pany in 1934, subsequently leased to the Long-Bell Lum-
ber Company who purchased it in 1939. Plant and tim-
ber lands were sold to Weyerhaeuser Timber Company
in 1942.

Wheeler Olmstead Lumber Company built a mill
north of Shippington in 1920 which operated intermit-
tently. George McCullom built a mill on the Klamath

River west of Keno in 1920 which was sold to Ellingson
Lumber Company in 1934. In 1924 the Shasta View
Lumber Company, organized by Marion and Wilbur
Nine built a small band mill in Klamath Falls, operating
it a few years and in 1928 selling to Klamath Pine
Lumber Company. Plant burned on July 4, 1929, and
was not rebuilt.

In 1925 the Campbell Towle Lumber Company took
over a small circular mill located at Sprague River and
owned by Edgerton and Adams. In 1928 the company
sold to G. C. Lorenz, who rebuilt the mill completely and
operated it under the name of Lorenz Lumber Company,
cutting timber from Cherry Creek, Rock Creek, and Whis-
key Creek units. In the middle of 1930 the plant was sold
to the Crater Lake Lumber Company, for whom Hunting-
ton Taylor was manager. In 1932 a box factory was
added, and in 1937 the Crater Lake Box and Lumber
Company was organized and operated the plant under
lease from Crater Lake Lumber Company until December
28, 1942. Logs were obtained from Whiskey Creek. Bly-
Brown Creek. Trout Creek, and Squaw Flat units of the
Reservation and also from private holding. On January
1, 1943, the Crater Lake Lumber Company again started
operations and continued until the fall of 1943 when the
sawmill was shut down and dismantled; the box factory
was then sold to the American Box Corporation, which
is still operating it. Crater Lake Lumber Company has
been selling logs since the middle of 1943 up to and in-
cluding the present time, part of its logging operations
being carried on under contract by the Beatty Logging
Company.

TIMBER VENTURES

and Adventures

The Pioneer Sawmill

Overgrown with fern and brambles yonder in the clearing,

Ghostly in the moonlight lies an old, deserted mill,

Relic of departed days, the days of pioneering,

Strong days and clean days of steadfast faith and will.

Faint and clear

I seem to hear

The old saws' phantom singing,

Music merging with the steps of many marching men;

Eager feet and fearless, a larger freedom bringing,

The spirit of the fathers winging westward once again.

Meager days, if money be the measure of succeeding,
Golden days, if happiness from toil and simple ways;
Hewing out a new home, grim hardship's toil unheeding,
Living for the morrows by the light of yesterdays.
Well you fought,

Planned and wrought,

Taught by creeds rejected;

Enduring are the monuments in memory of your name —

Countless homes and happy, your deathless souls reflected

In hearth fires burning with freedom's sacred flame.

Silver sheen of moonlight clothes the ruin with new beauty,
Solemnly, in homage to an ever-glowing past.
The wind sighs. A star falls. The stillness speaks of duty,
The forest dreams of multitudes to build a future vast.
Sweet and clear
I can hear

Unborn voices singing

Strong in unison a song of fruitful days to come;
Voices full of gladness, a greater glory bringing
To your land, to my land, the land we love — our home.

. . . Charles Oluf Olsen

ANTON HOLTER'S SAWMILL on Stickney Creek, Montana, in 1880. See following story. (Photo
from Norman Holter courtesy Historical Society of Montana)

PIONEER LUMBERING IN MONTANA

by ANTON M. HOLTER

These reminiscences appeared in The Timber man in
1911 and in The Frontier, University of Montana,
in May, 1928. Anton Holter, born in Norway, was
a carpenter in Decorah, Iowa. With $3000 in sav-
ings lie and his brother set out for Colorado, set-
tling in what is now Idaho Springs.
After three years' residence at Pikes Peak, I returned
to my former home in Iowa and in the spring of 1863
started with a team of oxen back to Colorado, where I
stopped about six weeks. During this time a company of
200 men was organized to go to what was then called
Stinking Water, Idaho, but is now known as Ruby River,
in Madison County, Montana.

This company left Colorado on September 16, 1863.
It was well organized, having a captain and other of-
ficers, and was governed by a formal set of rules and
regulations. The weather was pleasant and food for the
stock was excellent. Hunting and fishing were especially
fine — too much so in fact for so much time was spent
in sport that we made slow progress, and finally a Mr.
Evenson, and myself, became fearful that we would be
unable to reach our destination before winter, and de-

cided it was best for us to leave the train and strike out
for ourselves at a greater rate of speed.

We had purchased a second-hand sawmill outfit, in-
tending to go into the lumbering business on reaching
our destination. There was yet at least a thousand miles
to cover, so one morning we yoked up our oxen and
struck out alone. During the night a few more teams
overtook us (having also become alive to the necessity
for haste) and every night for some time other teams
caught up with us until we were about forty souls in all.

Mr. Evenson and I finally selected a location for our
sawmill and after considerable hardship reached the top
of the divide between Bevin's and Ramshorn Gulches on
December 7, where we went into temporary camp, with
no shelter beyond that afforded by a large spruce tree.
As the snow was getting deep and there was no feed for
stock, I started the next morning for Virginia City (18
miles distant) with the cattle, hoping to sell them; but
finding no buyer I started to take them out to the ranch
of an acquaintance twenty-five miles down the Stinking
Water. On the way I was held up and robbed by the
notorious George Ives and Irving. After I had complied

MANCHESTER MILL ON FIVE MILE CREEK near The Dalles, Oregon, 1912.
Chester)

(Photo G. E. Man-

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HADLOCK SAWMILL in Washington's early days. (Photo University of Washington)

with Mr. Ives command to hand him my purse, I was
ordered to drive on. He still held his revolver in his
hand, which looked suspicious to me, so in speaking
to my team I quickly turned my head and found that
he had his revolver leveled at me. taking sight at my
head. Instantly I dodged as the shot went, receiving the
full force of the unexploded powder in my face — the
bullet passing through my hat and hair. It stunned me
for an instant, and as I staggered against the near leader,
accidentally getting my arm over his neck, which pre-
vented me from falling. Almost at once I regained my
senses and faced Ives who had his pistol lowered but
raised it with a jerk, pointing it at my breast. I heard
the click of the hammer but it missed fire. I ran around
the oxen, which became very much excited, and my
coming in a rush on the other side scared them still more
and they rushed against Ives' horse, which in turn got
in a tangle with Irving's horse, and during the confusion
I struck out for some beaver dams which I noticed close
by; but the men soon got control of their horses, and to
my agreeable surprise started off in the opposite direc-
tion. What had apparently changed their purpose was
the sight which also now met my eyes, that of a man driv-
ing a horse team who had just appeared over the hill and
was now near us. I learned afterwards that Ives and
Irving had stopped at Laurin, about two miles from
where they overtook me, where Ives fired five shots at
the bottles on the shelves because the bartender refused
them whisky which accounted for the fact that only one

charge was left in his revolver.

But I am getting away from the lumbering subject
so I am going back to the camp where Mr. Evenson, the
next day, disfigured my face badly in extracting the
powder. So with my face bandaged up, in the cold and
snow, we managed to build a brush road on grade around
a steep mountain to our mill location on the creek. We
made a hand sled with cross beams extending outside
the runners, so when necessary with a hand spike on
each side we were able to nip it along.

With this hand sled we removed our outfit to the
creek and we did all the logging this way during the
entire winter. We first built a cabin and a blacksmith
shop but this became more of a machine shop for when
we came to erect the sawmill we met with what seemed
unsurmountable difficulties. As I knew nothing about a
sawmill I had left the purchase of the outfit to Mr. Even-
son, who claimed to be a millwright by profession, but
it developed that he had either been very careless in
inspecting this machinery or he had not understood it.
for so much of it was missing that it seemed impossible
to get a working mill out of the material at hand. As
there was no foundry or machine shop in this part of
the country we were at a loss to know what to do but
were determined to erect a sawmill of some kind; so
out of our rubber coats and whipsawed lumber we made
a blacksmith bellows, then we burned a pit of charcoal,
while a broad axe driven into a stump served as an anvil.
Mr. Evenson knew a little about blacksmithing so I began
to feel somewhat at ease but soon discovered what seemed
to be the worst obstacle yet. This was that we had no

"BIG MILL"— SISSON Original mill on site of present Mt. Shasta Pine Manufacturing Co. First
operated in '80s by Bernard, Wallbridge and Huntington, then sold to Leland, Wood and Sheldon.
Note wooden tram rails and slab conveyor to open fire. (Photo Kaymore Studio courtesy Siskiyou
County Historical Society)

gearing for the log carriage, not even the track irons or
pinion — and to devise some mechanism that would give
the carriage the forward and reverse movement, became
the paramount problem. After a great deal of thought
and experimenting we finally succeeded in inventing a
device which years later was patented and widely used
under the name of "rope feed." Incidentally we found
this to be such an excellent appliance that we later used
it on most of our portable mills, and I have been in-
formed that several manufacturers used and recom-
mended this, charging an additional $300 for it on small
mills.

However, in order to construct this, we had to first
build a turning lathe and when we came to turn iron
shafting, it took much experimenting before we learned
to temper the chisels. To turn the shafting (which we
made out of iron wagon axles) Evenson would hold the
chisel and I with a rawhide strap wrapped around the
shafting, taking hold with one hand on each end of the
strap, would give a steady, hard pull with the right hand,
until the left touched the shaft, then reverse, repeating
the process.

These were strenuous days and we worked early and
late in the face of the most discouraging circumstances.
We manufactured enough material for the sixteen-foot
overshot waterwheel, the flume, etc. As we were short of
belting, we made it out of untanned oxhides and it
worked well enough in the start. We finally got the mill
started and sawed about 5000 feet of lumber before we
ever had a beast of burden in the camp.

Now as the mill had been tried and proven satisfac-

tory, a crew employed and the mill started, I felt at ease
as I imagined all obstacles had now been overcome, so
I left the mill and went to Nevada City, a flourishing
camp three miles below Virginia City, and opened a
lumber yard.

When the lumber commenced arriving from the mill
it was disposed of as fast as it landed. When we began
selling lumber we made only two grades, sluice or flume
lumber which we sold at $140 per M and building lumber
(including waney edge) for which we got $125 per M,
in gold dust. The demand for lumber was greater than
the supply and quite often some of the larger mining
companies would send a spy out on the road in order
that they might be informed when a load of lumber was
approaching. Then they would have a crew of men arrive
at the yard simultaneously with the load, and when the
team stopped, without consulting me at all, they would
unload the lumber and carry off every board to their
mines. Soon a man would come along to me with the
pay and they always settled according to the bill of
lading at the established price so that no loss was in-
curred by this summary method of marketing our prod-
uct. Some time after this we also started a yard at Vir-
ginia City.

But this prosperous business soon came to standstill
for rainy weather set in and the untanned belting began
to stretch from the damp atmosphere until it could no
longer be kept on the pulleys, so the mill had to be closed
down. We heard of a man at Bannack, eighty miles from
Nevada City, who had eighty feet of six-inch two-ply
belting and we decided to try to get this. Partly by

RAINBOW MILL at head of Box Canyon on headwaters of Sacramento River in Siskiyou County,
Calif., owned by Wood and Sheldon in early 1900s. (Photo Kaymore Studio courtesy Siskiyou County
Historical Society)

walking and partly by riding a very poor excuse for a
horse I found the owner and tried to purchase the belting.
No price seemed to attract him, and I finally offered
him my entire wealth, consisting of $600 in gold dust —
equal to $1200 in currency — but he would not consider
the offer. Six-inch two-ply belting would be worth 30
cents a foot in Helena at the present time, or a total of
$24 for this piece. Failing to get this belting, I returned
to Virginia City, where I learned of a man who owned
some canvas which I succeeded in purchasing. I got a
saddler to stitch it by hand and this made a very good
and efficient belt for our purpose.

Everything was now moving along smoothly with the
exception that the head sawyer got killed by coming in
contact with the circular saw, and another man was also
killed by getting in front of a rolling log on the side of
the mountain.

Three miles across the divide was the flourishing
mining camp of Bevin's Gulch. The gulch was rich in
gold but short of water for mining, so at a miner's meet-
ing of about five hundred men, resolutions were passed
to take the water of Ramshorn Gulch, and it did not
take long before they had the ditch constructed, taking
the water out above the sawmill, leaving the creek dry.
Without water we were forced out of business, but the
miners needed more lumber, so they agreed to turn in the

water to get the required amount of lumber sawed. When
this was going on I was busy getting out an injunction
and had to see to it that the sheriff got it served before
they again got possession of the water, but the miners,
depending upon the strength of their organization, dis-
regarded the order of the court and again turned the
water into their ditch and the mill again shut down. As
they had left an armed guard at the head of the ditch
we had to again appeal to the court. This resulted in the
sheriff and some deputies arresting the guard for con-
tempt of court. About a dozen miners were convicted.
We obtained a judgment for a few thousand dollars
damages, of which only a part were collected, and there
was no more attempt to deprive us of the water.

During this year Cover and McAdow started a steam
sawmill on Granite Gulch and started a yard at Virginia
City. This was then the best mill in the territory. With-
out any understanding in regard to prices of lumber,
they were maintained and business went along satisfac-
torily, but we wanted more and better machinery, so we
agreed that Evenson should go East to purchase a port-
able steam sawmill, with planing, shingle and lath ma-
chinery. He started by stage and stopped at Denver, and
apparently having forgotten what he went for, he pur-
chased some oxen and wagons, loaded principally with
flour and nails and a primitive planing mill. On his

return he got as far as Snake River, Idaho, when he was
snowed in, leaving the outfit in charge of strangers.
Being refused passage on the stage, he made himself a
pair of skiis and took a streak across the mountains for
Virginia City, arriving at my office in a fearful snow-
storm, without having seen a human being since leaving
Snake River.

The stage on which he had been refused passage
arrived three days later. Many of the cattle perished and
considerable of the merchandise disappeared. What was
left was shipped to Virginia City in the early spring of
1865 by pack train at 30 cents per pound freight. It
consisted of two kegs of tenpenny nails and 26 sacks of
flour. I disposed of the nails at $150 per keg and the
flour at $100 per sack, all in gold dust.

During Mr. Evenson's absense I heard of a quartz
mill at Bannack which had a portable boiler and engine
in it, and as the mill was a failure I thought it might be
for sale, so I struck out on horseback the second time.
I found the owner and was very much pleased to find a
man entirely different from the man who had the eighty
feet of belting for he wanted to sell.

I accompanied him to his mill where I inspected his
engine. It was a portable Lawrence Machine Co. boiler
and engine, cylinders 10 inches in diameter, 12-inch
stroke. His price was $1200 which I paid him in gold
dust. (Two years later I was offered $6000 for the same
engine and refused to sell.)

During the winter of 1864-1865, when we had decided
to remove the portable sawmill to Helena (then called
Last Chance), as the engine and boiler needed repairs,
we looked about us for means of doing what was needed.
Machine work was required but as there were no ma-
chinists to be had in those days, we had to content our-
selves with the help of two blacksmiths who seemed to be
willing to do what they could. I had made arrangements
to meet them in Nevada City and I started from Virginia

City with a load of supplies, including a 125-pound
anvil — of which more later — and a team of mules.
When I reached Nevada City the men had not appeared
and it seemed expedient to return to Virginia City and
hunt them up. Realizing that the team had a hard day's
work ahead, I thought it best to walk back and found
them sitting comfortably over a fireplace. They de-
murred at going with me, saying it was too cold and
stormy but they finally accompanied me to Nevada City
from where we started on our way. For the first six miles
we had good sleighing but when we got through the
canyon the snow gave out so we could ride no further.
When we reached Bevin's Gulch the snow was so deep
that we still had to walk as it was all the team could do
to pull the sleigh and load of supplies. Indeed in many
places the load had to be removed, and when the sled
was gotten through the drift, the load carried over and
reloaded. This was not so bad except for the aforesaid
anvil which seemed to get very heavy by the time I had
carried it over all the big drifts in the gulch. My men
would not assist me any in this work so I was getting
pretty well exhausted. To add to my fatigue and discom-
fort, the lines were too short to permit me to walk behind
the sled and drive so I had to struggle through the snow
beside the sled.

Finally, after dark, we reached the mining camp of
Bevin's and I found a place where I could rest the mules
for the night and give them the feed I had carried. I was
very anxious to reach the mill that night but the men
refused to go any farther with me and the team could
not go on. I had been keeping at this place a pair of
skiis for us to use in getting to the mill, but someone
had "borrowed" them so I had to set out on foot. I had
eaten nothing since early morning and was rather ex-
hausted. I got on well enough for part of the way but
soon the snow was so deep I would have to lie down
on it, press it down as much as possible, then walk a few

"TAKE 'EM AWAY!" This
is what the sawdust stiff
saw after he'd blown her in
on the skidroad? Actually
these snakes were collected
on Link River, Ore., while
feeding on migrating frogs
— probably by some unem-
ployed photographer.
(Charles Miller Collection
Collier State Park Logging
Museum)

LAST WORD IN 1900 SAWMILLS was this new plant of Weed Lumber Co., Weed, Calif,
operating after 57 years. (Photo Tingley Collection Collier State Park Logging Museum)

Still

steps and repeat the process. It got so I could only go a
rod or two without resting. I began to imagine I heard
voices around me and among them I recognized those
of some of my childhood's playmates and that of my
mother who was still living.

Then a new danger confronted me. In resting an
almost irresistible impulse to sleep would possess me,
but having experience in this direction before, realized
that if I gave way to it, the sleep would be my last, so
with almost superhuman effort I would get on my feet
again and go on. Finally I reached the divide where
there was almost half a mile of practically level ground
with little snow. Slowly my senses seemed to return and
the sound of voices ceased. I had now come about two
miles and had only about a mile more to go so I com-
menced to regain hope that I would reach the mill. Hard
blasts of wind would strike me now and then and felt
as though they were passing through my body. I en-
countered a few drifts but managed as before to get
through them. Then getting to the down grade towards
the mill, I found the snow too deep for me on the wagon
grade so I attempted to go straight for the mill, but the
slope of the mountain was very steep and, not having
sufficient strength left to keep up the mountainside I
was beginning to have a desperate struggle to get there.
I encountered a good many fallen trees and now was so
weak that where it was possible I crawled under the
trees instead of over them to save strength.

I finally got to the creek about a third of a mile
below the mill where there was a deserted cabin. The
snow was very deep and fortunately I found a board
about ten inches wide and fourteen feet long. So I took

this and laid it on the snow and crawled its length, then
pulled it along," and repeated the process until I finally
reached the mill cabin. The snow was shoveled away
for a distance from the door and I took quite a little
rest on the snowbank from where I could look in through
the window and see a brisk fire burning in the fireplace.
I laid there and planned how I could get strength to
walk in and reach a stool that I could see in front of
the fire. I did not want to make any disturbance and
wake up the men sleeping in the cabin and it seemed
almost impossible to again get on my feet, but I felt
sleep overcoming me again, so I made another start and
got to the woodpile in front of the door, where I fell, and
again almost went to sleep. This warned me so I made
an effort to reach the door, grasped the latch with my
left hand, opened the door and stepped in. I tried to get
hold of the inside of the door and close it, but I dropped
on the floor, when Evenson who was sleeping in the
room, awoke, and rushed to assist me. The men sleeping
in the other part of the cabin now awoke and naturally
supposing me to be frozen, they all rushed to my assist-
ance. They soon had mittens, boots and socks off but
found that while my clothes were frozen stiff on the
outside, they were damp with perspiration on the inside.
I knew that I was not frozen so asked to be let alone
as all I needed was rest and some food. Soon they gave
me a dish of cold boiled beef — - all the food to be had
at that time, as there were no vegetables or flour in that
part of the country. I remember that I thought that never
had anyone enjoyed such luxury as I lying on the floor
in front of the fire, and weakly trying to eat the cold
beef. After a time they put me on the bed, stripped me

and gave me a brisk rubbing with rough towels, then
put on some warm dry clothing, covered me up and left
me to sleep and recover from my exhaustion. Being very
strong and having great recuperative powers, strange as
it may seem, the next morning, although I felt quite
rocky, I was able to get about, and I got on some skis,
and accompanied by some of the mill hands, went back to
Bevin's, hitched up the mules and drove back to Virginia
City, reaching there the same evening without further
trouble.

A man that I will call Van for short, already had a
lumber yard started in Helena. His sawmill was a water
power mill, about the same style as our Ramshorn mill.
He was selling building lumber at $100 per M. I had
heard of him before as the wealthiest man in Montana.
I happened to meet Mr. Van on my first day in Helena.
He was quite abusive and told me that the lumber busi-
ness belonged to him, as he was there first, and wanted
me to move my mill somewhere else, and said if I did
not he would reduce the price of lumber down to $40
per M if necessary.

The freight outfit that had been left at Snake River
finally arrived with the empty wagon and the long-looked-
for planing mill. It was a primitive looking machine.
The frame was made of pine lumber and the feed gearing
looked very delicate, but we put it up and by having one
man to pull and another to push to help the feed gearing
when passing the boards through the machine, we got
along fairly well as we were getting $40 per M extra
for surfacing and matching. I sometimes became dis-
gusted but when strolling about the premises there was
some satisfaction in realizing that I was part owner of
the first engine and boiler that ever turned a wheel in
Montana. The portable engine and boiler, twenty-five
or thirty horse-power, had been shipped from St. Louis
to Fort Benton in the spring of 1862 by the American
Fur Co. I was also part owner of the first sawmill, a
part of which was made at Pike's Peak and completed at
Ramshorn, Montana, and last but not least, the planer
and matcher, also made at Pike's Peak.

Mr. Van had alreadv started to drive us out of busi-
ness. He kept the price up but privately allowed large
discounts for cash. I had no time to give Mr. Van my
attention, for I had to get back to Virginia City to get
the Ramshorn mill started. On my arrival at Virginia
City I learned I was reported to have left the territory
for parts unknown.

This news had already reached the mill and some
of the employees had arrived in town and seemed highly
pleased to see me. They did not appear to need their
money as much as they imagined, and all of them wanted
to go back to work, but one man, and he had $400 due
him and wanted to return to the states. I succeeded in
borrowing this amount from one Mr. Brown, then doing
a sort of banking business, but when I saw the kind of
gold dust he was going to let me have, it was so poor
that I had to object to the quality. I went after my man

and told him that the dust was poor but he was satisfied
with it after he examined it. I gave my note for thirty
days with interest at 10 percent per month, in bankable
gold dust, that is, gold dust free from black sand and
adulteration, worth at least 20 per cent more than the
kind loaned.

I soon returned to Helena and the sawmill, and
learned from Mr. Benton that Mr. Van had dropped
prices $10 at a time until lumber was now selling at
$60 per M, with a discount of $10 per M, so Mr. Van
was doing a good business and getting the money, while
we were getting the credit and collections were not suf-
ficient to pay running expenses. There was a good
demand for building lumber in Helena at this time so I
concluded to pass by Mr. Van. I instructed my yard
man to reduce the price of building lumber from $60 to
$40 and to allow no credit.

I then went to the sawmill where I had a consultation
with the employees and loggers who were supplying logs
on a contract. I informed them of my instructions to
the yard man and told them I wanted to keep the sawmill
running, and told the loggers to get in all the logs thev
possibly could before winter as there would be no feed
for the stock. I wanted the mill operated to its full
capacity but would not remove any more lumber from
the mill than could be sold for cash, surplus to be stacked
at the mill.

I had bought out my partner Evenson's interest in
June and allowed him to take the cash on hand, so the
only promise I could make in the way of salaries was
to supply them with the necessities of life until the lum-
ber could be disposed of; so I had a roll call and told
them to answer "yes" if they cared to remain and "no"
if thev did not care to work on this basis. Every man
answered "yes."

The next day I returned to Virginia City where the
mill had gotten started and business was in pretty good
shape. I then returned to Helena after an absence of
about two weeks. The man in charge of the yard told
me what lumber there was in the yard was sold and
paid for and that he could not get from the mill fast
enough to supply the demand; also that Mr. Van had
quit shipping lumber to Helena. I took the money on
hand in the office and went to the mill. I met the men
after supper time and after ascertaining the amount
wanted. I told them that it amounted to less than half
of what I had expected they would need, and they could
double up just as well as not, as it was as convenient
for me to pay now as it would be any other time; but
they had all they wanted. However it had the effect of
establishing confidence.

I spent the greater part of the summer at Virginia
City and Ramshorn, taking my brother M. M. Holter
in as partner, adopting the firm name — A. M. Holter
& Bro. In the fall I left my brother in charge at Vir-
ginia City and moved to Helena.

ECHOES FROM THE SPOKANE PINES

The timbered hills of Eastern Washington, threaded
by bubbling creeks which flowed into the Spokane River,
looked good to the Graham family. They had migrated
long miles from Ottawa, Kansas, in 1888, and settled at
Windsor, a short distance from Spokane Falls. The
Graham brothers built a sawmill here but when they got
the job of furnishing timbers for the first Monroe Street
bridge in the Falls, they moved their equipment to the
north bank of the Spokane River. With this move, Charlie
Graham and his brothers started a sawmill dynasty which
in its limited way was to become a vital growth factor
in the Spokane area.

By 1890 the Grahams wanted to homestead and went
northeast 50 miles to the Scotia district, building another
sawmill up the Little Spokane. This was later sold to
Solomon Wigle who operated it for many years. Charlie
Graham took his little family about three miles down
river and built his own waterwheel sawmill, producing
12 to 15 thousand feet of white pine, tamarack, cedar
and fir each ten hour day and selling it for about $8 a
thousand.

Lumbering in the area was good as the city of Spo-
kane was rapidly expanding and waterpower not good
enough for the Grahams. About 1910 they rebuilt the
Scotia mill and powered it with steam so they could
slab out timbers and ties for the Great Northern Railway
then coming through Newport and for the Division Street
bridge in 1915, which collapsed soon after. In later years
Charlie's sons — Bud, Dutch and Jim, worked in the
mill crew.

Meanwhile another family in the vicinity had taken
to sawmilling. Ferdinand Beyersdorf, with his wife, five
sons and a daughter, had traded Missouri for Washington
in 1899, at first operating a small mill in the Cheney-
Spangle area then in 1901 moving to Milan. In 1903
this mill was moved to Bailey's Lake and enlarged, oper-
ating until 1907. This sawmilling start was strictly a
Beyersdorf family enterprise in which the men gained
valuable experience for later full-scale operations. One
of these was the Wild Rose Prairie mill.

Fire was a continual menace in the dry area. Sparks
from passing trains or waste piles enflamed the parched
mill buildings and played havoc with the countryside

SPOKANE RIVER POWERED GRAHAM MILL Charles Graham, whose father pioneered in saw-
milling at Windsor, homesteaded and built this waterwheel and mill in 1900 at what is now Scotia,
above Spokane. 5 men took 12 to 15 thousand feet out of mill in 10 hour day. (Photo courtesy Doris
Schaub)

GRAHAM STEAM MILL— SCOTIA, WASHING-
TON Successor to the waterpower mill Charlie
Graham built here in 1895. Furnished timbers for
Great Northern when it came through Newport
area and for Spokane's first Division Street bridge.
Mill was later destroyed by fire starting from slab
burner. (Photo courtesy Doris Schaub)

settlements and timber. One such fire, starting on August
10, 1910, ended in bitter tragedy. Several small fires
in the Sacheen Lake area combined their malevolence to
sweep through parts of 54 thousand acres, taking four
lives and leaving hundreds homeless, with resulting tim-
ber losses of many thousands.

The Beyersdorf mill at Wild Rose Prairie was one
of the bases of operation for the fire fighters. The big
cook house and bunkhouse could feed and sleep a lot
of men. There were day and night fire crews and round-
the-clock meals, the coffee pot always ready.

Doris (now Mrs. Schaub), daughter of Cress Beyers-
dorf who was one of the five sons and had married Alice
Graham, well remembers her mother telling about the
great columns of smoke pluming up on each side of the

ROUGH LUMBER FOR SPOKANE was hauled by
wagons from this Milan, Washington, mill on the
Pratt place, 1902. This was a Beyersdorf mill,
operated by Ferdinand and his five sons — Lafe,
Fred, Cress, Walter and Guy. Out of this crude
beginning grew the larger sawmills in Deer Park
and Diamond Lake areas. (Photo courtesy Doris
Schaub )

SAWING PINE AT MEAD— 1930s in another Gra-
ham mill, 7% miles north of Spokane. At levers is
Cress Beyersdorf, one of leaders in his family's
sawmill enterprises at Milan, Bailey's Lake, Wild
Rose Prairie and Diamond Lake. Beyersdorf had
married Alice Graham, daughter of Charlie Gra-
ham, sawmilling pioneer in the area. Donor of
this series of photographs is their daughter.
(Photo courtesy Doris Schaub)

settlement at Scotia. "It was a terrifying time for every-
body. In the night the fire started its steady ascent of
the hills around us, the sky lighted up for miles. When
the flames began coming down toward our homes, the
men packed children and wives into wagons and took
them all to the Scotia hotel while they went back to the
mill and back-fired to stop the flames. This had to be
done at night while the air was still and the heat bearable.
The families eventually came home, the smoke still so
heavy the sun couldn't be seen for days. When it finally
did become visible, Charlie Graham sighed: "There's a
twenty dollar goldpiece."

There was another big fire in this same Scotia dis-
trict in 1920. Charlie Graham had a mill out on the
Stateroad then which was in a direct path of the fire.

BAILEY'S LAKE MILL— 1902 to 1907, owned by
Beyersdorf family. Son Cress said: "That lake's
so big you can hardly spit across it." (Photo cour-
tesy Doris Schaub)

THEY ICED THE ROADS WITH A "RUTTER"

so sleighs like this could ride on a hard surface.
Beyersdorf men plowed trail through snow with
heavy "rutter," 24 feet long with two sets of run-
ners. 500 gallon barrels of water were carried
along trail and icy road formed. On steep grades,
"sand monkey" rode sleighs. (Photo courtesy
Doris Schaub)

WILD ROSE PRAIRIE MILL did thriving busi
ness in 1907-1910. This Beyersdorf mill was man-
aged by son Fred. Band saws cut 50 thousand
feet a day and kept 300 men busy in woods, camps,
mill and cookhouse. Mill facilities used by fire
fighting crews during "black days" but mill was
later moved because of fire hazards. (Photo cour-
tesy Doris Schaub)

Everything burned within a few feet of the mill. Charlie
was smoke blind for a couple of weeks and was doctored
in the good old fashioned way with "tea leaf poltices."
The Beyersdorf mill at Diamond Lake was also threatened
by this fire with the families being evacuated to nearby
Newport for safe keeping.

Stories are told about both fires concerning the bury-
ing of their dishes and other valuables. Mrs. Schaub's
aunt said they even planned on burying the piano if the
fire got too close.

There were also the quieter times in the rugged pio-
neer life. One of the women says: "There was nothing
behind those rough lumber houses but miles of wilder-
ness. We had only feeble kerosene lamps — -no inside
water or plumbing. The latter was usually down a path

that seemed miles long in the dark. We had to carry
water for washing, lugging it up from the river to fill
the copper boilers on the cook stoves. Washing clothes
was a full day's job without any thanks. Then another
long day ironing, the flat irons 'het up' on the ranges.
There were weeks of canning too. Winter? Well, the
community was usually snowed in. People visited back
and forth and had quilting bees, pinochle parties or
listened to the champion fiddler play "Arkansas Trav-
eler," "Chicken Reel" and "Old Zip Coon."

The last sawmill operated by the Beyersdorf clan
was the largest — at Diamond Lake. Fred was the man-
ager, Cress the sawyer. They cut 100 thousand feet every
24 hours. The cookhouse was an institution. Cress tells
of the big French head cook who swung a carving knife

BIGGEST BEYERSDORF PRODUCER was this
Diamond Lake operation. Cookhouse was a not-
able establishment, ruled by a French cook and
carving knife. Cress Beyersdorf was sawyer and
said: "The Hunkies and Bohunks ate up every-
thing in sight like a swarm of locusts. We had to
put them by themselves and water the milk 3 to 1".
(Photo courtesy Doris Schaub)

CREW OF GRAHAM MILL— 1915 Second from
left is Charlie Graham who built and operated
mill. Two standing together in center are sons
Bud and Dutch. (Photo courtesy Doris Schaub)

WHEN BUTTER WAS 15 CENTS and you paid
your bill with a hog. Charlie and Oscar Stangland
ran this store in Scotia and sold calico, coffee
beans and cordwood. (Photo courtesy Doris
Schaub)

if anybody complained that the mutton was goat or the
coffee part hay. He remembers the untractable Bul-
garian and Hungarian "bohunks" who "ate up every-
thing in sight like locusts descending on a harvest and
drank great pitchers of milk. The other men growled
so much we had to set up separate tables for our Baltic
guests and water their milk 3 to 1. Lucky for them we
needed men — tough, hard workers, used to hardships
like they were."

And the general store at Scotia — full of pungent
smells and gossip just as spicy. Owned by Charlie and
Oscar Stangland (and in later years by Sol Wigle) it
carried everything from kerosene to dried apples, from
pillow tops to barn hinges. Calico was 10 cents a yard,
coffee beans 15 cents a pound. You took these home and
ground them in your own mill. Flour sold for 80 cents
a hundred. If you had eggs and made butter at home
you traded them for black strap molasses and soda bis-
cuits. If you had to buy eggs, they were expensive — 10
cents a dozen.

Because Scotia was on the G.N., supplies were brought
up from Spokane on the train for the store at Scotia and
also the sawmill-owned store at Diamond Lake 3^2 miles
distant.

The Beyersdorf and Graham mills were part of an
era, furnishing material for much of the Inland Empire.
They were the focal point of the saga of two family
dynasties stemming from plains pioneers to builders
of the New West.

SAWMILLING AT SILVERTON — 1890

In 1890 a mill owned and operated by Matthias John-
son was moved to a spot nine miles southeast of Silverton.
The Johnson mill was a circular saw type with two saws
and a planer. It was operated by steam power and had
an average cut of perhaps 7000 feet.

No effort was made to make this mill convenient or
handy. It had no cut off saw, and slabs for making steam
were cut with an ax wielded by the engineer who was
also the fireman. Logs were turned on the carriage with
a large wooden friction bull-wheel and a small drum
around which wound a rope with a hook on the end.
If the wheel failed to turn the log, men came with peavies
and supplemented the wheel power. A wheelbarrow with
a large box on it was used for hauling away sawdust,
and the offbearer probably had never heard of such
things as live rolls.

Mr. Johnson, the owner and also the sawyer, and six
men comprised the crew. A workday was ten hours and
the pay for common labor $1.50 per day, without board.
The bullwhacker received $2.50, the engineer and the
offbearer $2 each per day. Some of the men walked from
their homes a mile or more away and one came two
miles. The only way one could know whether or not
the mill would run was to be on hand at seven o'clock
each morning. If it did not operate one could return
home and wait one, two or three days or possibly a week
before receiving word to report for work. There were
no telephones.

The mill crew were frequently called on to go into
the woods as loggers. If no logs were cut the mill closed
down and all hands repaired to the woods to cut a supply.
They sometimes felled and bucked logs two or three days;
then they would start the mill and saw the logs into
lumber while the bullwhacker continued, with three yoke
of oxen, to deliver logs at the mill.

Most of the lumber, except flooring, ceiling, rustic
and lumber of this class, was cut on orders so logs were
bucked the proper length and knowing what was wanted,
the men had some idea of what sort of trees to fall. If
clear was wanted an old soft grained yellow fir was
selected. If flooring mostly was needed a hard grained
tree was chosen while for rough lumber any tree, not too
rough, was taken. If the order was for clear timber
rough trees were not cut, but if the order was for rough
lumber, only trees which would make rough was cut and
those which indicated a high percentage of clear were
not molested.

Grading was a simple matter. But two grades were
considered and those only for clear. No. 1 clear, allowed
no serious defects and no knots more than one foot from
the end. No. 2 clear was all that did not meet the require-
ments of No. 1. — F. H. Hadley in Four L Bulletin June,
1924.

KLAMATHON MILL— 1889 TO 1902 which had brief but colorful . career as outlet for logs from
famous Pokegama Chute. Full story is told by Eugene S. Dowling in Siskiyou County Historical
Yearbook for 1948. (Photo Kaymore Studio courtesy Siskiyou County Historical Society)

DRAMA IN THE SUGAR PINE

With the Pokegama Chute at the mountain end and
the Klamathon mill down the Klamath River, enough
drama was packed into the ten years from '92 to '02 to
last most mill enterprises fifty. This turn of the century
activity took place on Oregon's southern front where
the Klamath crosses into California.

Actually the story begins in 1889 when the Klamath
River Lumber and Improvement Co. began construction
of a sawmill and surveyed a townsite for Klamath City
on the bare slopes extending down to the river from
Black Mountain. The project also included a log dam
and wagon bridge. But all this was washed out by high
water in 1890.

In the fall of '91, about the time the new Southern
Pacific Railroad crossed the Klamath River, the John R.
Cook interests set up the Pokegama Sugar Pine Co.,
purchased the townsite and completed the mill. On July
23 of the next year it was sawing, using logs driven down
river from the Pokegama Chute and held in booms by
cribs stretched across the river weighted by rocks. (Pho-
tographs and description of the logging and chute opera-

tion are given in the forerunner to this book, "Glory
Days Of Logging.")

The Pioneer Box Factory, established by Sacramento
money and located near the Klamathon mill, was subse-
quently purchased by the John Cook interests, which in
1897 leased the mill to Hervey Lindley. Rafts of lumber
were floated down the raging Klamath, a precarious
operation at best. About 10 thousand feet was chained
together, floating with about 5" above water. Four or
five men rode on top of the load, working long sweeps
to keep the raft off rocks and banks at river bends.
Trouble usually occurred at Lime Gulch, below the
mouth of Humbug Creek, where rafts were broken up
and the men having to swim for it.

But the disaster which ended the "short, happy life"
of the Pokegama Sugar Pine Co. was the big fire. At
midnight, October 13, 1902. flames whipped by a savage
wind, completely destroyed the mill, box factory, 8 mil-
lion feet of lumber. 25 business buildings and many
residences in the town. The mill was never rebuilt.

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THEY DID IT THE HARD WAY Whip or pit sawing before the turn of the century. Saw was
pulled and pushed by men above and below pole trestle. The big trick was to get the log on the
platform. This method was used in California in the '80s and '90s, in Alaska as late as 1905. (U.S.
Forest Service photo from W. C. Lumbermen's Association)

WHEN SAWMILLING WAS TWO-HANDLED

There wasn't much glamor to whipsawing lumber but
there was wages in it. California and Oregon miners
needed timbers and boards for shaft props, sluice boxes,
their shacks, flumes and always a board laid across a
couple of nail kegs. One of the first things the westward
ho pioneers did when they stopped for the last time was
to get out their whipsaws, axes, wedges and mauls and
go to work. And there's a story told about the miner
who dug a whipsaw pit and panned $600 out of the

livings.

What was this whipsawing process like — this early
attempt at sawmilling? Actually it made use of two saw
forms — the simple whip saw and the pit frame saw.
A pit was dug or trestles built on the flat ground. The
log was squared with a broadaxe and placed over the

pit or on the trestles, one man straddling or standing on
the log (topman), the other working underneath it (pit-
man). The saw was six to eight feet long, ends fitted
with tiller-type handles. When saw line was chalked
on the log the two men pulled and pushed, cutting on
the downward stroke only. A good day's work by this
back-breaking process was 200 lineal feet for which in
1850 they got 20 to 30 cents a foot.

The pit frame saw was thinner and better adapted
to hardwood or where waste in sawdust was a cost factor.
Each end of the saw was attached to a wooden frame
by iron shackles. Wedges could be driven into a slot
at the lower end to draw the blade tight. This frame
saw was the forerunner of the muley or sash saw used
in most water power mills.

GULLET CRACKS

by RALPH W. ANDREWS

A Story of a Sawmill Feud reprinted from
Adventure Magazine, May, 1928

If you're a sawmill man you'll snort and if you're
not you won't know what it means but Matt McKie loved
band saws. He wasn't like most mill men there. He
wasn't always smarting under the whip of the screeching,
whining, gutting things — beaten down but still sweating
on the job on pay day. The saws didn't tear through his
tough, gruel-fed soul, because they knew him for their
friend. Yes, sir, Matt McKie was different and he loved
those saws of his with a passion that flamed continually
even though the heat of it was never fanned by love
returned.

Matt was a filer in Douglas fir country but he never
saw a band saw as some fire-eating thing gashing bitterly
into the tough fibres of the log. Laugh if you want to
but Matt McKie — big, red-necked, blue eyed Matt —
helped drag those sixty foot endless bands, hot and
limp, into the filing room as if they were mischievous
airedales worn out after a morning's play, ready to be
petted and have their ears scratched by the swage dies.

A fellow like that ought to get along, liking his work
as much as that. And he'd be a good filer. Matt was.
The Ridge Run mill, which for most purposes was
Kramer, the general superintendent, wouldn't have ac-
knowledged any man a better filer. Matt didn't get
much money but Matt didn't care for much money. What
was money to a man who could imagine the wolfdog
howl of a sawdust-thirsty band saw as the playful bark
of some scampering pup? Kramer understood Matt and
humored him. But the men . . .

"Matt McKie? You mean Mutt McKie — that big
hunk of hoot-mon Scotchman? Say — any guy with soft
feelin's for a cussed piece of steel is headed for the bone
pile. He's cracked!"

Cracked, eh? Well, if he was, his saws didn't get that
way very often — very often. They did once in a while.
The throats of his panting little pets got choked up with
sawdust sometimes and came in from play with a few
half-inch cracks down in their gullets. And how Matt
did hate a gullet crack. He could jam his finger or break
a swage lever or bang his squash-shaped head on the
T-bar of the saw rack and go on humming "A Hundred
Pipers" contentedly but just let a saw develop some
gullet cracks and he didn't sleep until he knew the why
of them.

Cracked or not, Matt liked his job and loved his
saws. And cracked or not. the men laughed and flung
gibes at him, and when he didn't pay any attention to

them, they thought he was dead on his feet. But Matt
went along, fondling and scratching the backs of his
charges, not caring much what they thought. He'd have
kept right on that way too, chewing his fine cut and
humming old country ballads, if those jagged bullet
holes in his nice fresh saw hadn't stared him in the
face that morning.

There were a couple of things that led up to the
bullet holes. One concerned a fellow who worked on the
green chain — a putty-colored young back-country bump-
kin named Zevic whom Matt knew. The other was a
bunkhouse dare that Matt didn't know about. But Zevic.
About two nights before Matt had been lumbering along
the plank walk toward the bunkhouse, close on the heels
of four others who were smelling corned beef and cab-
bage and kicking their heels. His coat was draped over
his shoulder iri spite of the raw March air. Maybe he
was still thinking about the creatures he had left in his
workshop as his Ayrshire father used to think about the
wooden figures he carved. Anyhow he didn't notice
Zevic dropping back, yanking the coat loose and rolling
it into a ball, booting it into the mud. The coat was
ragged and sour-smelling but Matt objected.

Zevic laughed and the others with him laughed.

"Ha, Hoot-mon — where's your coat?"

"Go lay down with it, Mutt, or whistle it back."

Zevic didn't say a word and he suddenly wished he
had left the coat alone. He hadn't been out of the hills
very long and at Ridge Run he'd heard the banter the
men flung at Matt McKie. Always before this muddle-
head had taken it like an easy going draft horse. But
now he felt his jumper choking his neck and his head
jerked up as though a sledge had tapped his chin. Matt's
flushed face jutted forward.

"Is there no manners to ye, witches brat! Pick up
that jacket or I'll make a stump out of ye!"

Matt wasn't exactly mad but he fooled Zevic and the
onlookers when he sent the yokel spinning backward.
It takes a husky to break the spirit of timbers on the
green chain but right then Zevic was less husky. There
was a ditch running alongside the walk and he slipped
into it, stumbling to his knees. Matt followed his advan-
tage and ground a handful of ragweed into the bumpkin's
protesting mouth and swiped his coat across the face.

"Now go get your porridge, little mon. And take all
these other animals with ye!"

This last was addressed to the disappointed spectators

FIRST IN BEND was this sawmill of Bend Company. Supt. George Gove, at left of log, had come
from Cleveland and Hammond Lumber Co. in Mill City in 1911 and stayed in charge when Brooks-
Scanlon Lumber Co. took over. (Photo courtesy George Gove)

"LITTLE NORWEGIAN MILL ACROSS THE RIVER" was what
Shevlin-Hixon rivals called Brooks-Scanlon's Mill A, successor to
Bend Company mill, built in 1916. Mill B was built in 1923 and
Brooks-Scanlon bought Shevlin-Hixon interests in 1950. (Photo
courtesy George Gove)

BEND FOURTH OF JULY PA-
RADE in 1921 included a dozen
new Gerlinger carriers with hard
rubber tires and other modern
features. (Photo by Ray Van
Vleet)

who dodged the coat Matt swung at them. Mill men like
a brawl and while this moment Matt McKie had raised
his stock with them, they had been railling him too long
to admit it.

"Ain't Scotty a tiger when you get his Irish up?
Come on, get up — hunky, you with the mouthful of
spinach. Why didn't you stand up to him? You could
have knocked his head off that red neck!"

Perhaps Zevic could have done just that, and then
again perhaps Zevic had other plans brewing. In fact,
two mornings later, when Matt McKie had gotten over
the first shock of seeing that fresh twelve-inch steel pet
of his ruined by the jagged edges of holes that nothing
but bullets could have made, he figured Zevic had started
working on those plans.

When he had punished him that other night, it had
been like spanking a bad boy, but now a fire was burn-
ing. Zevic, only Zevic, could have tampered with the
thing he loved. Zevic, smarting under the spanking, must
have sidestepped the night watchman and put a row of
bullets through the saw that was almost a part of Matt
McKie. So there was nothing to do but annihilate Zevic.

He looked like a madman bent on destruction, Matt
did, when he went stumping stiffly down the cleated in-
cline from the sawing floor, arms swinging like a wind-
mill's fins. The seven o'clock whistle hadn't sounded yet
and the mill was quiet, hushed perhaps, in awe of what
was about to happen. Two men at the foot of the ramp
guessed he was going somewhere in a hurry. It was
Zevic who knew where.

The young hillbilly saw him coming. He was up on
the working platform of the green chain, relacing his
shoe, ready to take up his cant hook when the lumber
started coming along the chain. His eyes were a little
squinty from the dead sleep of the night but he saw
Matt's eyes clear enough and — were those sparks shoot-
ing out of them?

He dropped the lacing and scraped to his feet in-
stantly. He might have been watching a mountain still
and rising up to defend it from the revenuers, hands
spread over his hips, head set on his chest, his whole
yellow-topped frame waiting tensely. And then Matt
was below him, shaking two fists.

"What spit o' hell are ye, mon! It's foulin' me coat
and now me beautiful saw. By the light of the powers —
I'll slay ye, I will!"

His arms came over the platform like two jump sparks
and his big hands caught Zevic's ankles. The towhead
broke his manly pose and tried to leap back out of the
steel grip; but it held and Zevic went off balance, sprawl-
ing backward on the moving chains. Men were run-
ning up.

"Come on, hunky — now's your chance! Get up and
knock that knotheaded Scotchman clear over the saw-
dust burner!"

Zevic got up — almost. Matt was scrambling over the
edge of the platform like a bull scaling a river bank.
Once up, he lurched his big bulk upon the recovering
form. But Zevic was fighting now. He was a bull too,
a lighter, more agile young bull. He managed to swing
aside until he could straighten himself and then planted
a fist in Matt's face. He carried the fight now, hammer-
ing at the puffing mouth until Matt had to drop his head
and grope for the throat that was never there, his fingers
coming away with nothing more than shreds of Zevic's
red cotton shirt.

Matt was no fighter. He could never stand up and
trade blows. Instinct drove him to the earth and when
he succeeded in getting a grip on Zevic's shoulders, he
tried to drag him down. But he couldn't. That young
husky was facing the mill yard when he saw Kramer
coming on a run. He knew the fight was almost over
yet his fellow workers kept clamoring for more action
and he couldn't ease up. His eyes caught the canthook

^ #"

BIG LATH CROP Like a farmer driving down rows of corn, Shev-
lin-Hixon teamster stacks lath in storage yard. (Photo by Ray
Van Vleet)

"BURNER COST A MILLION" — it was said in Bend. Big Shevlin-Hixon Lumber Co. mill in Bend,
Oregon, with its three stacks and log slips. Burner on the left was over 100 feet high, built of fire
brick 4 feet thick and covered with V2 and % inch steel plate. When mill was abandoned, burner
was scientifically dynamited, steel sold to sheep ranchers for use as water tanks. (Photo by Ray
Van Vleet)

leaning against the post and he swept it into his hand,
clubbing the handle of it squarely into Matt's inflamed
face as it came in again. So instead of bringing Zevic
down, Matt went down himself. The canthook stopped
him short. Blood oozed out between his fingers as he
clapped his hand to his mouth like a startled child and
slumped to his knees.

"You two yahoos! What the hell's going on?"

That was Kramer, spinning Zevic around. The cant-
hook rattled to the platform.

"This here filer — he says I spoiled some saws or
somethin'. It don't make sense. He jumped me and — "

"You, Matt. Straighten up. What's the matter with

you

"The saw — the fresh saw ready for the wheels!"
Matt flourished a bloody paw. "It has holes from bullets
in it — Muster Kramer. This mon — he did it. Aye —
he did. Chucked me coat in the mud, him. Yes — I
roughed him up. Now to get even — he shoots holes
in the saw!

.1"

Kramer finally got it straight and Zevic swore by
all his Arkansas forefathers that he didn't know anything
about it and never had a gun anyway. But work was
work and Kramer hustled the crews to their jobs. He
sent the filer up to his sanctuary spitting teeth and blood
and Gallic curses and he shook Zevic with a warning:

"We'll see what's behind this, you young wildcat!
Get to work."

When Kramer beheld the saw he wasn't so sure Matt
McKie was wrong. Something was wrong somewhere all
right. He'd heard of everything else in a filing room
including a milk-bearing cow but a gun! But it sure
looked like somebody had a grudge against Matt or the
mill. They got a new saw on the band wheels and the
filer insisted on brazing a new section into the maimed
one. "All right," Kramer agreed. "Turn in overtime
and I'll charge it off to labor troubles with thick-headed
sawdust stiffs!"

Matt wouldn't charge off anything; the hurt was too
deep for that. Not the physical hurt. The canthook had

sheared off three teeth and torn his gums and lip but
these didn't bother Matt much. But still he dragged him-
self around the filing room in a dour, unbroken silence.
At supper time a man pulled him out behind the cook-
house.

"I'm workin' out in the yard, see? I heard about the
fight an' I got to put you wise to somethin'."

Matt McKie only gazed at him dully.

"Your trouble ain't with that young hillpunk, mister.
And you ain't liable to guess who it was that shot up
that saw because he done it for another reason. It was
Jake Wylie, that's who. A bunch of 'em got on a bottle
and they had a gun — well, they dared him to pull a
bullet through the saw — just to see what you and
Kramer would do."

The little lumber stacker backed away cautiously,
half expecting more wrath to break forth from Mart's
hulking frame. As it was, big Matt only kept on staring
blankly.

"That spawn o' hell — -Zevic!"

A raw wind whipped up over the Ridge the next day
to cool Matt to the point that his teeth hurt him. He
began to think and the more he thought, the more his
teeth hurt. It was Kramer though who told him to hop
the crummy into Herrick to see a dentist. Matt had
thought about doing that but now that Kramer had
brought it up, he said he wouldn't go. And he didn't,
right then. He went back to his place of worship and
trued up the arbor of the saw gummer until every blow
on the thing felt as though he were pounding his own
jaw. That beat him. He caught the train out and felt
queerly about something more than three jagged tooth
stumps. He could figure what it was.

Matt probably thought he could see that dentist, get
the teeth yanked out and be right back with his precious
saw pets. But the Herrick dentist had other ideas. The
teeth were so sound and firm in spite of the twenty
year erosion of Kentucky fine cut they would have to be
crowned. Matt wasn't so stubborn in matters he knew
nothing about so he gave in. After an hour in the chair
he began to feel easier. The whir of the electric drill
reminded him of the sawmill and soothed him when he
felt the sting of the bit. It also reminded him that the
only other filer in the state of Washington, the man who
had taught him most of what he knew in bandsawry,
Tom Elmers, lived right here in Herrick. He was filing
right now in James and Woods mill and Matt wondered
how he was getting along.

Tom Elmers brightened when he saw Matt, quickly
explained that the devil was riding the log slip and he
was about ready to break away at the sound of the
whistle.

"Matt — this is the lousiest mill in the world. There
ain't a thing right about it. The sawyer couldn't cut hot
butter with a jig saw and the saws are a wreck. They
don't wash the grit out of the logs and the carriage feed

goes haywire every week. And then, of course, I get
blamed because the saws don't stand up and they beller
like stuck hogs when I yell for new ones. I'm through.
Leaving the fifteenth!"

Matt was all sympathy. He shook his head solemnly
and poked around the tools like an old maid in another's
workbasket.

"The best mill is the one for you, Thamas — not the
worst. Maybe I'll scuttle my own job and take this."

"What? You? What's the matter with Ridge Run?"

"It's a fine mill, Tom. Vurra good mill. But I'm no
feelin' so good there. It's trouble wi' me, too — but men
trouble. Now your kind — I can bludgeon that kind
and I'm in the mind to try." He was running his sensi-
tive fingers over the saws on the racks and trying a
tension gauge down the sides of them. "Ye-es, I'm in
the mind to try."

"Hop to it, then — you old hoot owl. If anybody
can put band saws up and keep 'em up, you can. But
why you want to pick on a graveyard like this is more
than I know. You mean it? All right. We'll go in and
see Blakely and tell him you'll work up some saws for a
week until he can get somebody else and I'll skip out
right tonight. You can stand it for a week maybe."

"A week, sure Thamas. And Thamas — I guess you
quit a long time back. Your saws are in bad shape."

"Yeah — like I told you there ain't any use trying.
Come on, we'll see the boss."

It looked as though Matt McKie had forgotten all
about Ridge Run and Kramer and Zevic. He told this
other superintendent he wanted to go to work right awav
and he did. Blakely had heard of this impassioned
Scotchman down at the Ridge and with his reputation,
he never questioned Matt's ability to lick the saws into
shape — the saws on which Tom Elmers had gone dead.
And he chuckled to himself at the thought of the slick
one he and Matt were playing on Kramer. It was paying
him back for some of the tricks he'd pulled. But there
was one thing that worried Blakely some. McKie hadn't
said a word about money. All those stories about him
must be true.

Meanwhile Matt was on the job. He went to work
at three o'clock that afternoon and it was twelve that
night when he gently laid down his ball pein hammer
and picked his way around the dry kilns to the scattered
lights of Herrick. He had rolled and tensioned and
swaged and filed but he had a pair of fresh band saws
to show for it. And he was already at the bench next
morning when Jensen, the head sawyer, swung into the
filing room.

"Heard they got a new man. Glad to know you.
Say, I'm glad they got rid of that cuss, Elmers. Now
maybe we can get the snake out of them saws and get
the grade up some."

Matt shook his hand. He didn't say a word then, went
right on with his grinding. The sawyer went out wonder-

ing what sort of a clam they'd got now. Just when the
siren shrieked seven o'clock, he found out. The clam
opened. He had the millwright with him.

"Now — the top wheel is out of true and the guide
has to be reset. Journals and bearings on both wheels
are worn vurra bad. Tam was right. The saw is naugh
but trash but we have to use it. The wheels will have
to come off."

The millwright blinked but when he decided this was
the voice of authority he got his crew working and un-
covered a lot more bad spots than Matt had. And the
filer worked right along with the crew. Along in mid-
afternoon they had the band mill back together and were
sawing.

The battle-scarred old headsaw sang her hymn with-
out a break until the whistle stopped her at six. In three
minutes the sawing floor was as silent as a tomb, every
man gone. Every man? Not Matt McKie. He was
sitting on a bolt keg, swigging cold coffee from a milk
bottle, thinking about the saw on the gummer. When the
watchman looked in on him he was adjusting the thrust
and he departed without a word. This was a new one on
him — a filer working night and day. There was nothing
like that in his book.

Matt kept on. The gullets of the saw ground out, the
points swaged and filed, he fingered the cold cutting
edges with the tenderness of a man scratching his dog's
ears. He stopped now and then to take a fresh chew or
inspect some antiquated piece of equipment with which
the filer in this mill was supposed to get along. Once
the blazing blueness of the big nitrogen lamp in the
mill yard caught his eye and he stared at it as if for the
first time he realized it was night and pitch black outside
that circle of light.

He looked at his watch and saw it was ten-thirty; he
turned back to the saw to be stopped short by a man
leveling an automatic pistol at him.

Matt's wits moved slowly. Maybe he could have saved
himself and other people a lot of trouble by leaping at
the fellow as he had at Zevic. But Matt had never seen
a gun from the receiving end before and he didn't know
what it was all about. He knew the face. It belonged to
the Ridge Run mill — long and lean, the lines set, nar-
rowed eyes hooded by flickering lashes. But Matt re-
mained immobile, in stark wonderment.

"Well?" The lines of the face broke into a hundred
little wrinkles. "Here I am — you Scotch dumbbell! You
got the first round on me but I'm here to square it up.
You ain't runnin' away from me!"

Matt broke his stance, lifting his hands limply in front
of him. "Mon — you're daft. I've done you no mite
o' harm."

"Don't get humorous, Scotty. I ain't got long to stay.
You know the score all right. I'm Wylie — the guy you
got fired — you big mutt! All I did was get tanked up

and shoot a couple of holes in a saw belongin' to that
stinkin' mill. And you — "

"Mon — I fought the beggar Zevic for that!"

"He never did it, you dumbhead! It was me, all
right. Them guys put up a ten-spot. I shot up your
pretty saw all right. And you knew it was me. Joe Hoff
told you and you screamed to Kramer and he yanked
me off the job and I cleaned house on Hoff before I
wheeled out of there. You're next. You run away from
me but it ain't that easy to give Jake Wylie the slip!"

Clear enough, but do you think Matt McKie under-
stood? He just folded his big red face up in a frown and
jiggled a hooked finger at Wylie's leathery leer.

"It is a fine story, Mr. Wylie. But Zevic — bad
spawn, that. And not a paltry word have I spoken to
Mr. Kramer about you. The mon fired you? I will fix
it fine when I go back."

"Fix hell! You fixed enough already. And when I
get through with you you ain't goin' to feel like fixin'
anything but yourself. Stick to that Zevic stuff all you
want to but I know you got Kramer to fire me. You
ain't goin' to be able to work here and you ain't got any
job at Ridge Run. Kramer telephoned to Seattle for a
new filer this afternoon."

That one drew blood. For the first time Matt really
showed interest. The frown clouded into a black scowl
and then his cold blue eyes blazed.

"Fouh-mon! What is that you say?"

"I'm tellin' you — meathead ! You're yanked, canned,
dished and otherwise fired! You ain't got any more job
at Ridge Run than I have and you're goin' to have less
than that here when I get through. It's time we was
gettin' busy, too. See them saws? If a bullet hole in
one of 'em hurts you, you're goin' to get mangled up bad
now. Get a cold chisel and a hammer!"

Matt was still puzzling over the report of his lost job.
The scowl faded like a summer fog and his eyes looked
clear through Jake Wylie. Fingers fumbled at the edge
of his jumper.

"Hurry up, you yap! Get them tools!"

Wylie stepped forward to brandish the pistol in front
of Matt's face, darting back like a rabbit. His sweeping
gaze across the workbench caught a box of tools and he
dragged it toward him. In the heap he found a cold
chisel and thrust it at Matt's chest.

"Get a hammer! I'm in a hurry and I ain't foolin'.
You're the guy that hates gullet cracks, ain't you? Well
you're goin' to make some pretty ones by hand!"

If there had been any fight in Matt McKie before,
it had fled now. He might have been performing some
solemn duty, the way be took the chisel and picked up a
hammer. That the saws at Ridge Run which he had
watched over and worked with so long should now change
masters drained every ounce of spirit from him. He
felt no ill feeling against Kramer or anybody. He didn't

THREE GUESSES Photographer had holiday in-
side new "million dollar" waste burner at Shevlin-
Hixon mill, Bend, Oregon. Camera points up to-
ward steel screens. Ventilators like the one shown
were built into firebrick 4 feet thick. (Photo by
Ray Van Vleet)

even seem to notice Wylie, so mechanically did he place
the annealed edge of the cold chisel in the gullet of the
saw tooth and lift his heavy arm.

Wylie dropped just in time. The heavy ball pein
hammer came sweeping with murderous force. But Jake
Wylie had dropped like that in pool rooms and the
weapon went over his head. Matt didn't press his advan-
tage. Nothing strange about it either. Matt was struck
motionless by the roar of that pistol which spit some-
thing past his ear to shatter the window behind him.
Matt wasn't a fighter and he wasn't used to guns. Jake
had hopped to his feet and was bellowing:

"Better not try that again — big boy! I'll show you
who's runnin' this carnival. Pick up that chisel and get
to workin' on that saw again. The watchman could hear
that shot if he was asleep in the boiler room!"

So there was Matt McKie stopping to retrieve the cold
chisel. A big, trembling hulk, bending to defeat. Matt
McKie — the fallen champion of the band saw. There
he was, gazing fixedly at it with Jake Wylie watching
like a cat. But he might as well have been a mile away
for big Matt was no more than a witless idiot, his pro-
truding eyes wandering from one hand to the other in
dumb consternation. For Matt had come from a land
where even stern men obey the sterner hand — smarting
under it, but in the end obeying. Matt could recognize
the authority of a gun. He ran his thumb around the
gullet of the vised saw for a moment, finally scraping
up the hammer to drive the chisel edge into the quiver-
ing steel once more.

"Deeper! Hit it — you muttonhead!"

Deeper went the wound in the tempered metal. An-
other little gash, another wound in Matt's own flesh.

The hammer blows rang eerily through the silent mill,
like the clanking of a prison chain, each one a gouge
into a strong man's spirit. And Jake Wylie, grinning
through it all, wondering why the watchman didn't
show up.

Matt could never have said how long he drove away
at that lacerated saw. Another half hour might have
passed when he finally came to the end of the flat strip,
loosed the vise and slid the saw in its grooves, never look-
ing up. An automatic hand lifted the hammer, another
steadied the chisel to meet the blow of the steel head.
The hand was lifting again.

"Hey, I thought I heard something like a shot a
while ago."

Matt might have been awakening from a bad dream.
Wylie was gone. Instead, the watchman's cautious head
was thrust through the aperture of the partly open slid-
ing door.

"What you doin' to that saw, for cripes sake!'

Matt wondered too. His eyes rove along the steel
band and his fingers felt at the gashes. A startled mur-
derer, touching a lifeless form in unbelief. A deep frown
fell over his eyes and then he jerked his head toward the
watchman.

But words didn't come — only the hammer slamming
down on the chisel as before. Another blow and the V
went deeper, the hands moving to the next throat, hands
no longer mechanical but propelled by the mind that
was. The watchman swung away, his flashlight making
a path for his heavily falling feet. Matt listened to those
footfalls and when, between blows, he could hear them
no more, his whole frame drooped a little and settled to
his knees. A clammy hand brushed across his forehead.

Momentarily he got to his feet and drove straight for
the door, fumbling, stumbling through the black, hollow
mill, down into the chalky blue light of the nitrogen
lamp. Beyond the piles of stacked lumber he walked
faster, running out upon the rutty road into Herrick.

The last person Kramer could find who had seen Matt
McKie was the night watchman and he told Kramer how
the big filer was in there hammering away at the saw
like a crazy man. The broken window made a deeper
mystery of it. Of course nobody knew Jake Wylie had
been around. Kramer had fired him that day and for-
gotten him and then discovered Jake had skipped camp,
leaving his wife and kid at the Ridge.

But it wasn't until that letter postmarked Ladysmith,
B. C, came along that Kramer and everybody got the
picture — after the superintendent had answered it and
got Matt to tell the whole story. But that first letter was
a masterpiece of Scotch brevity.

"I have a good job here. The mill is good and the
people good. Mr. Kramer there was a man there Jake
Wylie. I think there is a pay check owing to me. Please
I would like you to give it to his widow. I did not know
he was married."

(1) Sunnyside Hotel owned by J. R. Mclnnes. Tub. jug
and basin hotel using water from well. Rooms had oil
lamps. Sewage went into inlet. In basement was "log-
ger's dancehall." Supplies came by small, oar-propelled
scow from Hastings Mill store and were hauled into
hotel through trap door in floor. Victoria and Fraser
River steamers Beaver, Grappler and Alexander dis-
charged cargoes of hay, barley, oats, coal, oil, groceries
for loggers and surveyors on float — now Union Steam-
ship Dock. They came in at high tide and backed out.
Invisible behind Sunnyside Hotel was Capt. John
Deighton's hotel and public house. Newspapers later
colored stories about Deighton by referring to him as
"Gassy Jack." He was well educated, widely traveled,
trustworthy master of Fraser River vessels carrying pas-
sengers and gold, was given largest funeral in New

Westminster's history.

(2) Customs House — Tompkins Brew customs officer
and jailer. Jail and yard invisible behind George Black's
cottage. (3) George Black's cottage. Platform where
clothes are drying supported toilet over water. The
"Laird of Hastings" gave fashionable evening dances in
this house. (4) George Black's butcher shop. Swing
arm used to raise and lower meats from butcher boat.
(5) Granville Hotel — Joseph Mannion, "Mayor" of
Granville proprietor. Later alderman, writer, art con-
noiseur. Lord Lansdowne visited here in 1882. Coal oil
street lamp in front served as harbor light. Gastown
mail from Hastings Mill store landed on float as were
supplies from river boats. Moodyville ferry and sloop
San Juan tied up here. (6) McKendry's — famous "boot
and shoe doctor" with trade as far as Cariboo. McKen-

a r

dry was Gastown's volunteer postmaster. (7) George
Brew's restaurant, open when owner not in jail. Brew
was former cook at Hastings Mill. Later building-housed
Blair's Terminus Saloon.

(8) Gin Tei Hing's wash house and general merchandise
store. (9) Wah Chong's laundry. (10) Arthur W. Sulli-
van's general store. (11) Louis Gold's dry goods store.
(12) John A. Robertson's wine and spirit shop — also
known as "Pete Donnelly," "Hole In The Wall" Saloon.
Dr. Master's office was in small building in front. (13)
John Robertson's home. Later was Gold House. (14)
Blair's house. (15) Tom Fisher's cottage. (16) "Portu-
gese Joe's" trading post. Actual name Gregoria Fernan-
dez. Rented nets to Indians — traded powder, flour for
skins. (17) The Parsonage — Wesleyan Methodist serv-
ices held by Rev. James Turner for Indians and Kanakas.

THIS WAS GRANVILLE IN 1884 — OPPOSITE
HASTINGS MILL on Burrard Inlet. Settlement
was unofficially dubbed "Gastown" after Vancou-
ver was founded. It occupied general area of
Carrall, Hastings and Cambie Streets. Buildings
in photo are on what is now water side of Water
Street. Timber at left — Cordova Street; right —
Cambie Street. Inscription below is condensed
from original made by Major J. S. Mathews,
Archivist, City of Vancouver, in 1938. (Photo B.C.
Provincial Archives)

BURNER WAS A BEACON Famous Hastings
sawmill whose refuse burner showed a welcome
red dome to ships putting in to English Bay, Van-
couver, B.C. (Photo Leonard Frank Collection,
Vancouver, B.C.)

STEAM REPLACED WATERPOWER when Croft and
Angus converted the old Anderson mill in 1886. Three
years later it was taken over by Victoria Lumber and
Manufacturing Co., Ltd. Later H. R. MacMillan gained
his first sawmill experience as salesman and assistant
general manager of this company.

Anderson mill reached peak production in 1863 with one
million board feet and closed in 1866 "for lack of wood
in the district," a situation understandable considering
the crude logging methods of the time. The first man-
ager after Edward Stamp was Gilbert M. Sproat. (Photo
from MacMillan and Bloedel Limited Collection)

THOMAS ASKEW'S DREAM CAME TRUE

In 1856 a group of settlers boarded a charted vessel
at Fort Victoria and sailed north to Horse Shoe Bay on
the east coast of Vancouver Island. There they landed
and set about the business of making themselves secure.
Most of them shunned the dense forest of the hinterland
and preferred to hug the shoreline. Between themselves
and the safety of Fort Victoria lay more than fifty miles
of unbroken forest, forbidding indeed to those accus-
tomed to sparse growth of the British Isles.

It might have been argued that the sea offered more
menace to the newcomers than the forest. From the
north, in long war-canoes came the dreaded Haidas who
only a few years before the settlers' arrival had sys-
tematically wiped out the local Indians on the shoreline.
Fortunately for the settlers the Haidas from that time
onward seemed to make the journey southward for the
sole purpose of buying "firewater" and supplies at Fort

Victoria.

Some of the settlers chose to move inland and cleared
land that has now developed into prosperous farms.
Others lost their appetite for homesteading and drifted
away. One of those who didn't seem to be interested in
farming, but remained because he saw possibilities in
other things, was Thomas George Askew. This man of
great resource and vision saw possibilities in almost
everything.

Askew, described by Governor Arthur Kennedy as
"a hard-working and enterprising man, who landed here
with half a dollar in his pocket," was the proud owner
of a sawmill built in 1862. This mill, run by water-
power with an over-shot wheel, cost the owner, according
to his own reckoning, $3,000.00, and produced between
1.500 and 2,000 feet of lumber in lP/o hours, the length
of a working day in the 'sixties. This pioneer lumberman
dreamed, he said, of this area becoming "one of the
greatest lumber-producing centres on this coast."

CHEMAINUS MILL ON THIS SITE H.M.S. Fire-
fly anchored off shore from Thomas Askew's
house on Vancouver Island in 1873, was subject
for this painting. Pioneer Askew built the first
sawmill here, powered by water. He died in 1880.
His widow operating mill until it was sold to Croft
and Severne. (Photo from MacMillan and Bloedel
Limited Collection)

Before long Askew, in his efforts to expand, ran
afoul of his neighbors. Having been granted permission
by Governor Kennedy to augment the water supply by
diverting the overflow from Loon Lake (Chemainus)
to Mill Stream, Askew began this project by building
a dam at the lake outlet and digging a ditch to divert
Askew Creek into Mill Stream.

On the trail Askew slashed through the woods to
the lake was the farm of a settler named Clark Lambkin.
Lambkin, however, belied his mild name by violently
blocking Askew's attempts to reach the lake.

Askew wrote to the Surveyor General, "I went up
to the Lake several time to try to find out who it was
that was continually braking the dam and, as I was
returning one evening in May last (1870) Lamkin came

out of his House and said he would shoot a valuable
dog I then had with me, if I came that way again; and
abused me in the most blackguardly manner."

Probably acting on the theory that "a man who
would shoot a dog would shoot anything," Askew de-
sisted. He again complained to the Surveyor General,
"At present Lambkin or anyone else can Brake my Dam,
and I shall not be able to get to it, or to take any Material
for its Repair without being continually annoyed by
one of the Worst and Meanest men in the Country."
Continuing in the same vein, Askew declared that he
had sold the property to Lambkin with the provision that
a perpetual right of way be granted for the purpose of
attending to the dam. In 1864, Askew asserted, he had
bought this land "from a Mr. Guillod who then owned
one-third share in the mill."

From this last line naturally arises the question of
who was Mr. Guillod? Did Askew at that time own the
other two-thirds, or were there two other co-builders?
Unfortunately, the records of this period are sketchy and
the question remains unanswered.

The colonial government of that time appears to have
listened to Askew's arguments, at least in part, and to
have deterred Lambkin from his blockade, with the pro-
vision that Askew avoid the Lambkin homestead. In
requesting that the trail be made a public road, Askew
wrote, "There is a large quantity of good land to the
west of the Lake, that may at any day be settled, and
this will be the most direct road to it."

The Surveyor General, seeing a chance to develop a
public road out of a private quarrel, laid down his
conditions. If Askew wanted a public road, all he had
to do was to brush out the road, avoiding the fenced
portion of the Lambkin place, grade the surface, do like-
wise to the Nanaimo Trail from the millsite to the Lake
Road, and build a bridge over Askew Creek on this por-
tion of the Nanaimo Trail. This "trifling" work com-
pleted, he said, the road would be declared a public
right of way.

THOMAS ASKEW'S
DREAM CAME TRUE Aft-
er fire and financial crises,
Chemainus mill of Victoria
Lumber and Manufacturing
Co. caught prosperity. Now
subsidiary of H. R. MacMil-
lan Export Company, Lim-
ited. (Photo B.C. Forest
Service)

PAST THIS DOOR
WALKED GREAT AND
SMALL In 1892 a Chinese
carpenter hand fashioned
this heavy cedar door and
fitted it with brass latch,
toe plate and mail slot. For
59 years it was the main of-
fice door of the Chemainus,
B.C., mill and swung back
and forth for such visitors
as Andrew Carnegie, John
D Rockefeller on down to
Brother Twelve and Prin-
cess ZEE, cult leaders who
came to buy lumber for
their temple accompanied
by pistol-packing henchmen.
(Photo from MacMillan and
Bloedel Limited Collection)

The project, when completed, was the first inland
road in this district. Now known as Chapman Road,
(North Chemainus) it cost the colonial government
$22.50, the sum paid to Askew in compensation for his
labour on the bridge. Complaining bitterly, Askew wrote,
"The Bridge is 90 feet long and is worth $150 to the
Government. I received $22.50 for my work on it."

With the source of the necessary water secure, Askew
continued to operate his mill until his death in 1880.
The discoverer of coal in the Ladysmith area in 1868,
he left his name on many landmarks in the district.

It appears that Askew was the first to use the name
Chemainus in referring to the settlement at Horse Shoe
Bay. The present name is Askew's own way of spelling
the Indian name of Tsiminnis, a legendary figure who
led the migration of a tribe from the Alberni area to
the head of Horse Shoe Bay.

Largely due to illness Askew did not see the fulfill-
ment of his dream of Chemainus becoming "one of the
greatest lumber-producing centres on the coast."

Mrs. Askew, after her husband's death, continued to
operate the mill, but sold out to the firm of Croft and
Severne in 1885. The new owners sent to England for a
threshing machine engine and abandoned the water-
wheel. With this steam power plant and additional ma-
chinery the mill grew in capacity and importance. In
that same year construction of the E. & N. Railway
commenced, bringing more orders for ties and lumber,
more settlers, and consequently more demand for lumber.

Mr. Severne sold his interest and the firm became
Croft and Angus. This new management improved and
expanded their operation to meet the growing demands
of the time. More machinery was installed and more
men were required to operate the machines. Settlers

cleared land in the surrounding district and sold their
produce to the mill community and the camps. The new
railway crawled along the coast of the Island and the
Nanaimo Trail became the E. & N. right of way.

The year of 1887 saw the first train operating on the
new railway. There was, however, no sawmill spur.
Lumber for shipment by rail had to be hauled up the
hill on wagons and stone-boats and loaded on the station
siding.

The following year, Croft and Angus negotiated a
sale to the Victoria Lumber & Mfg. Co. Ltd., which con-
cern took over in 1889. The Croft & Angus mill was
used to cut lumber for the construction of a new mill
which started cutting in 1890. The new mill, however,
was not complete at that time, and shut down for addi-
tions and improvements until finally completed in 1896.

There was little change in either mill or community
until 1923. On November of that year disaster struck
Chemainus. The mill caught fire, and in a matter of
minutes was a mass of flames. The power house crew
tied down the whistle cord before escaping, and above
the roar of the flames the drone of the whistle went on
until the mill foundation collapsed. Crowds of people
lined the steep bank overlooking the millsite and watched
their livelihood disappear in flames. Women wept and
wrung their hands, then stood in the November dusk,
staring at the red ashes. The people of Chemainus went
home then and looked at one another, wondering — what
now? Christmas of 1934 was bleak.

The new year brought hope to the community. The
mill was to be rebuilt, and on a much larger scale. Soon
fact caught up with rumour as landmarks disappeared
and brush was cleared away to make room for the con-
crete foundations of the new plant.

In October, 1925, the new mill started production.
Construction workers who came to build the mill stayed
to work in it. More homes were needed and the face of
Chemainus changed again as new homes arose where
before only bush ringed the old town. Chemainus pros-
pered until the depression throttled the lumber industry.

While the whole continent slowly emerged from the
depths of the 1929 Depression, Chemainus began to
spread out. One at a time, new homes cropped up on
the outskirts of the town. The beginning of the World
War temporarily stopped this trend, but with the end of
hostilities came a boom in building both on the outskirts
and near the millsite. New businesses moved in and new
stores blossomed. The Victoria Lumber Company, re-
organized in 1944 to become a subsidiary of H. R. Mac-
Millan Export Co. Ltd., sponsored extensive housing
projects and greatly improved plant facilities. Chemainus
boomed, and is still booming. The dream of Thomas
George Askew is now a reality. Here is "one of the
greatest lumber-producing centres on the coast." — W. H.
Olsen in H. R. MacMillan Export Company's "Harmac
News."

McLaren mill grows up

The barque Mira was readying for sea with 600,000
feet of lumber aboard. Her destination: Sydney, Aus-
tralia.

It was mid-June, 1891, and the barque had arrived
in tow of the tug Active at a site on the Fraser River,
the village known as Millside which was destined to
become Fraser Mills, one of the world's largest lumber
shipping and wood processing points.

The original operation — the McLaren Mill — was
built to cater to the export business. Its management is
credited with playing a major role in the efforts to get
the Fraser River dredged and open up nearby New West-
minster as a deep-sea port.

In 1902, Lloyd's of London blacklisted the Fraser for
deep ocean-going shipping, but by 1906, a permanent
river pilot was guiding ships of 27-foot draft upstream
to the sawmill's wharf to load for South Africa, Australia
and the United Kingdom.

FIRST B.C. MILL TO EXPORT The Anderson
Mill at Port Alberni was built in 1860 by Capt.
Edward Stamp, land acquired from Indians for
$100 worth of blankets and guns. They became
annoying and threatened to stop construction work
but pioneer William Banfield who spoke the native
language, smoothed things out, laying down a
strict code of conduct for white workers — no in-
toxicants, no fraternizing with the Indians, no
indiscreet use of firearms.

MILL "IMPORTED" FRENCH-CANADIANS during 1909 labor shortage. This was Fraser Mills,
originally the McLaren Mill at Millside on Fraser River, B.C., great export factor. Canadian West-
ern Lumber Co. took over in 1910, then affiliated with Crown Zellerbach Canada, Limited. (Photo
B.C. Provincial Archives)

In the years 1905-06-07-08, the McLaren mill was
rebuilt and enlarged under the name of Fraser River
Sawmills. In 1906, the Canadian Pacific Railway ran a
special commuter's train over the four miles between
New Westminster and the mill.

In 1909, a shortage of skilled sawmill workers re-
sulted in the company arranging to bring out French-
Canadian mill men from Quebec. A special C.P.R. 13-car
train arrived from Montreal in October of that year with
110 workmen and their families. This migration resulted
in the start of the French-speaking community of Mail-
lardville, adjacent to the millsite.

By this time the sawmill was being advertised as the
"largest and most up-to-date in Canada" and a branch
line of the B.C. Electric Railway Company was built
from New Westminster to the settlement, which had just
been renamed Fraser Mills. At the same time, Fraser
River sawmills was re-organized under a name which
was to become synonymous with B.C.'s best lumber
products — Canadian Western Lumber Company Limited.

Capitalization was increased and timber limits were
purchased, mainly on Vancouver Island. During the
next three years, the sawmill was modernized, a door
factory and more employees' homes built and the market
expanded to include the prairie provinces through pur-
chase of retail outlets in Alberta and Saskatchewan. A
plywood plant, completed in 1913, was the first Douglas
fir plywood plant in Canada.

The company credits Henry J. Mackin for bringing
the Canadian Western organization through difficult
years. Mackin started as sales manager with the old
Fraser River Sawmills in 1908, later became mill man-
ager, then vice-president, director and general manager
in 1936, and president and chairman of the Board in
1938. With the exchange of shares in 1953, Canadian
Western became an affiliate of Crown Zellerbach Canada
Limited.

ALBERNTS FAMED FIVE

Initiative, ability and finances were pooled by four
brothers to build what is now Alberni Pacific Lumber
Division. Robert, Alexander, Norman and James Wood
formed a corporation in November, 1904, and named
it Barclay Sound Cedar Company. They took in Samuel
Roseborough as a fifth partner, rolled up their sleeves
and began to work.

Land for the proposed mill was bought south of the
present commercial centre from the Anderson Land Com-
pany. Lumber to construct their living quarters on the
mill site was bought from George Bird's little sawmill at
the corner of Argyle and Bird streets. The cottage later
became the Barclay Sound Cedar Company's office build-
ing.

Next came the need for machinery to cut lumber for
mill construction. This they fulfilled by buying it from
Joe Halpenny's mill at Rogers Creek, on the site of the
present Tidebrook Hotel. To get the newly bought equip-
ment to their own mill, Alex and nephew Roland Wood
took a scow up the Somass River, poled, pushed and
pulled it up Roger's Creek to Joe's mill. After loading
the scow and taking advantage of tides they delivered it
successfully to their millsite. This equipment inciden-
tally, was reportedly the first machinery in British Colum-
bia to cut lumber for export.

With this equipment the partners produced lumber
for construction of the mill and sold their excess pro-
duction to local residents. For the mill itself new ma-
chines were bought from the Robert Hamilton Agency,
largely because Robert Wood was a good friend of
Hamilton and had installed a lot of Hamilton's machines
throughout British Columbia.

Daily production of lumber and shingles began in
1905 with a crew of ten men. Robert was manager,
Alex, millwright; Norman, sawyer; George Bird, engi-

BEGAN AS BARCLAY SOUND CEDAR COMPANY owned by four Woods brothers and Samuel
Roseborough. Through several ownership changes it became, in 1936, Alberni Pacific Lumber Co.
Division of H. R. MacMillan Export Company, Limited. (Photo B.C. Forest Service)

neer; Fred Brand, engineer; nephew Roland Wood, gen-
eral helper; Sam, a Chinaman, was fireman, and there
was a Harry Truman, kin to Jack and Clayton Hills of
Alberni (but no relation to the U.S. President!) The ten
turned out 25,000 board feet of lumber per day . . .
enough for two average-sized homes. James Wood looked
after the office end of the company.

Several months previous to the mill's construction
Robert and son Roland cruised timber and staked limits
on Barclay Sound near the entrance to Alberni Inlet.
They possessed limits around Silver Lake, across the inlet
from the present Kildonan Cannery — then known as
Charles Turnan's Cannery. They also owned a berth at
San Mateo Bay.

The fifth partner of the company, Sam Roseborough,
was logging foreman and also in charge of logging cedar
shingle bolts at Useless Inlet. Camp buildings were on
Vancouver Island proper but logging was conducted
across the inlet on Sedall Island. These shingle bolts
were cut mostly by local Indians. Three of the shingle
makers, Billy Ucume, Tommy Bill and Frank Williams,
are presently living on the reserve at Alberni.

The major logging area of the Barclay Sound Cedar
Company was in and around the townsite of Port Alberni.
A skid road was built east of the mill in the Bruce Street
area and Douglas fir logs were hauled from there, and
from the present hospital site, to the mill by teams of
company-owned horses. Fred Brand logged the hospital
area and dumped the logs into the inlet in the vicinity
of the present Bloedel, Stewart and Welch pulp mill.

Fred left the Barclay Sound Company shortly after

the mill began operating in 1905 and went to Alaska
as a steam engineer. Two years later, however, he re-
turned to the company to become a donkey engineer
at the Useless Inlet operation.

Log towing from dump to mill was handled by a
chartered boat owned by an Irishman known as Black
Mike. His boat was, appropriately enough, named
"Shamrock." Later, however, the company bought their
own tug, the "Troubador." Some time later the Trouba-
dor was working near Hell's Gate in the Alberni Inlet.
It sank with Norman Wood aboard. Fortunately he man-
aged to swim ashore and the tug was raised and sold.

Shipping their products to customers was a difficult
proposition. Freighters had no regular run up the Alberni
Inlet because insurance companies wouldn't give coverage
to ships that had to round hazardous Cape Beale. There-
fore the company had to charter ships to take their lum-
ber to customers outside Alberni Valley. The first water
shipment was cedar factory stock, dressed four sides.
It is believed it was shipped on the "Otter Number Two"
to Vancouver. Other sales were to West coast commu-
nities, Victoria and Vancouver.

In 1908, after three fairly prosperous years of opera-
tion, the Barclay Sound Cedar Company sold part interest
to Carlin, Meredith and Gibson. Mike Carlin invested
$125,000 in the concern. In the same year Mike brought
in Joseph Hanna as manager, a position Joe held until
the company was sold in 1912. At the time Joe Hanna
became manager Walter Harris was clearing the townsite
and leaving the logs where they fell. Joe's son Roy took

GREAT CENTRAL SAW-
MILLS of B.C. Industries.
(Photo B.C. Provincial Ar-
chives)

a contract to provide piles for the foundations of the
first dry kiln. Roy hired a team of horses from Sam
Roseborough for ten dollars a day. Two days later the
company quit buying pilings . . . Roy was making too
much money, a handsome net of $142.00 for two days
work!

In 1909 the Wood brothers sold their interest in the
mill to the firm of Meredith and Gibson. In 1912 the
latter company bonded the mill, and a mill in Port
Moody, with an English company for $1,225,000. The
original Barclay Sound mill was then rebuilt, new ma-
chinery added and production upped to 125.000 board
feet per day. It was renamed the Canadian Pacific Lum-
ber Company. A year later, however, the mill went into

receivership and was taken over by the Dominion Bank.

In 1915 H. A. Dent leased the mill. A year later he
began operations under a new name: Alberni Pacific
Lumber Company. He continued to own and operate the
mill until 1925, the year he sold the firm to Denny, Mott
and Dickson, an English lumber company.

In 1936 the mill changed hands again. H. R. Mac-
Millan Export Company bought it and has continued to
operate it from that time on. In 1950 its name was
changed slightly from "Company" to "Division" of the
parent company of H. R. MacMillan Export Company
Limited. . . . Mary Wood in H. R. MacMillan Export
Company's "Harmac News.'

DARRINGTON MODERN Three Rivers Plywood and Timber Co. owned by E. E. and Roger A. Boyd,
manufacturing on the scene made historic in highball logging days. (Photo courtesy E. E. Boyd)

HISTORIC WESTPORT

While now one needs only money — and plenty of
it — to acquire a sawmill, in 1850 money alone was not
important, and the first mill at Westport, Ore., was begun
on a capital of seven dollars, American money.

John West, founder of Westport, lived in Quebec at
the time gold was discovered in California. He rushed to
the gold fields with the others, but when he got there he
found that he was not a miner, and early in 1850 he
left and came to Oregon on the steamship Gold-Hunter

To own a sawmill had been one of his greatest am-
bitions, so he began the search for a proper site. He
knew what he needed — timber, power and transporta-
tion— and he spent all the spring of 1850 in a survey
of the Willamette valley and the lower Columbia. Seventy-
five miles below Portland, a little creek empties into a
deep slough of the Columbia, and a short distance up the
creek was a fair-sized water-fall. West discovered this
in June. The banks of the slough were marshy and the
brush was so thick that he had to chop his way to the
fall. But he found all that he desired.

He had spent nearly all his money during his long
search, but he began work on his mill immediately, in
spite of the fact that he had only seven dollars. He
cleared the site near the fall, built a skid-road, felled
trees and whip-sawed boards. He made a crude water-
wheel, and forged nearly all the ironwork himself. While
he worked at his own mill, he added to his money capital
by building a mill for George Abernathy at Prescott, Ore.

By June of 1856, he had completed both mills and
began sawing lumber in his own. He worked from six in
the morning to six at night, with an hour off at noon.
He cut about twelve to fifteen hundred feet a day and for
many years got a hundred dollars a thousand for his
lumber. A lumber buyer in San Francisco said later that
the timber in this locality was the finest yellow fir on
the coast. As soon as he had his mill established, West
built a store. Ships came twice a year from San Fran-
cisco with supplies for his and other stores and took
return cargoes of lumber.

The logs cut up West creek were skidded down the
road that he had built, with oxen; those cut on Plympton
creek were floated to the mill through a flume West had
built from one creek to the other. From the mill to the
bank of the slough was built a tramway with four-by-
four's for rails on which oxen pulled trucks or cars
loaded with lumber to be shipped.

When West finished building his mill, he sent for his
family, still in Quebec. They left in June, 1856, crossed
the Isthmus of Panama, and finally arrived in Westport
early in 1857. West had cleared some land for farming
and built a log house, chinked with moss, to which his
wife and daughters came, straight from the civilization
of old Quebec. They were unused to hardships or isola-
tion; they were' lonesome, homesick, and afraid. The
friendly and curious Indians frightened them by pushing
the moss out of the cracks between the logs of their house
to peer in at the strange white women.

The first lumber West cut in the mill was used to

EARLY IDAHO MILL at Cataldo. Ladders ran up roof to water barrels which were of little avail
when forest fire raged and destroyed mill. (Photo Idaho Historical Society)

GEORGE LITTLE'S SAW
MILL at Terrace, B.C., on
Grand Trunk Pacific and
Skeena River, 75 miles east
of Prince Rupert. (Photo
B.C. Forest Service)

build a house for his family. This was a comfortable
and attractive dwelling of four rooms, built so sturdily
that it is still in excellent condition. The sills, beams,
joists, and other heavy timbers were fastened together
with wooden pegs, driven through holes bored in them,
then little wedges were driven into splits in the ends of
the pegs. Anyone who has ever tried to wreck an old
house built in this fashion knows how difficult it is to
get the framework apart. The roof was of shakes. The
floors are wide thick boards, still good, although in need
of planing, as the house is built close to the ground, and
having stood empty for some time, has drawn dampness,
which caused the boards to buckle slightly. The stairway
walls are of random width boards, none less than eight
inches wide. The door and window trim is perfectly
plain, rather narrow, with square corners, not rounded
as is modern trim, and the windows are the double hung,
six-light sash usually found in houses built at that time.
The doors are particularly interesting. They are made
in the inverted cross design, without ornamentation,
heavy, and as good as new, although they have been in
use for 75 years. They still have the old-fashioned thumb
latches with which they were originally equipped. West
made the doors and windows himself out of the native
yellow fir.

The house, of good, straightforward design, is similar
to those found in the New England states. Additions have
been made to the original structure until now the house
is completely modern.

West ran the water mill until early in the sixties. Bv
then, the Pacific Coast was developing so rapidly and the
demand for lumber was so insistent that the little mill
was inadequate, and plans were made for a steam mill.
West turned his interest over to his son David, who, with
his cousin, John West, II, Frank Lovell, and Robert
Thompkins, formed a new company and built the steam
mill. This was fairly large for that time, being 126 feet
long by 49 feet wide, and two stories in height. Nearly
all the logs were brought from logging camps within two

or three miles of Westport, camps run by Sprague-Marsh,
Crawford, Morgan, and others.

In 1868 the pioneer lumbermen shipped their first
foreign cargo. The British ship "Onward" under Captain
Whyte took a shipload of lumber for Melbourne and
Sydney, Australia. After that, they shipped lumber all
over the world and foreign orders still take a large share
of the present company's cut.

In 1890 a logging camp, called Hungry Hollow, was
built at the site of the old mill. A fine logging road was
built up West creek for many miles. Where the creek
had washed a deep canyon with sheer rocky walls, the
road engineers built a log bridge. They hauled huge
logs and dumped them into the bottom of the canyon,
lengthwise, eight or ten feet apart. On these they piled
others, crosswise, and so on to the top, which they covered
entirely with small logs, in the customary corduroy effect.

The same ingenious engineers who built the bridge
also dug a tunnel under the point of the hill which jutted
out in their way. The logging road ran through the
tunnel, and the logs were hauled down, through the tun-
nel, and dumped into a ditch, to be floated down to the
slough and down that to the pond. About 35,000 feet
were brought down at each load, which required 14
oxen to pull it. The men all worked 12 hours a day, the
skidders usually longer.

The skid road was greased to make the logs slide
easily, so barrels of grease were placed at convenient
intervals. It was necessary for the logging company to
employ a brave night watchman whose sole duty was to
guard this grease from the all too numerous bears, as
they considered skid grease more delicious than honey.

In time the old Westport Lumber Co. sold the plant
to Robert Suitor. He in turn sold it to Blinn and Waldo,
from whom it passed to Palmer and Stoddard, and from
them to The Westport Lumber Co., the present owners.
— Charlotte K. Geisler in 4 L Lumber News March 1,
1932.

MILLS for the RAIL TRADE

Up to 1900 most Washington sawmills were small
ones cutting for local homes and industry and the large
ones shipping by water to California and foreign ports.
Then came the railroads with freight rates to Minneapolis
of 40 cents a hundred. Timber owned by the railroads
was sold to the big sawmill interests which suddenly got
bigger.

One was St. Paul and Tacoma Lumber Co. with C. W.
Griggs at its head. This firm bought 80 thousand acres
from the Great Northern Railway and began cutting 500
thousand feet of lumber and 400 thousand shingles a
day. At this time the Port Blaklely mill was the largest
in the world under one roof. The Larson Lumber Com-
pany in Whatcom County was booming as was the Grays
Harbor Commercial Company, a Pope and Talbot sub-
sidiary, Tacoma Mill Co. and Stetson-Post Lumber Com-
pany in Seattle. A decade later Clear Lake Lumber
Company, just south of Sedro-Woolley, challenged all
big Puget Sound mills in production.

In 1901, when logs were selling at $4 a thousand,

$30,000 built a big sawmill on Washington's Lake What-
com. This was the mill of the Larson Lumber Company,
the first Bloedel-Donovan enterprise, of which wealthy
builder of railroads Peter Larson was president. The
Hastings Shingle Mill, a few miles north, was purchased.
Then C. L. Flynn was made general superintendent, John
McMahon hired to run the existing sawmill, and in 1907
a new mill was built at another location on the lake.

Ten years after their first band wheel turned, Bloedel-
Donovan Lumber Mills had become one of the largest
all-rail shippers of the Pacific Northwest, producing 75
million feet of lumber and 150 million shingles a year.
In 1911 sales headquarters were in Seattle and a retail
subsidiary was organized — Columbia Valley Lumber
Co. with yards covering Eastern Washington. In 1920
the company bought timber in Clallam County and on
both sides of the Nooksack River and with the entrance
of railroad contractors Stewart and Welch, became one
of the powerful latter day lumber factors of Puget Sound.

LEUDINGHOUSE BROTHERS in Doty-Dryad area tapped the fine timber along the Northern
Pacific line from Chehalis to South Bend. (Photo courtesy H. B. Onn)

PRIDE OF DOTY was this
combination mill of Doty
Lumber and Shingle Co.
(Photo courtesy H. B. Onn)

THE NIGHT SHIFT

by JAMES STEVENS

From early youth James F. Stevens ate the dust of
labor in many fields and on this firm footing be-
came a novelist with "Brawnyman" and chronicler
of the Paul Bunyan legends. His subsequent writ-
ings and activities have always started from the
premise that the physical struggle of man is neces-
sary to his full affirmation of life. When "The
Night Shift" was written his feelings toward saw-
mills and sawmill people were earnest and now they
live again.
By day a sawmill is a sprawling, ugly, greasy, dusty
place of labor. The screams of the saws, the roar of
machines, the booming of lumber along the rolls are
exactly those sounds, and no more. In the harsh light
of day illusions haven't a chance. But at night there is
a change. Take a rainy winter night, just before the
starting whistle sounds, when twilight is fading into deep
darkness. Then a certain romance and color moves over
the sawmill scene. The arc lamps over the piles and
trams glow softly through slanting lines of rain. The
burner is no longer a black towering bulk, but its ruddy
dome seems to burn into the lowering sky, and brilliant

swarms of sparks fly out from it in the night wind. In.,
mill house is shadowy except for the yellow squares of
light which mark its windows. There is a white glare
over the markers' table and along the green chain. Up
in the lights and shadows of the mill itself the screams
of the saws are transformed into songs. The headsaw,
streaming with water, glitters in a dazzle of light. It is
a cheerful scene of labor, and the atmosphere is inspir-
ing. Even the square-jawed mill boss seems to wear a
kinder expression at night. One no longer notices the
tobacco juice on his chin, and his commands, for all their
profanity, are spoken in a tender tone.

Any man who has worked the night shift never forgets
the lure of the lights. Getting a day job, he may realize
that it is better for his health, that it gives him more
leisure in hours when movies are shown and dances put
on and stud poker played, but he misses something in his
work. It seems cold and drab. Other day-shifters appear
to have no fraternal spirit. The boss-men are all for busi-
ness. Life is an eternal monotony of rising at 6, grouch-
ing through a breakfast, plugging away to work, putting
in the hours, and resting along until bedtime. Before

■'

CHEHALIS RIVER VALLEY yielded fine fir and cedar for years but many of its towns are ghosts
today. McCormick Lumber Co. at McCormick had rough going in the latter days but was booming
when Darius Kinsey took this picture in 1915. (Darius Kinsey photo from Jesse E. Ebert)

long the day-shifter is fishing around, trying to snare a
night job again.

That has happened several times to me, and I have
seen it happen to many others. When I worked in the
sawmills of the Northwest coast I was a confirmed night-
shifter. East of the mountains, where shifts were changed
every two weeks, I often tried to start a Western Oregon
revolt against the pine country custom, but never suc-
ceeded. Shift-changing, I still maintain, is a bad policy
for any sawmill. The best sawyers and lumber-handlers
naturally take to night-shift work — as I did. Where
shift-changing is in effect these superior men are ham-
pered in their efforts to make lumber manufacture profit-
able by being mixed with inferior day-shifters and bound
down by two weeks of day work each month. In the
Douglas fir mills, where shift-changing is not practiced,
the men on the night shifts make such large profits for
their employers that they can afford the luxury of sup-
porting day-shifters. The pine manufacturers should also
give the best sawyers and lumber-handlers the oppor-
tunity of grouping together and working the hours most
natural to them.

The reason for this general superiority of the night-
shifter over the day man lies in his superior intelligence.
A heady man will, on the average, perform a given job
better than a dumb man. And in sawmill work the heady
men naturally take to the night shift. Its advantages are
soon obvious to the sawmill-worker of intelligence.

Consider, for example, the important question of sav-
ing money. The night-shifter has a great advantage here.
He is not tempted to ramble to a movie every evening,
for one thing. For another, it is difficult for a radio

salesman to coax him into buying a set, for he is always
at work when the good programs are on the air. Neither
do dances, bridge parties and poker sessions trouble him
much, for these amusements flourish mostly at night.
Consequently, he misses most of the temptations to waste
his savings. If the day-worker replies that a man should
have enough will power to resist such temptations any-
way, the night-shifter has this comeback: "Well, why
haven't you got the will power?"

In his relations with the fair sex the night-shifter
also has much the best of it. If he is single and is enam-
ored of one of the hotel waitresses he does his courting
at an hour when it cannot cost him much money. The
young lady has perhaps an hour off in the afternoon,
and an hour a day is enough for any clever, good-looking
night-shift lad. He knows for certain whether she is
kidding him along for the sake of a paying escort to
movies, dances and restaurant feeds. He can't escort her
in the afternoon, so he knows that when she welcomes
his attentions the welcome is from her heart. The married
night-shifter also has his benefits. The kids are at school
or out playing during his hours of rest. Neither he nor
his wife is weary from a long day of work. He feels fresh
and kind from a good rest. He has no quarrels with his
wife. The children regard him as an affectionate father,
and not as a crank who makes them keep quiet as mice
through a long evening. The intelligent married man
always prefers the night shift.

The young man who wants to get ahead in the lumber
business prefers the night shift as a matter of course.
Working days, he would be too weary from his labors
to study grading and other paperwork effectively at

FAMOUS LITTLE PRESTON MILL of Preston Lumber Co. west of Seattle. (Photo courtesy Mrs.
A. E. Coppers)

night. Working nights, he is refreshed and rested from
a good sleep when he has the leisure to take to his books.
What he has studied is still clear in his mind when he
goes to work and he practically applies it. In every
Douglas fir mill where I worked in my lumbering days
I found that the serious and studious hands were in-
variably on the night shift, while the giddy-minded young
jazz hounds would only work days. Such conditions
plainly indicate that the high-powered executives of the
future in the lumber industry will all be men who spent
their youth working night shift.

The labor itself in a sawmill night shift is infinitely
more agreeable than it is in the daytime. There are even
purely mechanical advantages, for — in my opinion — it
is easier to grade logs and lumber by powerful artificial
light than by natural daylight. Certainly the grading is
always done better on the night shift, though this fact,
again, may be accounted for by the night-shifters' usually
superior intelligence. But the chief charm of night work
is in the atmosphere it creates. Under the clusters of
lights in the mill and along the green chain is a world
of its own. The rest of life is shut out by darkness. Here
is a family, one feels, in which all are kind-hearted
brothers. The bitter rivalries of the day men are seldom
repeated in the night shift. All feel bound together, and
they work together in harmony, while on the day shift
the individualistic spirit prevails and it is every man for
himself. That is because the man working in the cold

light of day sees only a plain job under his hands. To
him the sawmill and the yards are only a feature in a
wide general landscape.

I recall in particular the difference between the day
view and the night view from the station I worked on
the green chain of the sawmill at Westport. The day
man looked out on a drab scene — shop buildings, slab
piles, and an open waste pile which was only an ugly,
black, smoking mass in the daytime. Certainly there was
everything depressing in the spectacle. And, of course,
the day man on that station was a thick-skulled Greek.
(He was, by the way, the vilest load-builder that ever
wore an apron.) At night, however, that station opened
on a scene of beauty. Against the lights of the millhouse
windows the shop buildings were shadowy bulks, and
the slab piles might have been the walls of ancient cities.
The waste pile was no longer ugly and black. Flames
lifted from it in fiery figures against the darkness. Sparks
swarmed out from it in the wind. From its sides smolder-
ing coals stared out like red eyes. The whole scene was
a feast for the imagination and I never ceased to enjoy it.

There was a particular strong sense of comradeship
among the men of the night shift. The day men had their
own individual interests and perhaps got together only
for occasional poker sessions or for a 4L meeting in the
evenings. But the night-shifters all ganged around in
the hotel lobby when the 4 o'clock lunch was finished.
A half an hour was needed to talk over the various events

NO BURNER AT SEATTLE RENTON MILL Sawdust at this long-operating mill was sold locally
for fuel. (Darius Kinsey photo from Jesse E. Ebert)

of the shift just ended and to get them off our minds.
Then the spirit of the old days of lumbering blazed up
again. Tremendous arguments were started. "Take a
drive wheel of a locomotive traveling 30 miles an hour,"
one would say. "Does the top of the wheel go faster than
the bottom?" It took three weeks, as I remember, to get
rid of that particular argument; and even then certain
stubborn adherents of the losing negative side were still
to be seen rolling snoose boxes across the floor and
staring at them, trying to discover in this way some
means to prove that these other stiffs were crazy.

But the tall tales were the chief feature of the get-
together hour after 3 o'clock in the morning. Bill
Schwartz, then the edgerman, invariably started them.
He had sawmilled in Alaska for years, and he had some
astounding yarns about salmon mines, ice worms and
the like. No one ever disputed them, of course, and no
one ever surpassed them until a stray sagebrusher landed
in our midst. His first session he left everybody gasping
with a story of how he had settled a dispute over wages
with the North Bank railroad by getting an attachment
on all their rolling stock.

"Yep, I closed the whole railroad down solid for
three hours," he said. "Not a wheel moved."

Later on he modestly admitted that he had once
moved a ten-ton tractor three miles by himself. He simply
twisted the flywheel around and around with his brawny
arms. Nobody could bring up a subject but what he
would top it with something that had happened East of
the Mountains. His most monumental success was with
a hunting storv. Bill Schwartz had just ended quite a
handsome tale about bear-kiiling in Alaska, when our

sagebrusher horned in.

"You talk about huntin' with a high-powered rifle
and killin' two grizzlies with one shot as though that
was news," the sagebrusher sneered. "You'd tell that to
a man East of the Mountains and you'd shore get the
horse laff. You take me now. I don't claim to be much
of a hunter; East of the Mountains I ain't considered
much at all. But I did do fair with a double-barrel shot-
gun one time. I was down on a river bottom when I
sighted some quail. Got excited and give 'em both bar-
rels. The infernal shotgun blowed up. Well, sirs, when
the smoke had cleared away I discovered that the shot
had killed all the quail, the shattered bits of one barrel
had flew upstream and killed six Chiny pheasants, the
other barrel had busted downstream and killed as many
grouse, one hammer had hit a coyote between the eyes
and knocked him cold, the other had busted all the ribs
of a badger, the kick of the shot had knocked me back
on a rattlesnake so's I tromped him dead, the stock had
sailed on and knocked over a rabbit, and as it went it
had ripped off my coat and flung it over a cougar's
head and smothered him. Purty fair killin,' you'll say.
But not much East of the Mountains, where the real
hunters are. No, sir."

Bill Schwartz had to be carried up to bed that night,
and all of us went around with dazed looks for about a
week. We were thankful when the sagebrusher departed
for his home country and a sheep-herding job. He had
almost wrecked our night shift, and it was too good a
life to lose. There is no other like it for a sawmill man.
May its lights never go out.

— 4L Lumber News. November, 1928

A "COOKHOUSE SHOW" was the logging chance of White River Lumber Co. with timber right
down to the pond, the mill taking only The Big Fir. Fire in 1902 wiped out mill but spared 3-mile
flume to planing mill. (Photo courtesy Weyerhaeuser Timber Co. White River Branch)

THE WHITE RIVER STORY

"On June 20, 1902, the White River Lumber did not
start its mill. The air was very heavy with smoke, the
sky was dark and yellowish. On the following morn-
ing there was no mill to start. June 20 was the day of
the disastrous fire which completely destroyed the little
mill and all the camp buildings at Ellenson and came
within an inch of making a clean sweep of the downtown
planing mill and the town itself.

"The fire started in the morning. There had been
fires around the country. The woods were dry and 1902
was to go down on record as one of the most disastrous
years for forest fires in the Douglas Fir region of West-
ern Washington and Oregon.

(opposite) PENINSULA LUMBER COMPANY -
PORTLAND (Photo Oregon Collection, University
of Oregon)

"Around the little mill three miles east of Enumclaw
in June 1902 there were many snags; the ground was
covered with brush. A dry, hot East wind swept down.
Then suddenly the flames roared up to the East of the
mill, swept toward the mill at a terrific pace and engulfed
all, mill, camp, and timber. The people at the mill were
helpless, so fast and furious came the flames. They
could only save themselves, and this they did by running
out on the cleared flat where the log pond is now. There
were two or three little farms there at the time, and by
some miraculous turn of events these farm buildings
escaped destruction.

"People grabbed what personal belongings and furni-
ture they could from the camp and threw them into the
creek, seeking to save them from the fire. It is said that
Robert Thim for a time was thought lost, but saved him-
helf by following up the creek, and that Henry Thim
went home and changed his shoes, putting on his new
ones with the hope of saving them. Manv people did
unaccountable things in the heat of the excitement.

"For a time it seemed that the people at Ellenson
would be trapped, for the fury of the flames evidently

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WOMAN'S PLACE IN THE HOME? MULLARK Y ! Not in wartime when women had to take men's
places. "Nothing soft about some of the women we had," says Jack McKinnon at White River.
Most of them toughened up and did a good job. Typical at White River in 1943 was headsaw off-
bearer Mrs. Viola Wilkening.

created a draft which resolved itself into a strong wind
blowing toward the East up the creek to meet the flames.
There was fire all around.

"The logs in the little mill pond burned flat to the
water, but the sawdust which had been flumed down
along the creek bottom from the sawmill and which lay
there in a big pile was only scorched a little on the sur-
face. The people at the camp took note of this after the
fire, and when the second fire in September once again
destroyed the camp buildings and all but took the mill
then partially rebuilt — for a second time — the wise
ones went out and buried their belongings in the sawdust
for safekeeping.

"The flames of the June fire raced down to the very
edge of Enumclaw and there all hands concentrated to
save the planing mill. It was a tight squeak because the
fire came right up to the edge of piles of lumber in the
outdoor drying yard. The mill over in Buckley shut
down and men came over to help fight the fire in their

neighboring village.

"At the Enumclaw railroad depot a train stood ready
to evacuate the town's population. Men flung themselves
down exhausted. Everything was tinged with an eerie
yellow from the dense smoke. Women made coffee and
served it to the struggling men. Great burning brands
flew over the city and villagers watched their roofs with
anxious eyes. But the town itself was saved. Men who
were in the thick of the battle for survival of the com-
munity itself were blind from the smoke for several days
after.

"Arvid Tell can recall that the 1902 fire burned the
wooden cab off the No. 1 logging locomotive. Tell made
a trip to another company's camp to get the measure-
ments on a cab so that he could build another for the
'One Spot.'

"After the fire had passed 'many of the people were
pretty blue at first' — as some now describe it — with
the disaster. They wondered about the future. The mill
was gone. Would it rebuild again? There was not a cent
of insurance. But with prompt determination the men

WHITE RIVER CAMP ABOUT 1900 Steam from wood-burning Climax plumes up behind shacks.
Men walked to and from woods and mill, worked ten hours for $2 and $2.25. (Photo courtesy
Weyerhaeuser Timber Co. White River Branch)

of White River Lumber Co. immediately set about to
rebuild. They were in the lumber business to stay."

So reported the Enumclaw (Wash.) Courier-Herald
on this phase in the 67 year struggle and strides of the
White River Lumber Co. from the little 1890 mill of
Charles Magnus Hanson and his sons at Eddyville to the
1933 alignment with Weyerhaeuser Timber Co.

The White River story actually started in 1896 when
the four Hansons — father Charles and sons A. G.,
Charles S. and Frank — with Louis Olson and Alex Turn-
bull formed a company and took over the Goss sawmill
at Ellenson and the burned-out planing mill at Enumclaw.
Fred E. Robbins shortly bought out TurnbulPs interest
and in '98 operated the company's retail outlet in Ritz-
ville.

Then came the 1902 holocaust. A. G. Hanson had
gone East for machinery to rebuild the mill when a sec-
ond fire all but destroyed it a second time that year.
But with the installation of band mill and other new
equipment, the plant was soon cutting 100 thousand feet

PLANER SPEED 70 FEET per minute in this
1903 planing mill of White River Lumber Co. — 3
miles by flume from sawmill. Planers used square
arbors with two knives which mill itself ground.
(Photo courtesy Weyerhaeuser Timber Co. White
River Branch)

a day. During the next few years, mill, logging and rail
improvements brought production up while safety pre-
cautions kept disaster out. But in 1906 came the death
of Charles Magnus Hanson. Son Charles S. then became
president, serving until his own death in 1919. During
the first 40 years of White River's advance, A. G. Hanson
was the dominating influence and is credited with the
company's financial success. Lou Olson was president
until the Weyerhaeuser merger. Louis Garfield "Gar"
Olson, eldest son of Ellen Hansen, who had married
Lou Olson, then became general manager of the White
River Division.

The 3-mile lumber flume to the Enumclaw planing
mill was fed by Boise Creek and always necessitated the
sawmill starting a half-hour earlier to get boards "to
town" by 7:30. It was used until the mill was rebuilt
in 1931. This constituted a "logging operation." With
the sawing floor of the old mill supported by a network
of track ties it was skidded with woods equipment to
the new mill location.

LADY GANGSTER At White River gangsaw is
Mrs. Ada Moultrie who had 13 living children.
(Photos of women by Kenneth S. Brown)

,,„

VI:.*

HEADSAW AND CARRIAGE AT SNOQUALMIE FALLS Lumber Co. a steady and important
Weyerhaeuser producer and mainstay of economy in Snoqualmie Valley, Wash. Mill was built in
1916, managed by Warren, with Cutler Lewis as logging superintendent. (Darius Kinsey photo
from Jesse E. Ebert Collection)

GOLD RUSH STARTED OLYMPIC AREA
LUMBERING

"When the gold rush hit California in 1849 and min-
ing camps sprang up overnight," said the Port Angeles
News of Nov. 28, 1953, "lumber was urgently needed
for building the boom towns. There were no harbors
tapping the Northern California timber so California
turned to Washington for Douglas fir.

"Ships from the East Coast converged on San Fran-
cisco and first sought hewn timbers to be carried to
California for resawing. By the time Washington had
become a territory early settlers were doing a thriving
business in furnishing them. They cut and squared the
timbers and schooner skippers bargained for them at
water's edge.

"In 1852, a year before Washington became a terri-
tory, a sawmill was built at Port Ludlow. The Port
Gamble mill started operations in 1853. The Discovery
Bay mill started sawing lumber in 1858 and the Port

300,000,000 FEET A YEAR in lumber and shingles
were cut in the big inland mill of Clear Lake
Lumber Co. at Clear Lake, Washington. In 1920,
its operations were expected to "last forever" yet
today hardly a trace remains of the mill or timber
workings. (Darius Kinsey photo from Jesse E.
Elbert Collection)

Townsend mill in 1859. Soon afterwards the Hadlock
mill on Port Townsend bay was in production.

"Other mills at Seattle and Port Blakely, further up
Puget Sound, were operating about the time Washington
Territory was created.

"By this time new cities were being built in the terri-
tory. The sawmills supplied the local demand, but the
bulk of the lumber went to California on sailing vessels.
Many of the schooners and square riggers, were built
and owned by the big sawmill companies.

"The quality of the timber attracted a man from San
Francisco to start a mill of his own. He was S. B. Mas-
tick, who opened the Port Discovery Mill in 1858.

"Nearest mill to Clallam County was at Discovery
Bay, just east of the Clallam- Jefferson County line.
Clallam County touched on the northern end of the bay at
Diamond Point, on the tip of the Blyn Peninsula. The
Discovery Bay mill company cut much of the timber on
Blyn Peninsula and west to Dungeness.

"The first mill in the Sequim area was operated by
Chris Miller and later purchased by Fowler and Smith.
William Long and associates bought it in 1902, moving
it to the Dungeness River. R. W. Long and his son E. R.
Long, owned the Port Williams mill which started operat-
ing in 1906. J. L. Keeler had a sawmill in the community

HALF MILLION MEALS A YEAR came out of this kitchen and on these tables for crews of Sno-
qualmie Falls Lumber Co. (Cress-Dale photo from University of Washington)

of Sequim and other small mills were owned by Ed
Potter and Charles, George and Henry Fitzgerald.

"Shingle production in the Olympic area started in
1887 when the Puget Sound Cooperative Colony built
its mill at Ennis Creek on Port Angeles harbor. That
same year a shingle mill was built in the Dry Creek
area and owned by L. T. Haynes, William Graham.
Clarence McLaughlin, Nicholas Meagher Jr., Ray Haynes
and Frank Patton. The shingles were hauled to the head
of Port Angeles harbor and shipped on the steamer
Evangel.

"A second mill was built in the Dry Creek district
in 1889 by the Port Angeles Shingle and Lumber Co.
The lumber and shingles were hauled to the head of the
harbor over a tramway. Norman R. Smith constructed
the mill for the company. When these mills ceased opera-
tions the Eacrett brothers, Richard and Will built a mill
there that operated for years.

"By the 90's many shingle mills were being erected
through the county. Usually they were near large stands
of timber. In some instances the cedar logs were split
into 'bolts' and hauled to the mills. In other places the
logs were dumped into mill ponds.

"Some of the mills were combination shingle and
lumber, but many were small mills cutting shingles ex-
clusively. The Wait brothers, Miles and E. R., operated
a shingle mill directly south of Port Angeles for many
years.

"The late G. M. Lauridsen financed many of the
mills. He handled the payrolls and marketed the prod-
ucts. It was during these years that Lauridsen issued
his own scrip, which was good for trade in his store here.

"One of the most famous mill sites was near the
present boat haven. The first shingle mill was built
there in 1899. It operated under various ownerships.
In 1917 a group of 25 employes took it over, and it was
known as the Co-Op-Mills, as all who worked there held
stock in the company. It was taken over by the M. R.
Smith Co. in 1925, and that company moved the plant
to Lake Pleasant in 1940.

"When the Puget Sound Mills and Timber Co. built
the 'big mill' here in 1914 a shingle and lath manufac-
turing plant was incorporated with it. This was the first
mill here to export lumber. The mill had its own dock,
and its lumber and shingles went by ships and rail all
over the world."

PAIR OF ACES Twin mills of McCloud River Lumber Co. at Weed, Calif.
Washington)

(Photo University of

SAWMILLS OF SOUTHWESTERN SISKIYOU

In the fifty-mile area southwest of Mt. Shasta prob-
ably sixty sawmills have operated since 1860. A few
of them have historical importance beginning with the
first mill in Siskiyou County. This was a waterpower
mill at the head of the Shasta Rrver southwest of Edge-
wood using a sash saw and built by the China Ditch Co.
about 1853. It was bought in 1854 by J. A. Maxwell
who with his six sons ran it until sold to Jim Dobkins in
1888 by which time it had been changed over to a cir-
cular mill.

Meanwhile a steam mill had been built three miles
south of the present site of Weed by a Mr. Hearst and
it was purchased in 1883 by one of the Maxwell sons.
Milton P. Another son, J. H., joined him and Maxwell
Brothers operated the mill until 1894 when it was bought
by Abner Weed. Two years later he built a new mill
at Weed and in 1903 incorporated the Weed Lumber Co.
Three years later J. M. White started work there, then
went to Long-Bell Lumber Co. becoming its president in
1916. That firm bought the controlling interest in the

Weed mill and in 1926 it became Long-Bell's Weed Divi-
sion.

The Ross McCloud mill at Soda Springs was built
in 1859 and included a flume to bring water to the
power wheel. In 1886 a timber claim was filed and the
first mill built in the Shasta Springs area by James J.
Scott, Joseph Schaefer, Walter Shattuck and Mark Neher.
After the springs were sold to the Shasta Water Com-
pany, Scott moved the sawmill to Hedge Creek, it became
the Scott and Rex mill and was sold to Leland, Wood
and Sheldon in 1896.

That year this firm, Sisson Mill and Lumber Co. also
bought the mill which later became known as the Big
Mill, built in 1890 by Bernard, Wallbridge and Hunting-
ton, near the present site of Shasta Pine Manufacturing
Co. in Sisson. In 1901 Leland sold out.

Wood and Sheldon purchased the small Loy box fac-
tory south of the Big Mill and moved it to the Sacra-
mento River at the head of Box Canyon where it became
known as the first Rainbow Mill. It was later moved
to a point south of Deer Creek. One of the Wood and
Sheldon partners, named Martin, organized the Pioneer

McCLOUD RIVER FORE
RUNNER 1898 sawmill of
Scott and Van Arsdale Lum-
ber Co. at Upton, Calif-
built just after the South-
ern Pacific Railroad came
up Sacramento River can-
yon. Mill was later moved
up river to present site Mc-
Cloud River Lumber Co.
Note lumber used for tram
car rails. (Photo Schroeder
Collection Collier State
Park Logging Museum)

Box Co. and took over the mill. In 1914 Wood and
Sheldon liquidated. Frank Ball and William Giesendor-
fer, who had operated a mill at Truckee and managed
the Truckee Lumber Co. mill at Cantara, organized the
Rainbow Mill and Lumber Co. which took over the
Sisson Mill and Lumber Co.

As the Southern Pacific Railroad pushed north from
Redding, many small tie mills sprang up. One was
Charles Wright's, two miles north of Sisson. In the early
'90s, Scott and Van Arsdale purchased this, supplying
fuel and ties to the Southern Pacific. They also started
the town of Upton and built a narrow gauge railroad —
the beginning of the McCloud River Railroad.

Farley and Letcher built a box factory south of Upton
in 1896. Scott and Van Arsdale planned to erect a bigger
plant on the railroad near Sisson where the Big Lakes
Box Factory was later built. They imported sixty Chinese
laborers and camped them. The local citizens were in-
censed, raided the camp and sent the Chinese packing.
Scott and Van Arsdale rounded them up, placed a guard
on the camp and at a town meeting told the people to
let the Chinese alone, that they were doing dirty work

making a fill which white men wouldn't do. They warned
that if the camp was molested, the mill would not be
built. Two weeks later, the camp was raided again, some
Chinamen kidnapped and loaded on a box car. All of
them departed and so did Scott and Van Arsdale. They
bought the sawmill of Friday George on the McCloud
River, the company eventually progressing into the Mc-
Cloud River Lumber Company. The town of Upton dis-
appeared except for the big piles of sawdust.

In 1886 as the Southern Pacific pushed ahead to
Mott above Shasta Springs, a waterpower mill was built
above the Springs by John W. Davis, Fred Florin and
William Powers — the Mott Manufacturing Co. Later
Davis bought out his partners and started a mill at
Small. In 1890 two other mills were built in this vicinity
— the Red Cross Mill and David Miles Box Factory.
About this time, Nelson and McKenzie built their second
mill south of Sisson near the McCloud Station on the
Southern Pacific, their first mill being on the north side
of Big Canyon. (From article by George R. Schrader in
Siskiyou County Historical Society Yearbook 1948)

OREGON MAMMOTH Huge plant of Pacific Spruce Lumber Co., Toledo, Oregon. (Photo Oregon
Historical Society)

TIMBER at TIDEWATER

"Aberdeen better than San Francisco? There ain't
much difference. The size maybe, right now. But that
Aberdeen is more like to get places. Timber? You never
saw the likes of it. Man, up there in Grays Harbor the
cows eat sawdust!"

In 1910 the course of empire seemed to be west to
the Pacific right through the greatest blanket of fir and
cedar the United States ever knew. Grays Harbor looked
like the place prosperity would pick to settle down in.
Loggers and sawmill men were pushing north from Cali-
fornia and Oregon. The word was going around Puget
Sound that Aberdeen and Hoquiam were going to boom
so get over there fast. Trains from Chicago and Minne-
apolis were bringing in thousands of workers and mil-
lions in working capital. This was going to be the Lum-
ber Capitol of the World — the biggest lumbering and
shipping area in the country's biggest lumbering state.

If a sawmill boomer had started out of Tacoma that
year and worked out his bunk and beans for three days
in every mill he walked up to, it would have taken him
two years to complete a loop south of Olympia to Che-
halis, west to South Bend and then to Aberdeen and

Hoquiam via Elma and Montesano. And by that time
fifty more sawmills would have sprung up and he would
have had to start all over again and run fast past a hun-
dred little shingle mills.

He was in lumber country right enough. Tacoma was
rivalling Portland in production. About that time Pacific
National, Gale Creek, Puget Sound, Eastman, Keystone.
Capitol Box, Pacific Box, Tacoma Mill, Doud Brothers,
Winkleman, St. Paul and Tacoma, Ernest Dolge, Clear
Fir, Western Fir, Dempsey, Danaher and twenty more
mills around Tacoma were ripping logs and crying for
men. Olympia had Olympia Door, Olympia Manufactur-
ing along with Keyes Shingle, National Pipe and Bu-
chanan. In the hinterland were Lindstrom and Hanford,
Mumby, Manley-Moore, Bordeaux and Fairfax.

When the boomer went south he would have hit
Blumauer, Stone Brothers, Mentzer Brothers and Jones
Spar in Tenino — H. J. Miller, Chehalis Fir and Coal
Creek in Chehalis, Eastern Railway and Lumber and
others in Centralia. Napavine would have turned up
Central Lumber and George McCoy — Winlock, Emery
and Veness, S. W. Porter and perhaps the shop where

HOQUIAM INSTITUTION Mill of Northwestern Lumber Co., a mainstay of Hoquiam industry for
many years. (Photo University of Washington)

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HOQUIAM ABOUT 1900 Sawmill at left cuts timber for ship being built at right. (Photo University
of Washington)

Andrew Johnson shaped his famous ship knees.

In Littel he would have found Wise Lumber and in
Doty and Dryad half a dozen mills as well as McCormick
on west. Raymond was booming with Clarin and Hamil-
ton, J. A. Heath, Willapa Harbor. Raymond Lumber,
Kolb and Gilbert and Siler. South Bend had Kleeb and
the Simpson Lumber which was shipping by rail and
schooner.

Back up in Elma the short staker might have learned
that Henry McCleary was building a big mill at Summit,
that Vance Lumber was shut down for bigger and better
things to come and White Star would be cutting 20 mil-
lion feet of lumber and 50 million shingles this year.
Montesano Lumber was working a hundred men. And
then — Aberdeen.

The short-staker would now see that this was not only
is far as he could go without drifting out to sea but
.hat this was a country full of working stiffs — and he

(opposite) SCHAFEK BROTHERS MILLS. Big

time logging operators, Schafer Brothers started
buying sawmills and shingle mills in 1919. Upper
left, plant on Chehalis River, Aberdeen; lower
right, Montesano shingle operation. HOQUIAM
SAWMILLS in an early day. Upper right, E. K.
Wood Lumber Co. of which George Kellogg was
longtime manager; lower left, "Big Mill" of Ho-
quiam Lumber and Shingle Co. (Photos Frank
Eno Collection)

would have to make up his mind what to do. He might
ask around — what was going on? Logging, sawmilling,
shipyards and everything that went with them. The bulls
were out of the woods and steam donkeys had taken
over. Skidroads were now railroads. Mills? The big
ones were Anderson and Middleton, which had taken
over the Weatherwax interests, the Old Folks Home across
the river at Cosmopolis and the Northwest in Hoquiam.
Plenty of others needing men though.

The Hart-Wood Lumber Co. was running ten hours
and Western Lumber had just added to its capacity. In
fact they were having a ship built by Lindstrom Ship
Building Co. — the Quinault they were going to call it.
The Lindstrom yard had built fifty vessels the yeai
before, now just finishing two big rock barges for the
Columbia River and three steam schooners for the Coast
trade. John Lindstrom was mayor of Aberdeen and had
just returned from San Francisco. "There's a piece in
the paper about it," somebody said. Lindstrom says this
town's got too fast a gait so he's going to clamp the
lid on. Don't worry, son, it won't last more than two or
three days. How you going to keep this hot town under
cover. Let 'er buck!"

American Mill Co. was coin": great guns — Wilson

GRAYS HARBOR CITY NEVER GOT STARTED Plans to dike tidelands and create deepwater
harbor on which sawmills would be built led to promotion of Grays Harbor City. Plans proved
too advanced and project failed. (Photo Frank Eno Collection)

Brothers, too. Aberdeen Lumber and Shingle was turn-
ing out 5 million shingles and a quarter of a million feet
of lumber a month and going to rail trade as well as
ship cargo. Western Cooperage employed a hundred men
now. A. J. West was building a new mill. Michigan
Lumber had just finished one — a lath mill — and was
enlarging the planing mill. It had just cut some 90-foot
timbers and was going to make bevel siding. And what
about S. E. Slade Lumber Co.? Running their own log-
ging camps by railroad and cutting a monthly average
of 61/o million feet.

Over in Hoquiam, E. K. Wood was bearing down on
production and had just launched the ship Tamo pais to

keep up its export business. Northwestern Lumber Co.,
the first mill here, was making things hum, and so was
the Hoquiam Sash and Door and Hoquiam Lumber and
Shingle Co. This was the new name of Robert F. Lytle's
mill. With his brother Joseph, he had logged here since
1889, building his shingle mill in 1905. National Lumber
and Box operated a big mill and Grays Harbor Lumber
Co. was a big rail and water shipper.

Very likely the boomer was not interested in history
but the fact remains that Grays Harbor had been going
strong for ten years and before that sawmills and ship-
yards were getting a foothold. George Stevens started
it all by converting the little grist mill on the Chehalis

ORIGINAL EMERSON MILL — 1881 First plant of Northwestern Lumber Co., Hoquiam. George
H. Emerson came from California to scout timber and sawmill locations for Capt. A. M. Simpson.
He remained to build a mill and found a city. Alex Poison was sawyer here in 1883. (Photo Frank
Eno Collection)

CITY OF HOQUIAM
ABOUT 1905 Planked street
ran from 8th Street bridge
at right to big Hoquiam
Hotel. F. G. Foster Mercan-
tile Co. is shown in same
location as present. Cattle
from Montesano were un-
loaded at ramp in fore-
ground. (Photo Frank Eno
Collection)

11 DAY WONDER Ho

quiam's Steamer Bus was
built in 1902 for passenger
service to Aberdeen. On the
eleventh day of operation,
it fell off the road into a
creek and was never sal-
vaged. (Photo University of
Washington)

* ^0SgfmnG&&

GRAYS HARBOR WAS GREAT FIR PRODUCER

From the turn of the century to 1940 mills of Grays
Harbor sent billions of feet of lumber to California and
world ports. Top left — launching the 3-masted schooner
J. M. Weatherwax at Aberdeen, 1890. Ship was named
after sea captain who built sawmill and shipyard here
in 1884. Center left, 4-masted schooner Resolute, built
at Hitchings and Joyce shipyard at Hoquiam in 1902.
Bottom left, sternwheeler T. C. Reed, 4-masted schooner
W. J. Patterson and barkentine Gleaner at dock of
Northwestern Lumber Co. Top center, S.S. Margaret
Schafer, one of Schafer Brothers' fleet, which once car-
ried probably record cargo of shingles — 12,000 squares.
At left in photo is mill of E. C. Miller Lumber Co. Bot-
tom center, schooner at West-Slade mill No. 2. Above,
S.S. Del Norte leaving Hoquiam. Below, barkentine
Arago at Northwestern dock. (Photos Frank Eno Col-
lection)

River into a sawmill. In 1881, George Emerson came
from California scouting tirxber and sawmill locations
for Capt. Asa M. Simpson, who had mills at Coos Bay
and in Northern California. Emerson left but next year
came back with sawmill machinery on the barkentine
Orient and started the Northwestern Lumber Co. The
next one was the Hoquiam Manufacturing Co.

In 1900 the' Hoquiam Hotel reared its great bulk
over the town which took another giant step in the plan
and promotion of Grays Harbor City. A deepwater ship
moorage was needed and the planners thought by run-
ning out a dike and building sawmills on the filled in
tidelands, they would have definite advantage over the
ones in the rivers. But the hotel burned to the ground
and Grays Harbor City went up in another kind of smoke.

Meanwhile Aberdeen had its J. M. Weatherwax ship-
yard and sawmill, just west of the Wishkah River mouth.
Across the river was A. J. West's plant, built in 1884.
Also on the Wishkah was Emery and Mack's mill. Up
in Montesano the Montesano Lumber Co. and George
H. Vail were getting started.

MANSION FOR TRANSIENTS Many a visiting
railroad mogul and timber baron stayed in the
rambling Hoquiam Hotel. Completed in 1898, it
burned to the ground in 1910. In lobby and parlor
electric lights were not to be trusted and kerosene
lamps were still kept in readiness. (Photo Univer-
sity of Washington)

CAULKS ALLOWED AT ALL TIMES Guy

French's saloon in Hoquiam protected its linoleum
with a steel mat but they didn't mind holes in the
floor at The Lone Jack, (opposite). Just bring
money. (Photo Frank Eno Collection)

In another fifteen years the sign of the "'Think Of
Me" cigar looked down on a changed Aberdeen and
Hoquiam. They had come of age and created a lumber
empire second to none anywhere. The two towns worked
hard and played hard. They had a lot of good citizens
but more saloons per capita than Seattle and a gang of
crimps and murderers San Francisco could not touch.

In and out of Grays Harbor moved over 500 ships
a year, deck-loaded with cargoes. Tugs and gulls hooted
and squawked in the fog rolling up the Chehalis, Wishkah
and Hoquiam Rivers. Shrieking mill whistles reminded
everybody of million dollar payrolls and prosperity had
come to roost. Seamen, loggers and sawmill hands swag-
gered across the planked sidewalks and streets, kicked
their caulks in the sawdust of honky tonks, their ears
ringing with the love songs of bespangled gals in knee-
length skirts.

A big, new element had entered the scene — the
Schafer Brothers interests. The other mills were still
going strong — Anderson and Middleton, Aberdeen Lum-
ber and Shingle. Donovan, West, Wilson Brothers, Amer-
ican, Federal, Western and Bay City.

In Hoquiam things were just as spectacular. North-
western now owned a second mill in South Bend. George
Kellogg was manager of E. K. Wood. When the Eureka
Lumber and Shingle mill burned, Alex Poison had taken
it over and put George Pauze in to run it. Other mills
like Blagen's and National were whooping it up at top
speed.

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GALLUSES, GRITS AND GAS MANTLES as well
as hardware and soft drinks could be had in Vey-
sey's General Store, Hoquiam, at the turn of the
century. (Photo University of Washington)

But Schafer's was something special. The three Scha-
fer brothers, — Peter, Albert and Hubert — sons of Grays
Harbor pioneers, had started logging on the Satsop
River in a small way in 1893 and got a foothold. Forest
fires almost wiped them out. With all their logs in a
Chehalis River boom, the flood waters of 1909 would
have ruined them if Pete and Albert had not stepped in
as emergency crew of the tug Edgar (Capt. Tom Soule)
and snaked the Schafer logs to safety. They recovered
three-quarters of their stock while many million feet of
logs belonging to others were lost over the Grays Har-
bor bar.

The brothers began buying up small mills in 1919 — a
small one in Montesano and a bankrupt plant in Aber-
deen — incorporating as Schaefer Brothers Lumber and
Door Co. In 1922 the firm purchased timber, logging
equipment and railroad from Grays Harbor Commercial
Co. for over half a million dollars, 1928 timber of the
Doty Lumber and Shingle Co. for another half million
and in 1929 the timber and sawmill of Leudinghouse
Brothers in Dryad for still another half million. It pur-
chased three vessels and rechristened them Hubert Scha-
fer, Anna Schafer and Margaret Schafer. At its height.
Schafer Brothers were one of the largest lumbering
operations in the Pacific Northwest — five mills, served
bv six camps, railroads, ships, tugs and three thousand
employees.

GATE TO "OLD FOLKS
HOME" Packing $2 suit-
cases full of old newspa-
pers, boomers and short
stakers from as far east as
Chicago, worked out their
railroad fare at Grays Har-
bor Commercial Co., fabu-
lous institution of Pope and
Talbot at Cosmopolis. (Pho-
to courtesy Stewart H. Hol-
brook )

HOME OF THE BRAVE AND THE FREE

It had a Greek name and the business philosophy
of a rug maker. It was endowed by a king's ransom
and the determination to hew to the line, letting the chips
and sawdust fall on whatever heads were willing to get
under it. And there were always plenty. It had more
nicknames than Dutch Schultz, was ridiculed in high and
low places, and not only remained impregnable but
came up grinning. This was the fabulous Grays Harbor
Commercial Company — Old Folks Home on the South
Bank.

The name "Cosmopolis" never seemed to apply to a
community or town but to a condition. It was, in effect,
a sort of feudal estate where a man could wrestle lumber
as long or as little as he liked at the lowest possible wage.
There was no pressure attached to it and no real bitter-
ness against the company. A man entered the gates at
his own peril and could leave anytime he wished. The
company had the avowed purpose of making money by
cutting logs as cheaply as possible and nobody could
deny that it succeeded in a monumental way. A man
serving his time in this institution might find the accom-
modations buggy but never the management.

The Grays Harbor Commercial Company, across the
Chehalis River from Aberdeen, was a Pope and Talbot
property, acquired in 1888. It was a complete lumber-
ing operation from timber to tidewater. It owned the
timber, the Chehalis County Logging and Timber Rail-
road. It cut as much — or more — as any company in
the Harbor with its sawmill, box factory, tank plant and
planing mill. The stacker sheds were half a mile long.
The hog farm and slaughter house were always active.
The barn housed fifty horses and as many two-wheeled
lumber wagons. The bakery was spacious and the caver-
nous mess hall seated five hundred men whose boots
nestled comfortably in an inch of sawdust. There were

a dozen Chinese cooks and cookees who kept cages of
ferrets for the Sunday pastime of rat hunts.

All this manorial activity was presided over for years
on end by a personality who fitted the scheme of things
like an oak wedge. This was Neil Cooney, bachelor extra-
ordinary, trapshooter, duck hunter and all around show-
enough satrap. The converted clubhouse overlooking the
plant, was his home and showplace of the Harbor. It
was filled with Japanese servants and the parties there
were as gay and garish as those of another Pope and
Talbot nabob — one Cyrus Walker, Lord of Ludlow,
from whom Neil might have taken a cue. The difference
was only in a generation or two. Where Walker has his
big, brass cannon, Neil Cooney had his big, brassy
Marmon.

George W. Stetson, first boss man at Cosmopolis,
lured Cooney from his native heath of Port Madison
to the job of mill foreman. When C. F. White became
manager Neil Cooney was made superintendent, became
assistant manager and finally general manager. At his
right hand, which always knew what his left was doing,
was office manager E. C. Stone and master mechanic
was I. W. Johnson who in subsequent years founded the
Grays Harbor Iron Works, which firm later became
Lamb Grays Harbor Company. At one time Oscar Braun-
stedt was general foreman, Emil Gustafson ran the plan-
ing mill and L. B. Hogan the company store which sold
everything from needles to hay.

The saying went: "If you ever go to hell, you'll find
somebody who worked at Cosmopolis." If this were
true, it was because the Grays Harbor Commercial Com-
pany had a "foster mother" attitude toward anybody and
everybody who looked hungry. It spread its far-reaching
wings over every likely job prospect in Seattle, Portland,
San Francisco, Butte and Minneapolis where employment
offices had standing orders to send so many "head" a
week. This come-to-mama policy was not a warm-hearted

love of unfortunate humanity but simply because wages
were the lowest in the business, a big labor turnover
expected and planned on.

This was the Western Penitentiary into which poured
a steady stream of men from the skidroads and uptown
casual labor sources. Many of the recruits hired out
without knowing of higher-paid jobs available but most
of them were not particular or in no position to be
particular. This was a "free fare" deal where drifters,
boomers, derelicts, down-and-outers could eat and sleep,
working temporarily without being caught at it. School-
teachers, lawyers, farmers, clerks and salesmen in some
kind of a bind could tide themselves over at Mr. Cooney's
castle until time healed the wound. Philippinos, Japa-
nese, Hindus — the hungry and disillusioned — come one,
come all and eat table board with the moving population
of Washington. They had to have baggage but they all
had a home. They just had to stay long enough to work
out their railroad fare and feed. Maybe a week, maybe

BY 1911 — STREETCARS!

8th Street Hoquiam still
had planks and bicycle
racks in street but trolley
took you to Aberdeen on
Sundays. (Photo Frank Eno
Collection)

three days — they served their time and walked out,
leaving their passports behind them — the pitiful bed
rolls and pulp paper suitcases filled with old newspapers
and bricks, the mountain of which overflowed the store-
house.

There never seemed to be a shortage of help at Cos-
mopolis. The management never seemed to care how
many men left as there was a new supply swinging off
every train and ship. Nor did it ever feel called upon to
apologize for paying the lowest going wages. That was
the way the plan operated. You took it or left for
greener pastures. And there were just enough good men
who stayed, got fat and warm under the protecting wing
who in genuine loyalty kept the mill from panics and
labor troubles. Strikes were attempted but the edges
went blunt. Like Old Man River, the Old Folks Home
rolled on and on making money, progress and a consider-
able amount of lumber.

ALOHA LUMBER CO. near Pacific Beach in Washington's Grays Harbor, organized by George
Emerison, generally considered the founder of Hoquiam. (Photo University of Washington)

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FIRST WHISTLE SHRIEKED AT 5:20, second at 5:40 and you put away boiled beef, potatoes,
baked beans, hash, griddle cakes, coffee and in the mill by 6. For its first 37 years the Port Gamble
mill was the largest producer of Douglas fir in the world. The two schooners tied up here in 1906
were part of a vast fleet which had regular runs to California and Hawaii. (Darius Kinsey photo
from Jesse E. Ebert)

FABULOUS AND FAMOUS

A Bellingham logger once lost a thousand dollar bet
by refusing to believe the first lumber Pope and Talbot
sold was pine. It was — from Maine, shipped out by
the steamer L. P. Foster which also brought Andrew J.
Pope, Frederic Talbot, Capt. William C. Talbot and a
sawmill prefabricated in Boston. The 60 thousand feet of
transported pine brought over $100 a thousand.

When the Pope and Talbot interests, which became
Puget Mill Company, began sawing at Port Gamble in
1853, they were on their way to fabulous heights, to the
greatest fir production of any sawmill in the world for
37 years. Sixty years later the combined companies
began to lose money and so Puget Mill lost its identity
to Charles R. McCormick Lumber Co. Still later this
was regained — the substance if not the power and the
glory.

Puget Mill did not start Washington sawmilling but
did start its first lumber empire. When the L. P. Foster
from East Machias, Maine, nosed into Puget Sound the
fir was already being logged and sawed in small ways.

Hudson's Bay Co. at Fort Vancouver, Michael Sim-
mons at Tumwater, Henry Yesler at Seattle, W. P. Say-
ward at Port Ludlow, J. J. Felt at Apple Tree Cove (Port

(opposite and two following pages) SEAT OF
POPE AND TALBOT EMPIRE— 1918 version of
Port Gamble, Wash., mill which first started saw-
ing in 1853. Puget Mill Co. had its roots in Maine,
owned by pioneers A. J. Pope, W. C. Talbot, J. P.
Keller and Charles Foster. Famous, longtime gen-
eral manager was Cyrus Yalker and Seattle's
Dexter Horton and George Stetson worked in this
mill. (Webster and Stevens photos from Univer-
sity of Washington)

Madison) all had little mills of uncertain finance and
future. After Pope and Talbot, aided by J. P. Keller
and Charles Foster with more Maine money, had started
sawing, other mills took heart. One started at Seabeck,
G. A. Meigs rebuilt the burned Port Madison mill to 80
thousand capacity, Amos Phinney was running the Port
Ludlow mill and Capt. William Renton built his $80,000
mill at Port Blakely.

Puget Mill started at Port Gamble with a muley saw
in a rough board building. Logs were hauled into the
mill by cable and drum, hand spiked on the carriage.
The following year production was increased six times
by installing a sash saw and "live gang." The whole log
passed through the saws, a chain looped around the for-
ward end to prevent boards from slithering out over
the floor. Four years later, in 1858, there was a new
mill with twin circular rig, 56-inch saws cutting logs up
to 9 feet in diameter. The carriage was 125 feet long
and from it were coming ship spars and timbers 60 feet
long.

"Little Boston" they called the village New Englanders
Pope and Talbot had built. The first common labor was
from the Clallam Indian tribe but there were better jobs
for the few white men like George Stetson and Dexter
Horton. The mill whistle woke everybody at 5:20, a
second one at 5:40 was the call to boiled corned beef,
potatoes, baked beans, hash, griddle cakes, biscuits, but-
ter and coffee. At 6 work started, ll1/^ hours of it for
$30 a month.

It was dark inside the mill at almost any hour so the
owners bought dogfish oil from the Indians and burned

WHERE LUMINARIES PAID THEIR RESPECTS Admiralty Hall, mansion of Cyrus Walker.
Early manager of Pope and Talbot interests at Port Ludlow had mammoth house built, as became
his impressive station in life, on commanding position overlooking mill and harbor. Cannon fired
salute to P&T ships. (Photo Stewart H. Holbrook Collection)

it in "tea kettle" lamps with wick in the spout on each
side. The smoky flames were faint and flickering and
the fishy odor took over the air of store and cookhouse
as well as the mill.

The lumber went out by schooner as "venture car-
goes." The super-cargo or skipper had to dispose of
the boards at destination as quickly and profitably as
possible. Sometimes they were sold to an agent or dealer
or a plot of ground was rented and the lumber auctioned.
Then a pay load of coal, sugar or passengers had to
be signed up for the return voyage.

The first cargo went to Australia on the Ella Francis
which like most of the early ships to Port Gamble was
from Maine, all eventually wholly or partly owned by
Puget Mill Co. — Kaluna, Jenny Ford, Hyack, Hidalgo,
Francisco, Constitution, Kutusoff, Lenore, Oak Hill, Tor-
rent, Vernon and Victor.

These were some of the vessels which got a salute
from the cannon on the spacious lawn on the bluff above
Port Ludlow. A second Pope and Talbot mill had been
built here and a veritable potentate came as its manager
in the person of Cyrus Walker and remained to rule 54
years. A mansion. Admiralty Hall, was built for him
and here were entertained the great, near great and
common customers if they had money or political pres-
tige. Walker was proud of the mill and schooner fleet
and when sails moved in and out of the bay, his gunner
yanked the firing pin as the Stars and Stripes ran up
the staff. By 1900 he was saluting the Palmyra, Fresno,
Bonanza, Carondelet, Gamble, Okanogan, Camam and
Spokane which had regular runs to the Philippines,
Hawaii, China and Africa.

WHERE WALKER ENTERTAINED the great
and near-great of "sawdust aristocracy." Pope
and Talbot manager at Port Ludlow wined and
dined business and political figures with pomp
and ceremony. (Photo Stewart H. Holbrook Col-
lection )

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PORT LUDLOW SAWING FLOOR— 1918 When the Machias, Maine, men brought their prefabri-
cated sawmill to Port Gamble in 1853, W. P. Sayward was building a steam mill at Port Ludlow.
In I860, also on Hood Canal, Amos Phinney was cutting 60,000 feet of lumber a day. Both mills
were consolidated in Puget Mill's big plant, second largest of the Pope and Talbot Empire. (Web-
ster and Stevens photo from University of Washington)

PUGET MILL'S SECOND PLANT was at Port Ludlow, a crude beginning for this 1920 mill. By
this time the company was operating at a loss and all interests had been taken over by the Charles
R. McCormick Lumber Co. of Delaware, but Puget Mill regained control in 1938. (Photo from
Jesse E. Ebert Collection)

BACON AND BISCUITS
GOING TO CAMP from
Puget Mill warehouse at
Port Gamble. E. G. Ames
was general manager after
Cyrus Walker and company
had mills at Port Ludlow,
Utsalady, Port Townsend in
Washington and St. Helens
and O a k r i d g e, Oregon.
(Webster and Stevens photo
from University of Wash-
ington)

* &Hnhf9J/n

And there were the early tugs Resolute, which ex-
ploded near Olympia, Cyrus Walker, Goliah, Tyee, Yak-
ima, Favorite and Wanderer — "wood-eating, smoke-spit-
ting aquatic threshing machines," as condemned by such
sailing masters as Capt. William Gove and Capt. S. D.
Libby.

But the Puget Mill prestige was to fade. During the
presidency of E. G. Ames, in 1914, a contingent sale or
merger was effected with Charles R. McCormick Lumber
Company of Delaware which had extensive operations
in Oregon and California. Puget Mill companies at the

time included — Puget Sound Commercial Company, Pu-
get Sound Tugboat Company, Puget Sound Towing Com-
pany, Rainier Investment Company, Puget Sound Cedar
and Lumber Company, Grays Harbor Commercial Com-
pany. Pope and Talbot Land Company, Union River
Logging Railroad Company, Admiralty Logging Com-
pany and Pacific Pine Lumber Company.

In 1938, upon failure of the McCormick interests to
meet financial obligations, Puget Mill Company took over
the existing interests, operating them in tune with the
new era of Pacific Coast lumbering.

THEY COULD FORGE
ANYTHING BUT CHECKS

at this big blacksmith shop
at Port Gamble. This pic-
ture was taken 50 years aft-
er the first days of muley
saws and entire logs pass-
ing through gang saws with
chains looped around the
sawed ends to keep the
boards from spilling over
the floor. (Webster and Ste-
vens photo from University
of Washington)

PRAYER IN THE PLANING MILL

Maybe an early morning plant visitor would have
thought there was trouble brewing. That sober-faced
group of men in the office. Union stewards discussing
a rule violation? Some wage demand of the boss? A
protest against work conditions? None of these. T. A.
Peterson was opening the plant with prayer.

The place was Onalaska, Wash., and the plant, the
big Carlisle Lumber Company turning out 300 thousand
feet a day. The time was any morning in the galloping
'20s — any morning in any of the six days of the week.

W. A. Carlisle had hired T. A. Peterson in 1918 when
he was superintendent of the Columbia River Sash and
Door Co. in Rainier, Oregon. "Come on up here," Car-
lisle had said, this man from the South noted for its
sense of hospitality. "We're big and prosperous and will
pay you well and you'll have a fine, clean company town
to live in. Bring your family. You'll like it."

When he got to Onalaska, between Chehalis and
Morton, Peterson wasn't so sure. It was a big, booming
mill all right and that was about all except the company
houses and store. Nothing very inspiring about it. Well,
there was a church which W. A. Carlisle had built, called
the Christian Church. And T. A. Peterson, being a
strongly religious man, thought that was where he be-
longed first of all. First things first. He was a stranger
in a strange place and he wondered just why he was
here. There were some odd points about his leaving
that good Rainier job and coming up here where he
knew no one. Could it be the hand of the Lord had
reached out and put him here to help the people who
needed guidance and inspiration, something to tie to?
With all his modesty and self-effacing nature, Peterson
thought it could be.

He took over the planing mill and found himself
carrying a religious force right into the plant. During
the first week he quietly asked one man here and another
there if he would like to meet with others every morning
before work and meditate over some chosen passage and
thoughts from the Bible. It would tend to clear the way
for better work and better relations with other men, sort
of set the pace of goodwill for the day.

A dozen men eagerly agreed. Others thought they'd
see. And most were mutely disinterested or openly scorn-
ful. But the meetings went successfully and while a few
dropped out others took their place at the 7 o'clock
prayers. One of these came out of curiosity but stayed
to take part and returned many times. He was Kenneth
C, son of the big boss. "My father thinks this is a fine
idea. He's a good Presbyterian." And W. C. Carlisle
expressed his own cooperation with the planing mill
superintendent as an instrument of good by sending him
to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to attend the national Presbyterian
conference that year.

"Mr. Carlisle was an honest, forthright man," is

BURNER COMES DOWN at Pugt Mill Company's
Port Ludlow, Washington, operation in 1925. Orig-
inal sawmill here was built by W. P. Sayward in
1865. (Photo Ames Collection, University of Wash-
ington)

T. A. Peterson's opinion. "In most cases he did what
he thought was right — not because it pleased people.
And so he had trouble with the unions. Rather than
accept practices he thought were detrimental, he closed
the mill long before any economic factors forced him to."
So, T. A. went to Weyerhaeuser as Longview planing
mill superintendent and subsequently set up his own
wood specialty firm, the T. A. Peterson Manufacturing
Co. "I always felt those years in Onalaska were an
enriching experience for everybody who went along with
us. It couldn't help but do good and we saw many evi-
dences of it."

SCHOONERS AT MILL OF "WHITE CITY BY THE SEA." Schooners Alvina and Irene at Gardi-
ner Mill in 1898, made famous by W. F. Jewett whose character and principles of cleanliness gave
the town its color — white. (Photo courtesy Louis Seymour)

"SPOTLESS TOWN" GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

White City By The Sea — Spotless Town — Jewett's
Dream. In this latter day take your pick of the names
they used to call it, remembering it was just another
port on the broad Pacific — Gardiner, Oregon.

W. F. Jewett was the man who made the place dif-
ferent. His character even today pervades the creeks
and valleys of the Umpqua and his spirit still presides
over the faded white of the buildings on the hillside over-
looking the old site of the Gardiner Mill Company.

This port three miles north of today's Reedsport had
more than twenty years of history before Jewett came
on the scene. In 1856 four men — Gardiner Chism,
David Morey, John Kruse and George Bauer — built a
mill at Barrett's Landing using timbers from the old
blockhouse at Umpqua City. Then Capt. A. M. Simpson,
who had been active in California, moved a redwood
mill to Gardiner.

In this early day there was a mining boom up the
Umpqua and Sylvester Hinsdale, of a seafaring family,
came here with three Swedish wrought - iron boats
equipped with steam engines and twin screws to set
up river transportation to Scottsburg. He logged some
for the sawmills as did Capt. Simpson's two brothers.
A second mill was built by Simpson a few years later.

Then another era started in 1877 with George S. Hins-
dale, Ed Breen and J. B. Leeds purchasing both mills.
Two years later, Maine man W. F. Jewett appeared.
Then when the Joseph Knowland interests of California
bought in, Jewett became superintendent and manager,
with Oscar Hinsdale second in command, and at once

instituted policies and principles that were to remain
long after his death 40 years later.

The man who knows the Jewett story best is Louis
Seymour who, at a hale 85, still rides the tides from his
ranch into Reedsport. Louis Seymour was storekeeper
at the Gardiner Mill for 43 years and was as close to

AND TRIMMERMAN PLAYED THE DRUM Ev

erybody in the Gardiner Mill band of 1906 worked
in and out of the mill. Standing, left to right —
Dee Alexander, Roy Roland, Frank Spencer, Cecil
Spaugh (pony sawyer), Pat Fitzgibbons, Geo. P.
Stewart, Albert Janella, Louis Seymour (store
manager), T. W. Angus (head sawyer), James E.
Smith, Henry Bell (filer), William Lest (planer-
man); kneeling, left to right — Frank Seymour
(teamster), J. R. Rush (trimmerman), William
Bernhardt (engineer), Hopel, Sid Gilham. (Photo
courtesy Louis Seymour)

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HIHHHBH

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SHE NAVIGATED THE UMPQUA and Winches
ter Bay in 1877 when George S. Hinsdale and
others purchased original Gardiner Chism mill
and that of Capt. A. M. Simpson, organizing Gar-
diner Mill Co. Louis Seymour fired Restless' wood-
burning boilers. (Photo courtesy Louis Seymour)

GARDINER MILL SHIPS were an integral part
of the Hinsdale -Jewett enterprise at White City
By The Sea. Above, schooner Lily with 350 thou-
sand feet of spruce for San Francisco. She usually
returned with general freight and mill supplies,
was sold to moving picture company for property
use. Center, schooner Lucy leaving Gardiner with
half a million feet of fir in 1895. Below, another
Gardiner ship, Beulah, with full deck load. (Photos
courtesy Louis Seymour)

W. F. Jewett as any man ever was. The mill was a lively
operation when Seymour joined it after driving team
in the woods at 15 and becoming chief engineer of the
river steamer Restless at 22.

"People who didn't know Mr. Jewett very well," says
Louis Seymour, "thought he was a ruthless driver. I
guess he was — inside — with his New England con-
science. But he liked everything clean and white — and
he hated idleness. People around him must be busy.
He probably thought I wasn't busy enough trying to keep
steam up in those wood-burning boilers of the Restless
and put me to work in the store. That was a long time
ago and I never regretted my association with W. F.
Jewett.

"The store was open from 6 in the morning until 9
at night with people in it all the time, either buying
groceries or clothes or loafing and yarning around the
stove. It would accommodate a lot of people — built of
boiler plates and burned 4 foot slabs. Men would sit
around it with their feet on the 2x4 rail and spit in
the sawdust. Plug cut Star and Climax was a pretty
staple item.

"Jewett's work day was as long as he was on his feet.
He'd be out in the log camps as early as anybody cir-
culating in among the Norwegians and Swedes and if a
man wasn't working, he wasn't working period — not
for Jewett. I remember John T. Henderson was his
forester and cruiser for many years and another man
who was dedicated to his work. He'd rove in a 40-mile
circle buying timber, checking this tract and that, sleep-
ing on the trail most of the time. Sam Wilson was a
superintendent in the bull team days.

"And Jewett wanted everything clean around the
mill, the store, houses — everywhere. Sure, this was
White City — Spotless Town. I can see him now, going
around without a coat picking up bits of trash that had
blown in. He'd take a driver and wood wagon and comb
the property. He'd even pay boys four bits a head to
take a skiff and round up stray logs in the bay and river.
He tried to institute this idea of cleanliness in everybody,
from his daughter Narcissa Washburn Jewett and son
William on down to the lowest man on the green chain.
And he was always doing things to improve everybody's
living like importing those three barrels of clams from
his home State of Maine and planting them in the tide-
lands.

"He brought a love of ships with him from Maine,
too. He had an interest in all the river boats around
here, with Capt. Neil J. Cornwall of the steamers Eva
and 0. B. Hinsdale. Gardiner Mill operated several
schooners and both the Lily and the Lucy were favorites
of his. The company's Pasadena was the first oil-burning
steam schooner on the Pacific and the San Gabriel an-
other."

Louis Seymour likes to remember the time he first
became a land owner. One summer day the schooner

STEAMER EVA WAS JEWETT'S JOY A Gardiner Mill Co. boat, the Eva was skippered by Capt.
Neil J. Cornwall. W. F. Jewett and O. B. Hinsdale had interests in all river boats here at the turn
of the century. (Photo courtesy Louis Seymour)

Lily was in and he was walking to the dock when man-
ager Jewett hailed him. joshing about gallivanting around
on the company's time. The storekeeper reminded his
boss that one of his jobs was to tally ship cargo.

"All right, all right," agreed Jewett, "but I've got
something more important. It's nice day. Come on up
river with John and me." He referred to John Sherman
Gray, head planer man and Jewett's brother-in-law.
Seymour stowed the tally board and the three moved
down to where Jewett had a launch tied up. "Now
Louis — vou be captain and I'll be the engineer. John —
you do the piloting."

They went up Dean Creek, tied the boat and hiked
in a mile and a quarter. A Finnish farmer, Jewett ex-
plained, wanted to sell his 160-acre ranch and he pro-
posed the three of them buy it. Louis Seymour would
manage it. "I couldn't buy a setting hen, Mr. Jewett,"
Louis protested, "and anyhow you've got me doing two
jobs now." But they looked at the place, decided it
was worth the money and that Louis Seymour's share
would be $1300. "You manage the ranch," Jewett told
him, "and we'll hire a man to do the actual work and
pay the taxes."

"That's the way it went for about three years," says

WORKERS OF SPOTLESS
TOWN TRADED HERE in

Gardiner Mill Co.'s general
store managed by Louis
Seymour for 43 years who
was a close associate of W.
F. Jewett. Gardiner Mill
operated from 1877 to 1918
when destroyed by fire.
(Photo courtesy Louis Sey-
mour)

NORTH PACIFIC LUMBER MILL— PORTLAND. ( Photo Oregon Collection, University of Oregon)

PORTLAND HARBOR SAWMILLS

Louis Seymour. "The ranch did all right and everybody
was satisfied. Then W. F. Jewett got sick and became
a sort of semi-invalid. One day Charley Douglas, a
Coos Bay attorney, came up to get the Jewett accounts
in shape and I signed a note for my share of the ranch.
A day or so later Willy Jewett pushed his father out in
the store in his wheel chair. Mr. Jewett held out his
hand and gave me what was in it — the torn pieces of
that note."

The Gardiner Mill burned in 1918. W. F. Jewett's
son William H. built a small mill on the site, operating
it for about five years. In 1938 Howard Hinsdale, son
of the original Sylvester, organized the Gardiner Lumber
Co. H. W. Kissling, formerly manager of Winchester
Bay Lumber Co. was president, Hinsdale vice-president
and J. V. Baldridge secretary. The White City of W. F.
Jewett's day had lost character but the old timers could
still see the man in shirt sleeves signalling the wood
wagon along the hillside streets on his eternal quest for
wind drift that spoiled the bayside scene.

The city boasted four bridges over the Willamette.
Cows chewed their cuds on the finest lawns. Timber
came down to the banks of the rivers. The Rose City
was on its way to fame as a deepwater port for lumber
shipping.

This was in 1895. Sawmills of one kind and another
had already been active here for over forty-five years
and a labor supply as well as a lumber buyers' market
was well established. The whip saw plant on the river
bank near Washington Street had first turned out a few
boards in 1847 but two years later Col. William King
built a water power mill and when it burned in 1850,
W. P. Abrams and Cyrus A. Reed, a New Hampshire
schoolmaster, put up a steam sawmill at Second and
Stark. This was built of logs, hewn square, and men had
to be brought in from neighboring areas to put them in
place using a handmade derrick.

During the next ten years, two great developments
took place. John West arrived from Quebec to cruise
the timber on the lower Columbia and manufacture it,
and the first cargo went to Sydney, Australia. After that
the town of Westport never ceased making lumber. Also
young John Halsey Jones left his job as a Clatskanie
logger, walked to Portland, invested his savings in a saw-
mill site on Cedar Creek and with his father, Justus Jones,
built a dam and erected a crude sawmill. The single sash,

STEAM SCHOONER "MONTAGUE" LOADS at Portland. (Photo Oregon Collection, University of
Oregon)

up-and-down saw as well as the carriage was run by
water power, the rough lumber, mostly cedar, hauled to
Portland by ox team and wagon.

In a short while the Jones were able to buy acreage
in the old Terwilliger claim and build a steam sawmill,
the machinery for which came from New York, partly
around the Horn and partly trucked across the Isthmus
of Panama. Word got around from house to trading
post that "people these days are gettin' pretty high and
mighty. Some new-fangled kind of explosive machinery
is goin' in that new mill. They better watch what they're
a-doin'." But the boilers didn't blow up and the mill
cut 15 thousand feet a day which meant in twelve or
fourteen hours.

The elder Jones was a thrifty man. John Halsey
started to buy oil for the machinery. "Oil?" roared
Justus, "We got along with bacon rinds on the muley
saw at Cedar Creek. Oil!" But oil they used — on steel
gears, not fir plugs. The logs came from Sellwood, across
the Willamette, this part of Portland then covered with
dense stands of fir and hemlock. The sawmill men were
all-purpose crews, stopping the machinery to cross the
river by boat, fell and buck trees into logs which they
made up into rafts, towed to the mill by their rowboat.

In 1864 the sawmill burned to the ground. It was
rebuilt at once. In 1879 fire razed it again. Once more
it was reconstructed, bigger and better. Drv kilns were
installed in 1899 — the first in the district. In 1905 the

FRONT STREET MILL— PORTLAND about 1905. (Photo Tillamook Pioneer Museum)

100

YARD AND MILL— PORTLAND LUMBER COMPANY.

Oregon)

(Photo Oregon Collection, University of

mill had Portland's first band saw and in 1911 its first
gasoline truck although lumber was hauled for manv
years following by the Jones Lumber Company's thirty
head of draught horses.

Several small mills sprang up from Portland to the
sea in the early '70s. Then George W. Weidler built a
mill at the foot of Savier Street and cut 50 thousand feet
a day. This "wonder of the ages" brought the curious
from near and far. The district became known as Slab-
town and the operation eventually became the Willamette
Steam Sawmills and Manufacturing Co.

The Knapp steam mill at Knappton, which was later
to emerge as the Peninsula Lumber Company, was bought
by Capt. A. M. Simpson and shipped to Empire on Coos
Bay. Pennoyer's plant later became Portland Lumber
Co. In 1879 Simon Benson arrived to start logging
around St. Helens.

In 1895 M. F. Henderson and Lucky Jack Peterson
leased a tract of land near Portland, built a sawmill and
launched the Western Lumber Company, the name
changed as developments occurred to Eastern and West-
ern Lumber Company. Winslow B. Ayer had been
operating the Portland Cordage Company, became part-
ner as Peterson left to go logging.

In 1903 F. H. Ransom came from Sierra Lumber
Company in California to become manager and the com-
pany bought timber west of Kelso and on Westport
Slough and when it took over the small circular mill of
Albina Lumber Company, its owner W. A. Dempsey
became secretary of Eastern and Western. Phillip Bueh-
ner was assistant manager.

One May night of this vear, just after the six p.m.
whistle, while workers were lined up for their pay
envelopes, two men moved out of the black fog with their

faces masked and held up the office, escaping with the
$5000 payroll. A few days later fire destroyed the old
Western mill.

Eastern and Western Lumber Company used a saw-
mill without a green chain. A "camelback" conveyor
pulled all lumber out into the yard where it slithered to
either side and formed a mountainous heap. The plan
seemed to be to get it out of the mill as quickly as
possible so more could be cut. Many times an order
could not be filled because it was impossible to sort out
the sizes and grades from the big pile and it was neces-
sary to cut it again, perhaps a third time. In this hap-
hazard system, or lack of it, sawmill hands often left
the job to catch trout in the creek which ran through a
gulch nearby.

Labor unrest centered on Eastern and Western. In
March. 1906, J. W. Fowler became the new superintend-
ent. The sawmill workers demanded a raise and Fowler
told them to wait. No decision forthcoming, the men
walked off the job. Other mills went on strike with Big
Bill Haywood heading the organizing. There was a
constant parade of strikers at the Eastern and Western
plant, fighting, stone throwing. Fifteen police officers
were assigned duty here while I.W.W. members made
off with the strike fund.

Close by the Eastern and Western mill one night,
moving along in the dark waters of the Willamette River,
a beautiful maiden was dimly seen clinging to the bark
of a big log while a terror stricken man clawed his way
to the top of a giant sawdust pile and leaped to his
death. Thus was justice and retribution depicted in
filming the climax of James Oliver Curwood's "The
Flaming Forest."

101

HAMMOND LUMBER MILL— GARIBALDI on Tillamook Bay, Ore., in 1929. (Photo Tillamook
County Pioneer Museum)

THREE WHISTLES SAVED THE MILL

The skipper of the Santa Maria was afraid of the
Tillamook Bar. He said so. He accepted the lumber
cargo and the farewell honors tendered him but doubted
if he'd ever be back to this sawmill. He'd see. When he
got to deep water, he'd sound the ship's whistle — one
long blast if he stood on his better judgment not to
return, three short ones if he decided to return.

The mill was shut down while everybody in Hobson-
ville stood or climbed the cliffs to watch the Santa Maria
cross out. When at long last she was safely out of the
Bay and heading south, all eyes were fastened to the
whistle bolted to her stack. Their jobs depended on
what the steam jet said. Then a white plume shot out
and rode away on the southwest wind. Nothing more.
All hearts sank. The Santa Maria was not coming back.
Then suddenly a second wisp of steam appeared. And
a third. The crew threw hats in the air and danced on
them. Joseph Smith bellowed above the noise: "Get up
steam and saw like hell ! We got to have lumber ready
when she docks again!"

This was the high point in the early career of the
Hobsonville, Oregon, sawmill. The 1886 incident set it
on a firm business footing and for twenty years it thrived
under several owners, eventually drifting into a long
period of inactivity and suspense, being finally aban-
doned to rats and rust.

The Joseph Smith family started the famous mill
operation. In 1883, Smith and his two husky sons tried
to buy a sawmill site from Charles Robson, founder and
principal landowner of Hobsonville. They considered
the water carry from Astoria to Tillamook Bay and
decided a mill here, shipping direct to San Francisco,
would have a definite advantage. But Robson had no
sites to sell. The Smiths then blasted one of the rock
on the point, extending it on piling.

Then their troubles began. Machinery ordered from
Astoria had to be rescued from flames in the great fire
of July 2, 1883. Then the ship carrying it south was
wrecked on the Tillamook Bar and the equipment was
badly damaged when salvaged. When the mill did get
started there was only the scanty local market of Lincoln
(later Tillamook) and Hobsonville to supply.

The Smiths had only one element in their favor —
labor. The crew was made up of homesteaders and In-
dians whose wages were paid with orders on the company
store. There were bunkhouses for Indian bucks and
single white men. The men with families built shanties
on the rocky shelves above the mill. A sawmill town
grew up on the terraced ground on both sides and a
hotel site blasted out of the cliff. A lumber yard was
built and the slab incline running from beach to cliff
top was dubbed Sawdust Avenue.

With the mill sawing, Joseph Smith negotiated with
San Francisco for space on boats for direct shipment.

102

TILLAMOOK BAY CLASSIC AT HOBSONVILLE

1899 look at Truckee Lumber Co. mill, built and
first operated by Joseph Smith and sons in 1883
under severe difficulties. Hadley Lumber Co.
bought mill in 1906, next year reorganizing as
Miami Lumber Co. In 1909 it was sold to Ganahl
and Co. of San Francisco but soon lay idle. Watch-
man held vigil for ten years but mill went into
decay. (Photo Tillamook County Pioneer Museum)

PROSPERITY RULED OVER KRUGER SHIPS

when they carried lumber to San Francisco for
Truckee Lumber Co. at old Hobsonville. Left to
right in photo — sea tug Ranger, steam schooners
W. H. Kruger and Truckee, bay tug Annarine
docked at company store. (Photo Tillamook Coun-
ty Pioneer Museum)

But California ship owners were afraid of the Tillamook
Bar. Impatiently Smith sent his son "Buck" south with
power to buy, lease or otherwise procure ships — even
if he had to mortgage the sawmill to do it. It was not
until 1886 that Buck Smith was able to lease a steamer,
the Santa Maria and he returned on her as pilot. Then
came the high drama recounted above and the mill went
ahead, employing fortv men with high hopes.

Two years later the Smiths sold out to the Truckee
Lumber Company of California and with W. H. Krueger
at his head and J. E. Sibley in charge of the sawmill,
the enterprise went on to expansion and glory. With the
company's own ships crossing the bar successfully other
skippers called for cargoes. The five hundred people in

103

HOBSONVILLE MILL
CREW— 1890. Left to right:
"1_ Archie Gish, 2 — Paul
Thorall, 3 — Frank Pierson,
4 — Lester Nilson, 5 — Hewey
Robbins, 6 — Conrad Thorall,
7— Jim Mapes, 8— Bill Gil-
more, 9 — Wm. Campbell, 10
—called "The Tramp," 11—
John Bodle, 12— Bob Rob-
bins, 13 — Theo. Jacoby, 14 —
Lee Alley, 15 — Al Bynum,

16 — Joe Warren, 17 —

McDonald, 18 — Ben Benton,
19 — Lew. Riefenberg, 20 —
Ben Vantress, 21 — Harold
Weaver, 22 — Phineas Van-
tress, 23 — Harry Warren, 24
— Billy Watt, 25 — Frank
Warren, 26 — Andy Williams,
27— Pat Doughney, 28— un-
identified, 29 — Jimmie Heed-
speth, 30 — Milo Richardson,
31 — unidentified, 32 — Geo.
Allendorf, 33— Gust Nelson,
34 — J. E. Sibley." (Photo
Tillamook County Pioneer
Museum)

Hobsonville saw its highest prosperity during the next
seventeen years. Krueger died early in this period and
0. C. Haslett became president, building the steamers
W . H. Krueger and Redondo for the California trade.
The Sequoia, also operated by the Truckee Lumber Com-
pany, was wrecked on the Bar with a full cargo of lumber.

From 1906 to 1909 the mill had three owners — then
obscurity. Local interests formed the Hadley Lumber
Company which took over the mill, changing the firm
name to Miami Lumber Company. Then a business de-
pression closed the plant and then Ganahl and Company
of San Francisco attempted to operate it with no success.

Then followed a long period of suspense and waiting.
The mill crew remained for a while, hoping against hope

the operation would be resumed, but finally drifted away,
one by one. A watchman was retained to look after the
property and year after year, he and his wife, living
over the once busy store, saw the mill deteriorate. The
buildings fell into disrepair, the logs broke out of booms
in the winter storms. The hotel remained furnished but
no one came to stay in it.

For ten long years the watchman's lonely vigil went
on. Then came complete abandonment. The mill build-
ings became bare bones with tree shoots growing be-
tween the slabs of the sawing floor. Rats scampered over
the cookhouse range, docks and booms. Rust ate the
refuse burner away. Hobsonville had a ghost.

EFFENBERGER MILL —
NEHALEM about 1905. Left
to right: Otto Effenberger,
Oscar Effenberger, Dave
Peregoy, Walter Walker,
Bill Effenberger, Joe Effen-
berger, Oscar Kline. (Photo
Tillamook County Pioneer
Museum)

104

BROOKINGS HAD A SAWMILL

At ten o'clock in the morning of a day that held much
promise, the mill whistle suddenly sounded and extended
into a long, drawn-out, apprehensive howl. Perhaps half
a dozen people in Brookings knew what the whistle meant.
Most of the townspeople and workers in the big Califor-
nia and Oregon Lumber Company mill simply wondered.
Within minutes they knew.

The C and 0 whistle on that 1925 day sounded the
end of hopes, plans and operation. The mill machinery
stopped with a jolt. Not another wheel or roll ever
turned. A redwood log lay sprawled halfway up the slip.
The carriage jerked to a standstill just before it came up
to the slack band saw. Fires died under the boilers.
Ships at the long dock rocked idly, short of cargo. Crane
arms pointed at varying angles. Cedar, spruce and red-
wood in the pond remained undisturbed as green lumber
warped in the yards. This was it.

The California and Oregon Lumber Company had
been launched in a big way with all the backing wealth
could give it, with all the confidence and cooperation of
grateful citizens. But after eleven years of operation
errors of judgment and management had caught up and
a great enterprise was a dead thing. Within a week 1100
people moved out of Brookings, hotels and stores closed
and the mill lay victim to the ravaging reach of rust
and decay.

The Brookings story goes back to 1906 when William
James Ward, fresh out of Cornell and the Forestry
Service, cruised timber along the Pistol and Chetco

HOPES WERE HIGH IN 1914 when this picture
was taken of new California and Oregon Lumber
Co. mill in Brookings, Ore., but blasted when mill
suddenly shut down in 1925 and never reopened.
(Photo courtesy L. P. Cress)

THERE WAS BIG MONEY behind the Brookings
boom that began in 1906 when the Brookings fam-
ily of San Bernardino, Calif., acquired extensive
timber lands in Curry County. (Photo courtesy
L. P. Cress)

105

Rivers. He had been sent here by the Brookings family —
John E., Robert S. and W. Dubois — which operated
the successful San Bernardino Lumber and Box Company
and had endowed the Brookings Institute in Washing-
ton, D.C.

With the purchase of timber the California and Ore-
gon enterprise began. Nothing was too good, said the
Brookings men. They brought in expert designers to
plan and place the mill properly. Hotels, stores, workers'
homes were built. A bank opened. Thirty miles of rail-
road tapped the redwoods and a thousand foot dock ran
out to meet the ships.

L. P. "Vern" Cross was one of the men who had come
up from "San Berdoo" to work at the new mill. He ran
an engine on the woods grade. He remembers vividly
the 1914 day when the mill opened and the future was
bright. After the blow up he was one of the few who
stayed in town.

"We had a lot of good years and never a hint that
things weren't going right with management. Henry
Nutting was woods superintendent and James H. Owen
mill manager. J. E. Brookings' son Walter was sales
manager in the San Francisco office. I brought in many
a trainload of logs and there were ships in here all the
time, company owned — the Brookings, Quinault, South
Wast, Stout. They carried rough lumber to the finishing
plant at C and 0 yard in Oakland. Frank Stout held the
controlling interest after 1920 and Mr. Gray was man-
ager then.

"It was all too good to be true, I guess. Sure was a
big disappointment to all of us when the mill closed.
I was just braking down for the mill with twenty-eight
cars of logs when that mournful old whistle started.
Figured something unusual was up. Didn't take me long
to find out I had no more job.

"Then the depression really finished things here until
the town began to make a normal comeback. The Brook-
ings Land and Timber Company began liquidating all
its interests. The bank closed. That was the last straw."

But human nature is innately hopeful. The big bulk
of the mill still stood there on the bluff and people still
looked at it and thought maybe it would start up again.
"You never know how big business figures things. Other
mills here on the Coast are doing all right."

Then they had an answer and it was not good. They
saw two men go into the mill one morning and when
they came out, smoke followed them. And then flames.
The big mill was burning up. The townspeople watched
it burn with sad eyes and the two workmen shrugged off
questions. They just had orders to burn the mill. Only
way to stop the taxes.

Brookings had a lumber industry — it says here.

1000 FOOT DOCK SERVED C&O SHIPS Califor-
nia and Oregon Lumber Co. owned carriers Brook-
ings, Quinault, South Coast, Stout and other ships
freighting lumber to remanufacturing plant in
Oakland. The Brookings had been a Great Lakes
ore boat. ( Photo courtesy L. P. Cress)

30 BOXES OF RAILROAD tapping timber in the
Pistol and Chetco River areas was one of the high
costs of California and Oregon Lumber Co. opera-
tion in Brookings. Company also owned ships and
planned great future for the town. L. P. "Vern"
Cross, donor of these pictures, was engineer here.
(Photo courtesy L. P. Cross)

106

. ;

SCHOONER KLICKITAT was one of fleet on the regular run between Port Gamble, California and
Hawaii. Twelve foot deck loads were customary cargo and more than often were swept overboard
before ships cleared Cape Flattery. (Photo Ames Collection, University of Washington)

LUMBER ON THE HIGH SEAS

At the turn of the century tall masts and taut lines
screened every harbor on the Coast between San Fran-
cisco and Vancouver. In every cove boasting a sawmill,
sail-borne ships lay in wait for cargo or were loading
it by hand. And wherever there were tidewater mills
little shipyards were bending keels for wooden lumber
carriers large and small. Gold and oil in California,
rebuilding San Francisco after the fire, building the
Panama Canal and the first World War gave tremendous
impetus to the lumber industry. California coastal ship-
yards, Coos Bay, the Columbia River, Hoquiam, Aber-
deen, Port Blakely, Winslow, Tacoma, Everett, Belling-
ham, Victoria and Vancouver contributed vessels to
carry it. Ballard, just outside of Seattle, also built
schooners for the trade — among them the Wilbert L.
Smith, William Nottingham, Willis A. H olden, J. W.
C7i.se and Alex T. Brown.

The three-master schooner C. A. Tliayer, built at
Fairhaven, California, in 1895, was a long-lived example
of the sturdiness of Douglas fir for ships. With a capac-
ity of 575,000 feet of lumber she was comparatively
large — length, 156 feet; beam, 36 feet; depth 11.8 feet;

452 tons gross.

Until World War II the schooners Commodore, built
in Seattle in 1919, and Vigilant, built in Hoquiam in
1920, were regularly engaged in the lumber carrying
trade from the Pacific Northwest to the Hawaiian Islands
for the firms of Lewers & Cooke and City Mill Co. The
former ship carried 1,500,000 feet, the latter 1,700,000.
They were the last of the big windjammers which lent
great romance to the waterfront.

To Hawaii also sailed the four-masted schooner Alice
Cooke, built at Port Blakely in 1891. She preceded the
Commodore in plying this route carrying 900.000 feet
each voyage. Other well known sailers built from 1918
to 1920 for carrying lumber included the Betsy Ross,
Ecola, K. V. Kruse, L. W. Ostrander, Malahat, Monitor.
North Bend, Oregon Fir, Oregon Pine, George U. Hind.
S. P. Tolmie, Fort Laramie, Ella A.. Eleanor H., Forest
Dream, Forest Pride, Forest Friend, Conqueror, Anne
Comyn and Kalherine McCall. While they made profit
for their owners during lumbers big heyday they fell
victims to the post-war depression and the competition
of steam.

Actually ships built on the West Coast constituted
only a small part of the tonnage calling there for cargoes.

107

BUILDING DECKLOAD ON SCHOONER at Warren, Oregon.
Collection, University of Oregon)

(Weister Co. photo from Oregon

Most of these were British and European. One of the
most unique was the seven-masted iron barkentine E. R.
Sterling, built in Belfast in 1883 and launched as the
Columbia for German owners. About 1907 the vessel
was wrecked off the Washington coast and after being
salvaged was admitted to American register and rebuilt
as a seven-master with square sails on her foremast.
This unusual rig attracted attention in every port and
there were plenty of them from the North Pacific to
Australia — 2,500,000 feet of lumber out, coal on the
return voyage.

Other big sailers were those of the Dollar fleet, most
of them previously German owned and war captured.
The Alexander Dollar and some of the others carried
3,000,000 feet or more. Of the large wooden carriers
the Oregon Fir and Oregon Pine, five-masters built on
the Columbia in 1920, had a capacity of 2,400,000 feet.

Fifty years ago lumber was hauled to shipside by
horse and hand truck, slid down a chute by gravity or
lifted aboard in slingload by gear operated by a donkey.
The rough lumber was piled solid and it took time and
much labor to stow and unload. It also required many
long days to get these windjammers over the seas. Yet
many of the voyages equalled steamship time of later
date. The barkentine Irmgard made the trip from Hono-

lulu to San Francisco in 10 days and 10 hours and the
barkentine Annie Johnson made the reverse trip in 8
days and 18 hours, log book showing her top speed at
13 knots, none less than 9. The schooner Spokane once
made the Honolulu to Cape Flattery run — 2,288 miles —
in 8 days and 16 hours. The schooner Solano ran from
Shanghai to Port Townsend in 24 days.

The steam schooner was a type developed on and for
the North Pacific, designed for the rapid handling of
lumber. Many of the early carriers were "single enders"
with engines and housing aft, affording an entire sweep
of the deck for long lengths and permitting speed in
loading and discharging. In those days a carrier of
500,000 feet was in the large class. As capacities in-
creased to a million and a million and a half designs
were altered to fit all types of lumber cargoes.

Plans for the typical steam schooner called for ample
stability with about two-fifths of the cargo in the hold,
three-fifths as deck load. Consequently these handy and
useful craft looked like floating lumber stacks when
outward bound. One fact that promoted the single-end
type was that with machinery aft, they could nose into
small, shallow harbors where ships on even keel could
not reach. The newer type of steam schooner carried
long wooden booms, 70 to 75 feet in length, which

108

TWO-TON TIMBERS FOR
TEUTONS Loading bridge
timbers through stern ports
of German schooner Lilbek
at Port Blakely about 1910.
Timbers sized 22"x22"x79'.
(Asahel Curtis photo from
Washington State Historical
Society)

reached to the end of loading docks, eliminating labor
and moving berth. Further fast handling was attained
by winches with offshore and inshore falls operated by
one driver. Double-enders were later equipped with fast
gear fore and aft, some ships with runways through the
midship house for long timbers on deck.

When chartered for lumber, many foreign-built ships
with short decks and small hatches had to have their
fore and aft ports cut so that long lengths of timbers and
piling could be loaded. Vessels built for the trade had
expanded hatches and long deck space making port
unnecessary.

Some of the power vessels catering to the lumber
trade were the Brookdale. Donna Lane, Caoba, Lake
Francis, La Merced, Libby Maine, Mount Baker, Nika,

Oregon, Redwood, W. F. Barrows, H. B. Lovejoy, J. C.
Kirkpatrick, Joanna Smith, Santa Flavia, Sierra, Skagway
and Frank Lynch.

To the above memory adds the name of steamer
schooners which made West Coast History: Nehalem,
Necanicum, F. S. Loop, Horace X. Baxter, Hornet, Wasp,
Bee, Johan Poulsen, Santa Ana, Santa Inez, Culburra,
Cethana, Boobyalla, Mukilteo, barge Rufus E. Wood,
Wilmington, Nome City, Multnomah, Port Angeles,
Lakme, Falcon, Charles Nelson, Cricket, Davenport, Nor-
wood, Fred Baxter, Providencia, Tiverton, Hartwood,
Parsis 0, Svea, Willie A. Higgins, Frank D. Stout, Pasa-
dena. Phoenix, Rosalie Mahoney, Wapama, Wahkeena,
G. C. Landauer, Helen P. Drew, J. B. Stetson, Ernest H.
Meyer, Elizabeth and San Diego.

109

MADE 80 DAY WARTIME VOYAGE with 1,590,000 feet of lumber from mills of MacMillan and
Bloedel, Limited. Five-masted City Of Alberni, built at Hoquiam, Wash., sailed from Vancouver to
Sidney, Australia, encountering storms, intense heat and enemy threats, but made 9000 mile trip
safely. (Photo from MacMillan and Bloedel, Limited, Collection)

SHE PADDLED LOGS AND LUMBER Working out of Everett, Washington, the sternwheeler
Swinomish was once assigned to haul a scowload of lumber out to an English bark. The mate of the
"limejuicer' saw the Swinomish belching smoke, her deck house almost hidden by piles of lumber.
"I say, sir," he said to the captain, "this is an odd country. They bring the sawmill right out to
the ship!" (Photo Joe Williamson Collection)

110

(Si

EMPIRE MILL RESISTED STORMS of wind,
weather and commerce. Built of Port Orford cedar
on heavy piling, mill at Empire City, Coos Bay,
was effort of Southern Oregon Improvement Co.
to carry on original business built by Henry H.
Luse. Mill remained idle for 40 years while crew
kept machinery oiled. (Photo Victor C. West Col-
lection)

BAY CITY MILL HAS HAD VARIED CAREER

This Coos Bay veteran was originally operated by
Labree in early '80s, then by Merchant until Dean
Lumber Co. took it over. In 1907 C. A. Smith
Lumber Co. ran mill, later selling to McKenna
Lumber Co. Latest owner Coos Head Timber Co.
(Photo Victor C. West Collection)

COOS BAY GOES SAWMILLING

They were saying around the settlement, where the
Coos River formed a bay in the Pacific Ocean, there
was a race on between a man named Luse and a Capt.
Simpson as to which would get his sawmill finished first.
Either way it looked like things were going to be good.
There was lots of timber around, a good deepwater har-
bor inside the bar and men would have a lot of work.

Here in Coos Bay in 1856 there wasn't much to get
excited about. Capt. William H. Harris, a member of
the Coos Bay Company which explored the area a few
years before, had decided to stay. He took up a donation
land claim, made a trip to Roseburg to file it and re-
turned to build a cabin. He laid out the town and platted
eight blocks of it, called it Empire because it sounded
big. A hotel was built, a store appeared and a fort was
built to discourage the Indians.

Now both Henry Luse and Capt. Simpson were liven-
ing things up. Luse was an intelligent and energetic
pioneer who had educated himself through study and
reading. He saw all the timber and wanted to do some-
thing about it. When he heard of a sawmill for sale
in Astoria, he went there and brought it back to Empire
where Capt. Harris gave him land on the waterfront.

Capt. Asa M. Simpson had walked up from Califor-
nia, bought 160 acres of land and timber for $300 and
started the framework of a sawmill. Then he went back
south, bought the machinery used in gold pioneer Sutter's
mill, loaded it on the coaster Quadratus and with his
brother, Louis P. Simpson, started north.

Henry Luse's mill was almost finished when the
Quadratus tried to cross the Coos Bay bar in a storm.
She struck a reef and with seas sweeping over her decks

111

several men were lost including Louis Simpson. But
finally the Quadratus was blown free and managed to
limp into Empire with the machinery intact. Then Capt.
Asa found to his dismay that Henry Luse's mill was
already operating.

It was a steam mill cutting 8 to 10 thousand feet every
twenty-four hours. Luse himself worked as long as
eighteen, in the mill or salvaging logs off the beach,
since he had spent all his cash on the mill.

During the 1860s both Luse and Simpson built ship-
yards, the latter turning out 58 ships, one of them the
first full-rigged vessel built on the Pacific Coast — the
Western Shore. Luse improved his sawmill and built
wharves beyond the mud flats, linking them to the mill
with a trestled approach on which ran a tram. Ware-
houses went up and business thrived. The Port Orford
cedar brought a premium price in San Francisco to be
made into lucifer matches and broom handles, lath and

STAVE MILL WAS COOS BAY OLD TIMER—

built about 1900 and operated by Oakland Box and
Stave Co. (Photo Victor C. West Collection)

ORIGINAL PORTER MILL PRESENT WEYER-
HAEUSER PLANT Built by California Lumber
Co. in 1880, mill became Capt. A. M. Simpson's
second Coos Bay property in 1899. Buehner Lum-
ber Co. operated it, then Stout Lumber Co. until
it burned on Feb. 25, 1926. Shipyard shown is
Kruse and Banks. Mound at left held grave of
Indian chief, each owner preserving it until Wey-
erhaeuser enlarged plant. (Photo Oregon Histori-
cal Society)

112

SIMPSON'S FIRST IN COOS BAY "Old Town" sawmill built in 1858 by Capt. Asa Simpson in com-
petition with Henry Luse as to which mill would be finished first. Simpson lost when ship Quadratus
bringing equipment of Sutter's California mill was wrecked on Coos Bay bar. Asa Simpson's
brother Louis P. was lost, machinery saved. Under several owners mill had 93 years' operation.
(Photo Victor C. West Collection)

staves. Empire became the Coos County seat and rated
a customs house.

Both sawmills had economic trouble and were plagued
by fires. After the one in 1885, Capt. Simpson bought
out brother Robert, changed the firm name to Simpson
Lumber Company, enlarged the mill and made son Louis
J. Simpson president.

About this time Empire got a new lease on life when
the Southern Oregon Improvement Company bought
Henry Luse's sawmill and acquired 170 town lots. Big
plans were made and included a railroad from Roseburg.
Machinery for a monster mill was ordered from the East
and two steamers came around the Horn to be used in
trade.

Work was begun on the mill on a broad scale. Four
piledrivers drove 4000 white cedar piles and for the mill
building itself which was 72'x400', 364 additional piles
were sunk and capped by 13"xl6" timbers. Floor joists
were 6"xl6", uprights 16"xl6" supporting stringers of
the same size.

However the plans met snags. The railroad from
Roseburg never materialized and Empire was not con-
sidered as good for shipping as North Bend and Marsh-
field. Columbia River ports had already captured most
of the market. The mill closed down but the owners kept
it ready to saw lumber at any moment. For forty years
the maintenance crew oiled and greased the machinery.
Some of them died of old age and were replaced. When

STEAM SCHOONER A. M.
SIMPSON loads door stock
at plant of North Bend Man-
ufacturing Co. (Photo Ore-
gon Historical Society)

113

the whistle finally blew the mill was ready and the saws
hummed, thanks to Port Orford cedar and patience.

In the meantime Simpson's Old Town mill as they
called it in Marshfield and North Bend, was taken over
by other owners, in succession — Bay Park Lumber Com-
pany, McDonald-Vaughan (William Vaughan had worked
as Simpson's bookkeeper) and Coos Bay Logging Com-
pany of which Vaughan was president.

In 1899 Capt. Simpson acquired the sawmill of the
California Lumber Company, which was known as the
Porter Mill. This also had a parade of owners over the
years, among them — Buehner Lumber Company and
Stout Lumber Company. It burned on Feb. 25, 1926.
Each new owner rebuilt and enlarged the mill, the last
one Weyerhaeuser Timber Co.

After the turn of the century another mill enterprise
put Coos Bay in the big time. A Minneapolis lumberman,
C. A. Smith, who had been operating in Eldorado County
(Calif.) sugar pine, Humboldt County redwood (Bay
Meadows) and Oregon spruce on the Alsea River, bought
timber back of Coos Bay and set up the Smith-Powers
Logging Co.

The next step was the purchase of a small sawmill
at the head of Coos Bay — the Dean Mill — which later
became known as the East Side Mill. Across the inlet
Smith bought a large tract of land and built the main
sawmill. Finishing plant was at Bay Point, Calif, and
steam schooners Nann Smith and Redondo shuttled be-
tween, making round trips every five days. A third ship,
Adeline, was added to the fleet in 1912.

CALLED "LARGEST SAWMILL IN WORLD" in

1912 by newspapers — C. A. Smith Lumber Co.,
Marshfield, Ore. Minneapolis lumberman Smith
purchased Dean mill, rebuilt nearby and with
steamers Nann Smith and Redondo running to
finishing plant at Bay Point, Calif., had mammoth
operation. (Photo Victor C. West Collection)

At this time the payroll included about 2000 names.
The Portland Oregonian called the C. A. Smith Lumber
Company "the largest sawmill in the world" and the
American Lumberman issued a special 100 page supple-
ment lauding the operation in all detail. Smith-Powers
Logging Co. owned 220,000 acres in Coos and Douglas
Counties, almost all Port Orford cedar. And C. A. Smith,
always a business man, purchased a ranch, primarily
for the timber, but the first year the land yielded 9000
boxes of strawberries and 600 boxes of apples.

"MILL B" WAS ANOTHER COOS BAY STAL-
WART Plant of North Bend Manufacturing Co.
was formerly Stout mill, then owned by Irwin-
Lyons and Al Pierce Lumber Co. (Photo Oregon
Historical Society)

114

,?!^£~~

■t*?"*-^

•V

20 MILLION FEET of redwood logs in this Pudding Creek winter storage. From 1906 to 1916, Union
Lumber Co. removed logs by incline and railroaded them one mile to mill at Fort Bragg. (Photo
Union Lumber Company Collection)

MENDOCINO COUNTY HAS COLORFUL PAST

The first attempts at lumbering along the Northern
California coast were in the early '50s. Chinese had
rigged up perpetually-operating muley saws powered by
incoming and outgoing tides. Settlers crossing the Hum-
boldt Bar, beached the side-wheel steamer Santa Clara
near the future towns of Buckport and Areata and with
long belts hitched up to the ship's paddle wheels got
power to four saws on shore, cutting 40,000 feet of red-
wood a day.

A small water power mill was built on the Albion
River by Capt. William Richardson in 1851 ; another
was a larger, steam-powered mill on Big River in 1852,
with a second mill built to handle the bigger redwoods
just north of the present Mendocino City. The latter
enterprises were known as the California Lumber Co.
and owned by Harry Meiggs, Jerome Ford and E. C.
Williams.

The Big River mill burned in 1863, was rebuilt and
operated until 1938. Another steam mill was built on
the Albion River in 1853, owned in 1856 by A. W. Mac-
Pherson a native of Scotland, who took in a partner,
Henry Wetherby, and rebuilt the mill when it burned
in 1867. These two men later organized the Pacific
Lumber Co. in Humboldt County. When MacPherson
died in 1880, the Albion property became the Albion
Lumber Co. which was sold to Miles Standish (an actual
descendant of Pilgrim Capt. Miles Standish) and Henry
Hickey, who after 15 years, sold the mill to the Southern
Pacific Railroad, which operated it until 1929.

Another early redwood sawmill was started by George
Hagenmayer on the Noyo River in 1852. The Indians
interfered with its operation and high water two vears
later carried the buildings out to sea. Inland a water
power sawmill was constructed by John Gshwond in
1856 at the west end of Anderson Valley over a fork
of the Navarro River. Other mills were built on the same

115

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118

INCLINE TO SCHOONER

Redwood lumber at Green-
wood Creek was lowered
down this narrow gauge
incline and loaded on ships
by chute. Schooner is
Whitesboro. (Photo Union
Lumber Company Collec-
tion)

(Pages 116 and 117) GIANT
SLICES FOR SHINGLE
BOLTS Bucking crew cut-
ting and splitting redwood
monarch. (Photo courtesy
Hammond- California Red-
wood Company)

vicinity by the Clow brothers, Thomas Hiatt and H. 0.
Irish.

From 1858 onward several small mills were estab-
lished in the interior portion of Mendocino county — by
Thomas Elliott, in Redwood Valley, G. F. Bennett near
Laytonville, E. Pryor on Ackerman Creek, Stephen
Holden near Ukiah, Hiram Hatch at Sherwood Valley,
Andrew Gray near Covelo, and the Blosser Bros., near
Willits.

The distinction of a sawmill operating on the oldest
mill site goes to the Caspar Lumber Company. About
1860, Kelley and Randall built a mill on Caspar creek.
Jacob G. Jackson, a native of Vermont, bought into the
firm which was operated as the Caspar River Mills.

Fire levelled the Caspar sawmill in 1889, but it was
rebuilt and resumed operations in 1890. Jackson died
in 1901, and was succeeded in the company management
by his daughter, Mrs. Annie Krebs, and later by his
grandsons, C. E. DeCamp and C. J. Wood.

The forerunner of another historic sawmill started

in 1861 when Tichenor and Hendy built a mill at the
mouth of the Navarro river. In 1863 Tichenor bought
out Hendy, and continued as H. B. Tichenor and Com-
pany. Later Robert Byxbee bought into the company
and when Tichenor died, formed a partnership with
Joseph Clark known as the Navarro Lumber Company.
The sawmill burned in 1890, was rebuilt and burned
again in 1902, ending a 40 year career during most of
which it was one of the leading producers of Mendocino
redwood.

In 1903 a new sawmill was completed at Wendling
(now Navarro), about 15 miles up the Navarro river
from its mouth. This mill, operated by the Wendling
Milling and Lumber company, was purchased in 1905
by the Stearns Lumber company. Stearns ceased to
operate in 1912, and the next year the mill and timber
were purchased by the Standish and Hickey interests,
after which it operated as the Navarro Lumber company.
In 1920 the Albion Lumber company bought out the
Navarro Lumber company, acquiring a second redwood

119

ROLLING REDWOOD THE
HARD WAY in the old days
at Fort Bragg. It was slow
work and not always sure —
moving logs by jackscrews
in 1890. (Photo Union Lum-
ber Company Collection)

sawmill for the Southern Pacific Land company. The
Navarro mill was operated through 1927.

The year 1862 marks the beginning of another saw-
mill on a site in use today. John Rutherford and George
Webber built a steam mill at the mouth of the Gualala
river. William Heywood and S. H. Harmon purchased
half interest in this mill in 1868, and by 1872 had com-
plete control. The Gualala Mill company was formed
four years later consisting of two new men, Charles
Dingley and William Bihler in addition to Heywood and
Harmon. In 1903 the Empire Redwood company pur-
chased the Gualala mill. This mill was destroyed by fire
in 1906.

The E. B. Salsig company, which had purchased the
timber of Empire Redwood company, started construc-
tion of a new mill on the Gualala river in 1914. The

following year the property was taken over by the Amer-
ican Redwood company, which continued construction
of the mill. In 1920, the National Redwood company
took over for a while. The mill was idle from 1921
through 1938 then operated from 1939 through 1942 as
Gualala Lumber company, leased part of that time by
the Southern Redwood company. The mill was disman-
tled in 1943. In 1946 the revived Empire Redwood com-
pany reconstructed the mill and started operations, only
to lose the mill by fire in 1947. Rebuilt on a larger
scale, this mill was leased to Al Boldt Lumber Co.

Various small mills started operation along the streams
between Greenwood Creek and the Gualala river in the
1860's and 1870's such as the Tift and Pound mill, pow-
ered by water, at Hardscratch, between Gualala and Point
Arena. The largest mill in this area, located on the

FIRSTSAWMILLAT
FORT BRAGG constructed
in 1885 by Fort Bragg Red-
wood Co. Mill burned in
1888 and was rebuilt when
company merged with Noyo
Lumber Co. in '91 to form
Union Lumber Co. (Photo
Union Lumber Co. Collec-
tion)

120

SECOND MILL AT MENDOCINO CITY Built in
1854, mill operated muley saw, two single circular
saws with capacity of 60,000 feet a day. (Photo
Union Lumber Company Collection)

WILLITS "EXPRESS" READY TO LEAVE FORT
BRAGG in 1912. Visitors to redwood coast take
train which Union Lumber Company has operated
for more than 50 years. Engine was built in 1883,
had "57" drivers and weighed 115,000 pounds.
(Photo Union Lumber Company Collection)

Garcia river, was completed by Stevens and Whitmore in
1370, and purchased by Byron Nickerson and Samuel
Baker in 1872. They operated for almost 20 years, suf-
fering from flood in 1874. Then L. E. White purchased
the Garcia mill in 1891, and operated it a few years
until the mill burned in 1894. It was not rebuilt.

One of the historic sawmills along the coast began
its history when Fred Halmke started a mill late in 1875
at Cuffy Cove. Completed the following year, this mill
later became the Redwood Lumber company, which in
1884 was purchased by L. E. White. White rebuilt the
mill in 1890 and incorporated in 1894 as the L. E. White
Lumber company. He operated successfully for a number
of years, cutting the timber in and near the Greenwood
Creek basin.

In 1916 the Goodyear Redwood company bought out
L. E. White and continued operation until 1930. The
Goodyear Redwood company went out of business in
1932. Its mill was operated by the Elk Redwood company
in 1934-35. In 1936 this company's portable mill near
Elk burned and the large mill at Elk was dismantled,
ending a 60-year history of operation near Cuffy Cove.
This mill ceased operation because most of its timber
was cut.

In 1885 the big production history of the Union
Lumber Company began with the operation of the new
mill of Fort Bragg Redwood Co. However the actual
story started in 1875 at Mill Creek. (Detailed below.)

From 1875 to 1890 various mills were established
near Westport, on Wages, De Haven, and Howard creeks.
One of the larger of these was the Pollard Lumber com-
pany. In 1877 W. R. Miller built a sawmill on Cottoneva
Creek near present Rockport. Ten years later this was

121

taken over by the Cottoneva Lumber company. The
Rockport mill burned in 1900. Plans for reconstruction
were made, but halted due to difficulties of timber supply.
In 1907 the New York and Pennsylvania Redwood
company purchased the property of the Cottoneva Lum-
ber company, also the sawmill and timber of C. A.
Hooper on Hardy Creek (originally built in 1895). In
1910 this firm changed its name to Cottoneva Lumber
company, and in 1912 its Hardy Creek mill burned. In
1925 the Cottoneva Lumber company sold its property
to the Finkbine-Guild company of Mississippi, which
completed the long unfinished sawmill in 1926 and
started operations. For a short while in 1928 the com-

pany went under the name of Southern Redwood corpora-
tion. After 1929 no logs were sawed, and Finkbine-
Guild was foreclosed in 1932.

In 1938 Rockport Redwood company took over and
resumed operations, until in 1942 its mill burned. The
company continued operations by leasing the San Juan
Creek sawmill (built in 1939 — burned in 1944) and
operating it while rebuilding their Rockport mill. The
new mill started operation in 1943, and has been running
ever since, with the exception of six months close-down
in 1946. Rockport, Union and Caspar were the only
major lumber companies which operated on the Men-
docino coast during World War II.

UNION'S GREENWOOD
CREEK MILL (above)
about 1875, later rebuilt by
L. E. White. Lumber cars
on trucks went down incline
to loading chute. (Photo
Union Lumber Company
Collection)

REDWOOD WATER PIPE

used 1885 to 1935. 20-foot
logs were bored to 6" dia-
meter with auger and ends
bound with iron hoops
which usually rusted before
wood rotted. Small ends of
pipe were driven into larger
and locked with wooden
plug. (Photo Union Lumber
Company Collection)

122

Union Lumber company, for more than 50 years the
major producer of lumber in Mendocino county, had its
origin about 25 years after the first mill was established.
In 1875 the Field Bros., built a small sawmill on Mill
Creek. This mill burned in 1877, but was rebuilt by the
Stewart brothers and Hunter, operating as Newport Saw-
mill company, in 1878. In 1880 they moved the mill and
reconstructed it on the South Fork of Ten Mile river.

Here in 1882, C. R. Johnson arrived and bought a
part interest in the firm, which became Stewart, Hunter,
and Johnson. In 1884 construction was started on a new
sawmill at the site of the old army post known as Fort
Bragg, using parts of the Stewart, Hunter, and Johnson

mill. The company was known as the Fort Bragg Red-
wood company, and C. R. Johnson was its leading figure.

The mill, completed in November, 1885, was destroyed
by fire in April 1888 but immediately rebuilt. The Union
Lumber company was formed in 1891 by a combination
of the Fort Bragg Redwood company, and White and
Plummer. The latter company had been cutting prin-
cipally ties at a sawmill on the Noyo river, originally
built by A. W. Macpherson in 1858.

The newly formed Union Lumber company built a
tunnel through the ridge between Pudding Creek and
the Noyo river to tap the timber in the Noyo basin.

By 1940 the Union Lumber company had become the

SHE CUT REDWOOD FOR
100 YEARS (above) One of
last steam mills in Califor-
nia - Caspar Lumber Co.,
1864-1955. In early opera-
tion logs were dropped by
spectacular chute from bluff
at lower right to Caspar
Creek below. (Photo Union
Lumber Company Collec-
tion)

SAWDUST FOR TENDER
GRAPES supplied o u t of
150,000 pound storage of
Union Lumber Co. Redwood
sawdust was dried in 15
minutes from saw and used
for packing grapes for ship-
ment in barrels. (Photo
Union Lumber Company
Collection)

123

leading lumber producer in Mendocino county. In 1905
this company acquired the Little Valley Lumber company
mill and timber and part interest in each of the Glen
Blair Lumber company and Mendocino Lumber company
sawmills and timber holdings.

The earthquake of 1906 did severe damage to Union's
sawmill, as it did to many other Mendocino coast mills,
because the San Andreas fault, cause of this 'quake, runs
along the Mendocino coast. But by June, Union and five
other major mills were again running and swamped with
orders for lumber for the rebuilding of San Francisco.

The railroad from Fort Bragg to Willits was com-
pleted in 1911, allowing lumber shipments to go any-
where in the country by rail, and relieving complete de-
pendence on water shipment. Many surrounding mills
came to use the facilities of this railroad, operated by
the California Western Railroad and Navigation com-
pany, subsidiary of Union Lumber company, and now
known as the California Western railroad. For the next
20 years Union Lumber company continued a high rate
of production.

A sawmill which had a short life but important bear-
ing on California shipping was the Usal Redwood com-
pany, started in 1889 with J. H. Wonderly as president.
The sawmill, a 1600 foot wharf, and three miles of rail-
road had been completed by 1891 at Usal Creek. In 1894
Robert Dollar assumed the management of this company,
having run out of timber at his Sonoma county operation.
In 1896 Dollar's first steamer "Newsboy" transported
lumber from Usal to San Francisco.

During the following year the company was making
great strides forward in the lumber business. However,
it fell idle by 1902, and shortly after mid-year the saw-
mill was totally destroyed bv fire, which also burned a
warehouse, school, and county bridge. The mill was

never rebuilt, but Captain Dollar went on to expand his
lumber shipping into a general steamship line whose
funnel insignia "$" became famous on the Pacific.

In 1901 the Northwestern Redwood company and the
Irvine and Muir Lumber company were incorporated.
These firms built the first two large redwood mills in
the interior of Mendocino county: Northwestern about
two miles northwest of Willits and Irvine and Muir at
Two Rock Valley. The Northwestern Redwood Lumber
company was the first large redwood mill in the county
to be able to make regular lumber shipments by rail.
In 1903 the Northwestern mill burned, but was immedi-
ately rebuilt.

Irvine and Muir built a second mill along the Noyo
in 1909, about 14 miles from Willits at a place which
came to be known as Irmulco. Operations there ceased
about 1912, but in 1916 sawing had been resumed at the
mill in Two Rock Valley.

In 1919 some of the Irvine and Muir holdings were
sold to Northwestern Redwood company, which had been
operating its sawmill fairly steadily for the past 16 years.
In 1926 Northwestern Redwood cut its last lumber, and
in 1928 its property was taken over by the Irvine-Muir
company. However the mill never operated again, and
was later dismantled.

Several medium and small sized mills operated both
along the coast and in the interior from 1880 to 1930.
Some of the older of these include: A. Haun and Sons
at Branscomb, whose mill was built in 1884; the Wehrs-
pon mill at Ornbaun, started in 1896; Alpine Lumber
company, east of Fort Bragg, starting in 1902; the Glen
Blair Lumber company near Fort Bragg, organized in
1903 from the Pudding Creek lumber (started in 1888):
and Ukiah Redwood Lumber company, Ukiah. There
were other mills in Anderson Valley, near Ukiah, Willits.

124

Laytonville, and the vicinities of Potter Valley and Covelo.

The Southern Humboldt Lumber company in 1904
was building a new mill at Andersonia (now Piercy) on
the South Fork of the Eel river. A railroad was also
under construction up Indian Creek through the low
gap near Kenney and over to Bear Harbor. A large
volume of logs was cut to supply the new mill. Then in
1905, as the sawmill was about to start, its owner, Henry
Anderson, was hit by one of the first logs being hauled
to the mill. He died, and this mill never operated.

By 1947 his grandsons had recovered the property,
formed the Indian Creek Lumber company, and rebuilt
the mill on the old site. The first logs cut were those
which had lain around the mill for 42 years. Others had
been lying in the woods during that time. About 15 per
cent recovery was obtained and 400,000 board feet
salvaged. This mill later changed its name to Andersonia
Lumber company, and in 1953 was under lease to T. M.
Dimmick company.

Before and during World War II, several of the now
larger mills in the county started operation in a small
way. Ben Mast's sawmill, 4 miles west of Laytonville,
started operations in 1937. McDougall Lumber company
started operations near Branscomb in 1941 with a saw-
mill moved over from Lake county. This mill went
through several ownerships, in 1949 becoming the Wil-
son-Beedy Lumber company, which boosted its produc-
tion into the large mill class. Within the past year this
mill has been taken over by Vernie Jack, former mill
superintendent for Wilson-Beedy.

The Ukiah Pine Lumber company commenced opera-
tion in 1942, at Van Arsdale Reservoir, part of which is
used as a log pond. The Saga Land and Improvement
company sawmill at Willits was completed early in 1943

LOADING REDWOOD ON FREIGHTER by cable
and carriage off Noyo River near Fort Bragg.
C. R. Johnson (Union Lumber Co.) and associates
operated National Steamship Co. building and
buying many vessels, such as Noyo, National City,
Brunswick, Coquille River, South Coast, Higgins,
Berkeley, Fort Bragg and Phoenix. (Photo Union
Lumber Co. Collection)

largelv from materials and equipment moved over from
the idle Glen Blair mill site. It operated only 21/o years
until destroyed by fire in mid-1945. However, this mill
was a forerunner of Willits Redwood Products company.
From 1945 to 1948 sawmills built include that of
W. C. Thompson operated by the Crawford Lumber Com-
pany; Harold Casteel mill at Willits which burned in
1946 and was rebuilt by Pacific Coast Company; Hollow
Tree Lumber Company near Hale's Grove which mill was
sold to D. M. W. Lumber Company. Hollow Tree then
took over a mill near Ukiah; Jensen Lumber Company
Willits, later sold to Little Lake Lumber Company, Ukiah
Lumber Mills Inc. whose mill north of that city was com-
pleted in 1947 and sold to Stoll Lumber Company. From
1950 to 1953 new mills were completed by Wolf Creek
Lumber Company at Jackass Creek, Coombs Lumber
Company south of Piercy, Ridgewood Lumber Company
at Willits; H. E. Casteel Industries north of Ukiah, Abo-
rigine Lumber Company near Fort Bragg, Mendocino
Wood Products Company at the Ridgewood Ranch.

125

THE COOKHOUSE IS GONE

"Ulysses S. Grant had just died, there were only
thirty-eight states in the Union, Grover Cleveland was
serving his first term as president — and in the redwoods
C. R. Johnson was completing his new sawmill." This
is the way Alder Thurman set the pace for his account
of the Union Lumher Company's old cookhouse in the
company's house organ — The Noyo Chief.

"An early entry in the Journal and Cash Book on
May 19, 1885, showed 'provisions and dishes for the
cookhouse, $82.07.' The dishes were a far cry from
English china, but the food they held was no respecter
of elegant service. The only requirement being that the
platters were big enough and that there were plenty of
them.

"There was an overseer or manager, six Chinese
cooks, two or three local women or boys to serve, and
a bullcook for making the beds and cleaning the rooms.
Twenty-three bunk rooms were on the second floor of the
cookhouse for the 'board and roomers.' There the single
men lived and the married ones who had left their wives
elsewhere. Many of the married men later sent for their
families and established a home up town. As the single
boys married, others moved in to take their places. There
was always a long waiting list. The food was good and
$15 a month in the '90's brought them three man-filling
meals every 24 hours. In addition to the regular roomers,
most of the Plant workers ate at least one or more meals
a dav at the cookhouse.

WHERE AH JIM COOKED FOB SAWMILL
CREWS. Famous cookhouse at C. R. Johnson's
new mill in Mendocino County, California, built
in 1885. For $15 a month a man got everything
from mush to mulligan three times a day and a
room on the second floor. One of the Chinese
cooks was Young Chan, later a Fort Bragg mer-
chant. (Photo Union Lumber Company Collection)

"The big dining room with its long, oil cloth-covered
tables, could hold up to 120 men at one serving. The
tables had benches seating four on each side. A coffee
pot and a tea pot were permanent fixtures on every table.
The huge ranges were wood fed, their ovens turning out
the white beans and yellow cake that never missed a meal.

"The bill of fare consisted of eggs, mush, hotcakes.
mulligan stews, fried steaks, corned beef and cabbage,
sowbelly, spuds, hash, roast chicken, pies, puddings, the
afore-mentioned white beans and yellow cake and more —
all piled skyward on the bulky, white glazed pottery
platters. No one went away hungry and second and
third helpings were expected.

"The Mill worked two 10-hour shifts, from 7 to 6
and 7 to 6. Meals were served every six hours at 6 and
12 and 6 and 12. The four meals a day kept the cooks
hopping and often hopping mad. More than one of the
gay young blades who tried to sneak in the kitchen ahead
of time for a between-meals' snack was sent running by
a sharper blade on the end of a wicked looking meat
cleaver held aloft by a swearing, sputtering Chinese cook.

"In the early '20's the midnight meal was 'on the
house.' It was the forerunner of the night shift bonus.
For many years the foreman's Friday lunches were looked

126

forward to from week to week. Thev were an opportunity
for getting together to talk over work methods and pro-
duction schedules.

"In the days before the movie houses, radios and
such, the evenings were spent in the combination recrea-
tion and library room. Over 200 books were available
for the literary minded. A commissary where candy and
tobacco were sold was open every noon and for three
hours in the evening. Many a friendly argument which
began as an exchange of words soon became an exchange
of strength. A set of boxing gloves was handy in the
recreation room to make might the master of right, but
in a more gentlemanly method than bare fists.

"In the early days, the Company paid in gold and
silver. Card games, a favorite form of recreation wher-
ever men gathered, were always to be found in the eve-
nings and on pay days the poker games took over. Often
as much as $500 winnings (a verv tidy sum in those
days) would be gathered in an all-night session.

"No doubt many of the men working for the Com-
pany today learned much about life as 'small frys' sitting
in on the worldlv and unworldlv bull sessions held on
the cookhouse steps. For, in spite of the 10-hour shifts,
there was more leisure time than now and many hours
were spent by the wood-whittling philosophers on the
cookhouse veranda. And many were the tales told by
the sea captains and sailors, off the lumber schooners
tied up at the wharf, that filled the young fellows with
dreams of adventures and life on the high seas.

"Times change and the world about us moves on. As
the years rolled by, the character of the lumberjack and
the mill worker changed, too. The old-timers moved on
to make way for their sons and their sons' sons. This
younger generation, now settled in the community was
a stable group. They married, built homes, became active

AND THEY WERE SIX
FOOTERS Largest board
cut in Humboldt County at
the time — 3"x81"xl8' — dis-
played by four gay blades
of Hammond Lumber Com-
pany in 1890. (Photo cour-
tesy Hammond - California
Redwood Company)

in community life and took their places in the Woods
and Plant. Fewer jobs were taken by single fellows
from outside of the area and in January of 1951 an era
passed. The cook house closed its doors for all time.

"In late 1952 the building was torn down. The lum-
ber and fixtures were sold, the old hand-made, square
nails were exclaimed over and the ashes from the few
remaining wood scraps were watered down and hauled
away to be returned to the dust from which they had
come centuries before as small, redwood seedlings.

"Although any story of a building where men have
lived, laughed and sometimes shed a tear, is also a story
of their individual personalities, it is far more the story
of an atmosphere created by their total, accumulated
thoughts and actions. It is for this reason and the fact
that many names must of necessity by the falling away
of contacts be not easily recollected by those still here
that individuals have not been named throughout this
article. They all contributed their bit to this passing
panorama and some whose names are fresher in the
minds of people relating background for this article are
these.

"Mrs. Sydney Williams, Guy Weller's mother-in-law.
was one of the first cookhouse managers. W. W. Ware,
O. H. Seaholm and Fred Hervilla took their turns at
running things. There was C. G. Hing, who hired the
Chinese cooks and helpers; Young Chan, now a retired
Fort Bragg merchant, was a cook. Frank Thompson ran
the commissary for years. Mrs. Norberry and her daugh-
ter, Hazel, waited on tables. There were these and
many more.

"The cookhouse building is gone, but the cookhouse
memories will always remain to quicken the pulse and
fill the air with warm nostalgia wherever former 'room
and boarders' gather to reminisce."

127

SCOTIA BEFORE FIRE

which in 1895 destroyed
most of mill and all stacked
lumber. (Photo courtesy
Pacific Lumber Company)

MARVELOUS ONE-MAN SAWMILL

It wasn't until last summer that we discovered the
one and only sawmill we have ever seen that had the
labor problem solved. This mill, not very far from
Bend, has had the same crew for five years steady, not a
man has quit nor has a man been added to the payroll
in all that time. It is a modern outfit, in that it has some
machinery consisting of several cogwheels, chains, levers
and a 1910 model Chevrolet engine in it. The man that
built the mill is also the owner of it. He is, too, the chief
engineer, fireman, head grader and crew. In fact, it is a
one-man sawmill.

We came across this contraption hidden in the woods
not far from the road, being attracted to it by the cough-
ing sound given out by the engine, which seemed to be
having some kind of trouble with its respiratory organs.
At first sight we took it to be a moonshine still, but we
promptly discarded that idea as nobody shot at us when
we hove in view. Then our startled eye took in a hetero-
geneous mess of sprockets, monkey wrenches, peavies
and flywheels and we knew we had discovered something
even more interesting than a still, if there is anything
more interesting than a still.

The owner was engaged in the brain racking job of
siwashing a log onto the home-made carriage with a
peavy, and inasmuch as whenever he got one end on the
other fell off, his attention was occupied for the moment,
so we leaned carefully up against a roof support to watch
the proceedings. Each time he slammed his end of the
log against the blocks the mill shook from stem to stern

and threatened to collapse in eleven different places. He
finally succeeded in getting one end under a log, but
just as he was about to lift the other back on the carriage
he had to stop and run around the headrig to jiggle a
little piece of bailing wire which did something to the
carburetor. The engine having taken on new life and
slid into its customary idling speed of somewhere around
90 miles an hour, he returned to his deck job, talking
loudly to himself. He had to talk loud to hear himself
above the power plant, but it was easy to see that he was
an educated man. His language was composed of the
finest collection of cuss words it has ever been our pleas-
ure to hear and we've been around sawmills for 20 years.
He was a walking Thesaurus of real old lumberjack
swear words, and he used the most terrifying language
without showing the least sign of being mad at anything.
After getting the log safely fastened on the carriage
and the dogs hammered home, the old fellow dodged
nimbly around to the sawyer's cage and had a talk with
himself in which he discovered that the engineer was
out of gasoline. He stopped the carriage mechanism by
taking a stick and knocking a couple of belts off the
wheels. He jiggled the carburetor in exactly the same
manner that he used to keep it going, as far as we were
able to see, but this time the engine stopped. When the
engine, with its accompanying assortment of belts, wheels,
waffle irons and whatnot, had stopped going around, the
silence was deafening, but the owner kept right on talking
just as loud as ever.

" — hev tew put another leetle touch o' grease on
them thar tracks purty soon," he yelled to himself as

128

FIRST AT FORESTVILLE Early Pacific Lumber Co. mill at what is now Scotia, California, which
gave company its early start in one of the biggest redwood operations. (Photo courtesy Pacific Lum-
ber Company)

the noise subsided. "Seems ez how they squeak a mite
more'n usual t'day."

Dexterously slipping half a gill of snuff under his
lip, he replaced a sprocket which had shaken itself loose
from its moorings, tightened up three nuts and emptied
an oil can on a flywheel bearing, after which he picked
up an empty coal oil can and retired to a shack in the
rear where he filled up with gasoline. He refilled the
tank over his engine, gave the crank a twist and with
half a dozen backfires which threatened to blow the
engine off its foundation, the machinery got under way
again. Two or three boards rattled off the roof and part
of the back wall swayed six inches with each convulsion,
but the building managed to hang together. The general
manager of the plant cocked a speculative eye at the hole
in the roof where the boards had been and sized up the
weather through a place where a wall had once stood.

"Wal, I'll be blinkety blank blanked," he bellowed
conversationally, grinning amiably at us as we clung
desperately to a post to keep from being shaken off the
deck. "Thet makes three times them thar blink blank
boards has shook off the blank blank roof this summer.
It don't make no differ'nce though. We don't git much
rain in this blankety blink blink country."

The carriage, rolling on four wooden spools, wobbled

down a track made of 2x4's on edge. As the wheels were
a couple of inches too wide for the track there was a
slight variation in the cut of from a half an inch to two
inches, depending on how far the carriage sagged as it
went past the saw, and a grade inspector would have had
difficulty in classifying some of the boards. They started
through on an inch cut, but it was nothing out of the
ordinary to have the board come out 8x4 on one end and
drop siding on the other. Every time a slab fell onto the
deck something come loose in the mill and it felt as if
an earthquake had just passed under us. The carriage
was pulled back and forth by means of a rope passed
over a wooden drum at each end of the deck, and the
engineer ran it with some kind of a clutch arrangement
of wooden blocks. The clutch slipped several seconds
before it took hold, and when it did get all braced to
pull the carriage back the rope stretched out a couple
of feet before anything moved and the result was more
or less nerve racking. We got a fresh hold on our post,
braced our feet and gritted our teeth prepared for the
shock we knew was going to hit us when the contraption
moved, but as it was thirty seconds- — a half minute com-
pletely filled with groans, squeaks and backfires from the
engine — -before the machinery actually got into action
one was always taken off guard when the carriage began

129

SCOTIA WITH MILL RE-
BUILT after disastrous 1895
fire. (Photo courtesy Paci-
fic Lumber Company)

to move.

Whenever it was time to turn the log the proprietor
of the outfit kicked off a couple of belts, poured a little
water on the clutch, tightened up all the nuts and bolts
that had come loose during the past ten minutes, seized
his peavy, went around on the other side of the carriage
and pried the log over, after knocking the dogs loose
with a hammer. When it came to rest in a position that
looked as if it might ride through the saw once or twice
without falling off, he reversed the process by crawling
back over the log, tightening half a dozen nuts that he
had missed the first time, pouring a little more water on
the still smoking clutch and putting all the belts back on.
There was nothing steady or sure about this routine, how-
ever, as he was constantly obliged to drop everything
from time to time while he rushed over and jiggled the
carburetor wire.

"Got tew rig me up a blink blink extension on thet
blankety blank blink wire some o' these days," he roared,
as he gave the flywheel another squirt of oil for good
luck. "She keeps slowin' down on me."

The engine itself was worthy of close study. He didn't
have to put oil in it because there were no two pieces
that rubbed together any place. It had a miscellaneous
collection of petcocks, gauges, tin cans or what-have-you
hung around on it and a half a mile of barbed wire fence
supplemented the base bolts in holding it down. When
the slack had finally all been taken out of the belts,
sprockets, clutch and rope and the engine was working
real hard, it stood itself on end and shook sideways like
a crab, but it never did stop. It had a dirty habit of
throwing set-screws, spark plugs and main springs at the
boss whenever he came too close to it and every now and
then the flywheel fell off and rolled out through a hole
in the wall. The only good thing about it seemed to be
that it always rolled the same way.

"She bust that blinkety blank blank hole in th' wall
more'n two years ago," screamed the general manager

in a satisfied way, "an' she ain't missed th' blink blink
thing sence."

The circular saw blade which whittled its way through
the log in a snaky and meandering manner, something
like the trail left by poor old Uncle Tom while trying to
dodge the bloodhounds, had been set back in '25 by a
traveling tinner, and it needed a few new teeth here and
there. A saw to this owner was just a piece of iron with
some rough spots on it, and he couldn't be bothered. He
bought all his parts from an auto wrecking plant in the
city and there were so many substitute parts hung around
on things that you'd have thought it was a drug store.
If the junk shops ever went out of business the mill
would have had to shut down automatically.

Whenever he had piled up eight or ten boards and
wrestled another log onto the carriage he held a con-
ference with himself and found out that it was time for
the engineer to jiggle the wire again. That little job
attended to it was necessary for the millwright to climb
under the rig and see why it was that the carriage went
ahead when he pulled the reverse lever, and vice versa.
Having done this he put on his fireman's hat and dashed
over to the water pail to put out the fire in the clutch.
At five o'clock he blew a whistle to tell himself when to
quit and then tallied up the day's cut. If it was a good
day he sometimes had as much as 600 feet ready for
edging.

But he had no labor trouble. The mill ran every day
as regular as clock work and he didn't have to fire a man
and then go out looking for someone to take his place.
There were no orders up on the boards along Portland's
slave market calling for men for this outfit. And from
all appearances the owner was just a little more satisfied
and at peace with the world than any sawmill owner we
have ever met. We'd like to have one of these one-man
outfits ourself if it wasn't such hard work.

. . . from Brooks-Scanlon Deschutes Pine Echoes

130

CLEARS and STARS

THE SHINGLE MACHINE

"Zing, zim; zing, zim," sings the machine,

The shingle machine.
And the thin saws croon,

"Soon, soon, sawyer-man,

We'll sing you to sleep, and leap

At your blind, dumb hand.

Sawyer-man, as you stand

Serving us long,

Mind our song

When we croon 'Soon, soon'."

. . . Charles Oluf Olsen

"All right," the public of the 1880s said, "we've got
boards for walls and floors but we can't keep on using
mud, sod and stone for roofs. Give us something thin,
light and strong that will shed rain and snow and last
a long time." And what the public got was the cedar
shingle.

This piece of home building merchandise delivered
such good value, the business of cutting it mushroomed
into a major industry in the Pacific Northwest in three

decades. It started in the early '80s along the Columbia
River with little hand machine mills hanging on the edge
of the wet cedar forests. And by the time the Northern
Pacific railroad came to the Coast and shingle making
machinery had been introduced, mills were really in
business.

In 1893 there were 150 of them shipping shingles
to the Middle West by rail and out of the Columbia and
Puget Sound by schooner. Bolts were $2.50 a cord at
the mill which by hand method, employing 7 or 8 men
and cutting one block at a time, turned out 30 to 50
thousand feet a day. Many of these little mills were
powered by waterwheels up to 1900 and even later.
Shingles were dried over steam coils. And most of the
men came from Wisconsin and Michigan.

The larger mills, using single and double block as
well as 10-block machines, did better. They worked about
25 men and packed 125 to 140 M a day. These mills
had steam power, some of them electric light plants,
dryhouses, oil houses and warehouses. And they were
selling shingles in 1902 for $2 a thousand loaded on
railway cars.

G. A. ONN SHINGLE MILL AT DRYAD was typical of the many small plants in the timber-rich
Chehalis River area on the South Bend branch. A hot-tempered taskmaster, Onn fired the entire
crew several times and son Harry was forced to round them up and rehire them before they wan-
dered off to the next mill. (Photo courtesy H. B. Onn)

131

V .

_ V

I I \

BOLT TRAIN Narrow gauge, saddle-tank lokey of Independent Coal and Coke Co. with sled loads
of shingle bolts loaded on flat cars. (Darius Kinsey photo from Jesse E. Ebert Collection)

By 1895 2 million feet of cedar shingles a day came
out of 40 Whatcom County, Wash., mills alone with
Skagit producing about the same, and the Chehalis River-
Grays Harbor area bringing up third. Early mills were
Howard and Attick at Edison which ferried its shingles
across Puget Sound to schooners at Port Blakely; Col.
P. A. Woolley and his sons operating the Skagit River
Lumber and Shingle Co. which had already begun to
cut cedar siding; Sparks and Monaghan at Getchell — all
in the Skagit area.

In Bellingham, D. H. DeCan built the first shingle
mill on the tide flats bay at the foot of F Street. It was
a hand machine mill with the Riddle brothers as knot
sawyers. In 1904, S. H. Siemens and son built a 10-block
mill at the mouth of Squalicum Creek and at this time
the Loggie mill with two 10-block machines was the
country's biggest producer. In 1890 the Fleming and
Earles mill at Fairhaven was operating two 10-block
machines.

Shingle bolts were cut 52" in the woods, 20 to 40
bolts to the cord. They were skidded by horses and
sleds directly to mills or dumped in rivers and floated

132

down the mills' fin booms. Some mills not on rivers
used flumes to get the bolts in.

Cut off saws divided the bolts into 16", 18" and 24"
lengths. These blocks dropped to belts or carriages
which brought them up against smaller, quartering saws
which cut across the diameter, turned them and cut at
right angles to the first cut. This gave blocks proper
size for handling and opened the grain for cutting ver-
tical or edgegrain shingles.

Blocks then went to a third saw which trimmed off
bark and surface defects, then up a conveyor to the
second floor and shingle machines. Blocks were placed
in machines so saws cut against the face, blocks shifting
backward and forward, the top extending farther than
the bottom on one forward movement and reversely on
the next movement, the wedge shape being produced.

As shingles came from machine, knot sawyers squared
up edges and trimmed out defects, throwing them down
chutes to bins on floor below. Defective shingles were
kept separate.

Packers made up bundles of standard size, bunching
them in a hand machine or "packer," and binding bun-

PRIDE OF BURPEE Clipper Shingle Factory in Burpee, Washington Territory, owned by E. P.
Marsh. Ray Moore who filed in many of Washington's early shingle mills, recalls the most popu-
lar place in Burpee was the Wink Eye Saloon. (Photo courtesy Ray Moore)

dies with thin iron straps and strips of hemlock. Con-
veyor belts took bundles to dry kilns where they took
the steam heat treatment for ten days to two weeks, a
slow method to keep shingles from splitting. By this
time the wood had contracted and the bundles had to be
retied.

"Everett — The Shingle Capital Of The World," said
the Great Northern Railway in 1915 and the old shingle
weavers do not deny it. It was a city of smoke stacks
and labor trouble with the shingle men highly paid aris-
tocrats. Ray Moore, a 42-year veteran of the cedar mills,
remembers Everett's heyday when he landed there, a
raw kid from Saginaw. Clough and Hartley's was the
largest siding and shingle mill in the world, they said.
And there were dozens more — Canyon Lumber Co.,
Ferry-Baker, Eclipse, Seaside, Northwest, Everett-Best,
Super Shingle Co. In Marysville were the Alki and
Dickinson Shingle Co. At Milltown, W. J. Henry and
Holly's "White Elephant" mill.

"Sure was lucky I had that money hid in my school
books," said Ray Moore, whose Everett saw shop is the
headquarters for shingle weavers of five Washington

counties. "I just grabbed it and ran. Left New Year's day,
I remember. My father was foreman and filed for Arthur
Rhodes shingle mill at Leota, Michigan, but I wanted
the big wide West. My money got me to Minneapolis
and a couple of 'real pals' got me a scalper's train ticket
to Everett. Man — that Everett was a big place. I was
17 with a cattail in each ear. Got off in the railroad
yards — no friends, no place to go, no money. Only
half a loaf of bread to eat all that time on the train.
Well I did have 1$ and spent 5 of it for a sack of Bull
Durham. Then I spotted a big nail factory — the Puget
Sound Wire Nail and Steel Co. — and a boarding house
kitchen. There was a big stack of dishes and I asked
the lady — 'Can I wash them for supper and a room?'
I told her I was a shingle weaver which I wasn't and
she told me about the big Eclipse mill. In the morning
I wandered that way, into the mill and watched a 10-
block machine work. Then suddenly a big ball of wet
sawdust hit me in the back of the neck and I grabbed
a stick and started after the grinning ape, smacking him
on the top of the head. Well then it got serious and he
was after me. I dodged through the first door I saw.

133

HE RAN AWAY FROM
SAGINAW at 17 and lived
the life of a shingle weaver
"up, down and sideways."
Ray Moore packed a long
life into his early days, still
works at his saw shop in
Everett, headquarters for
shingle men of five coun-
ties. He remembers the
"Everett Massacre," Billy
Gohl and a mule that saved
his life. (Photo Ray Moore
Collection)

Man, oh man! Believe it or not, I heard a voice out of
somewhere — "Ray, what are you doin' 'way out here?'
Then the man I hit was on me — but off quick like.
Because there was Del Woodward who had worked with
my father in those Michigan shingle mills most of his
life. He jumped on the guy and threatened him. 'Don't
you ever touch that kid!' He didn't — just grinned some
more and left. Nobody else ever went after those cat-
tails in this green kid any more. For my timely found
friend was the filer and he had authority. 'You're goin'
to work, Ray. Most of the men around here are from
Saginaw and around.' So I did — knot sawing at $5 a
day. Yessir, that's where I learned about trimming,
edging and squaring clears and stars. Stayed a year
nnd a half. Went back home to level things with my
father. Then back to the Coast, installing shingle ma-
chinery."

Ray Moore knew all the old characters in the mills
around Everett and later in Aberdeen and Vancouver,
B.C. There was Bill Legole, shingle sawyer who set the
world's hand machine record and did his own filing.

There was Paddy Young who looked for a job 15 years
and finally turned the work over to his squaw. He came
back to Everett for his mail about once in two years.
Ray knew the rough-and-tough fighters of the day —
Bugs Crisp, Streeter, Billy Ross who took the shingle mill
championship away from Si Gotchy. And the gamblers
who blew up the safe in Everett's Industrial Loan Com-
pany office.

The shingle mills, large and small, were booming
everywhere north of the Columbia. Along the rain-soaked
valleys of the Lewis River, the Snoqualmie, Chehalis,
Nooksack and Elwha there were little mills every ten
miles and every one a man or two short of enough.
Mammoth operations like the Clear Lake Lumber Co.
were filling up freight cars and ships at the rate of 100
and 200 thousand feet a day. Brattlie Bros, mill in Ridge-
field was going great guns and Brattlie-trained sawyers
and filers were fanning out to work at other mills and
start their own.

Harry B. Onn of Dryad and Doty, Washington, has a
story about those days too. "My father had bought the

134

EARLY SHINGLE MILL NEAR STANWOOD. (Photo Darius Kinsey courtesy Bernard Lawe)

old Vaughan and Hayes mill in 1894 and renamed it the
G. A. Onn Shingle Co. He had been a blacksmith and
carriage builder as well as mayor in Montgomery, Min-
nesota, and later owned a railroad hotel in Minneapolis.
When he sold that in 1886, he headed for Tacoma. The
rest of us — mother, my older brother George and my-
self— followed the next year. We traveled west on an
old-fashioned immigrant train with a big cookstove in
the end of every car and seats were let down to make
beds. Everybody carried his own bedding. The cars had
open vestibules at the ends and us kids played in them
and on the railings. It's sure a wonder half of us weren't
lost overboard. We had no trouble with Indians except
fighting them off at every depot in North Dakota and
Montana. Those Mandans and Blackfeet were all over
you trying to sell souvenirs, mostly hatracks made from
pairs of polished buffalo horns.

"When dad bought the mill George and I worked in
it and later I was bookkeeper. Mother ran the cook-
house— and a job that was, too. There were 18 or 20
homesteaders on claims up Elk Creek who came down
pack trails to get supplies at Dryad and always managed
to make the cookhouse in time for the midday meal. If
they had two-bits that was o.k. If they didn't, they were

welcome just the same. None of them ever went home
hungry. They all had warm spots in their hearts, like
the fellows in the mill, for Mother Onn and her cooking.

"Dryad was a lively little burg in those days. Mill
owners and operators were J. A. Dennis, G. A. Onn,
Chandler Brothers, Schlenar and Hauser, Leudinghouse
Brothers with a 10-block machine and another plant with
hand machine and upright and Wasser Brothers with
four uprights.

"The Northern Pacific had built a line to Raymond
and South Bend in 1892 and commemorated the occasion
by running a special train for Frederick W. Wever-
haeuser. They frequently ran trains of 100 cars east but
the ways and means of handling cargo was sometimes
kind of crude. There was no siding at Dryad and once
when a flat car of machinery and goods was billed here
the train stayed until as many hands as could be drafted,
including passengers, were put to work unloading it."

Onn, senior, Harry recalls, was a rugged individualist
with a two-fisted temper. "Mill crews were hard to man-
age in those davs because men could quit for any or no
reason, walk to the next mill in a day or less and go
right to work. Dad had a hard time holding himself in
and several times blew the lid clear off and fired the

L35

SHINGLE MILL FED BY
THREE-MILE FLUME

Shingle and planing mill in
Washington's Skagit River
area in 1913 at terminus of
flume. (All Darius Kinsey
photos from Jesse E. Ebert
Collection)

whole crew. Being bookkeeper in charge of the payroll,
I had the measley job of rounding them all up and get-
ting them to go to work again.

"Another time while fixing the stove pipe in the old
boarding house, he let his temper fly and the cast iron
contraption which was held together by four iron rods,
collapsed. Piece by piece he carried it outside and threw
everything down the river bank. That night, just before
dark, we saw him retrieving the pieces. In the morning
that stove was fired up doing its job as good as ever.

"In those days shingle mills and saloons seemed to
go hand in hand. In Dryad the shingle weavers could
quench their thirsts or drown their sorrows at Al Flood's,

Wakefield and McCracken's, C. C. Bowers', Speaker and
Brossard's and Bowers and Brown's. These places were
open 24 hours a day with wide open gambling and
people seemed to have plenty of money. There weren't
any cars and gas and movies."

And Harry Onn recalls the famous Dark Day when
smoke and ashes of the big forest fire blacked out the
countryside for a hundred miles around. "What did
people do? All the men got drunk and the women either
cried or prayed, some of them both. I thought there was
something wrong with our clock so I lighted the kero-
sene lantern and took off for the shingle mill. The only
person there was little Tom Howell. He and I went up

ANCIENT MARINER POLES BOLTS from Skagit River (below)
into flume conveyor. (Center) 40-foot flume followed mountain
stream three miles to mill. (Right) 1,100 shingle bolts in pond
at mill.

2400 CORDS OF SHINGLE BOLTS in 1924 at booming ground of Hastings Shingle Manufactur-
ing Co. mill near Rainy River, Howe Sound, B.C. (Photo courtesy British Columbia Forest Service)

town. You fill in the rest.

"Were the men pretty tough and strong? Guess they
had to be. I remember Big Pete Thompson stealing one
of Charley Mauermann's calves and carrying it across
the N.P. bridge under his arm and up in the mill bunk-
house. He probably wondered why he did it but set
the calf down on the floor and went to bed. It took
G. A. Onn and several other men to get the animal back
down on the ground. And at one 4th of July celebration,
Bill Ludwig walked a tight-rope over the Chehalis River
with a keg of beer on his head. Mike Madden was the
speaker of the day and as a sideline was supposed to go
over the Leudinghouse dam in a washtub. And Andy

Hilburger was going to dive into the river from the top
of the railroad bridge. Do I have to remember whether
they did or not?"

Chris C. Seigal, writing in the Shingle Weaver, upon
the death of James L. Pinkey, said great rivalry existed
among the early day shingle men. "In 1902 Jim Pinkey
cut 1361/2 thousand shingles in a 10-hour shift. This
record was accomplished at the Parker Bros. Shingle
Mill of Lawrence. A thousand shingles consisted of four
bunches shingles are measured by squares containing
24 courses each. Today with four bunches containing
20 courses, which is a square of 800 shingles. Had shin-
gles been measured in squares 54 years ago, Pinkey's

137

cut would have been more than 160 squares.

"Shingle weavers in those early days consisted of
saw filers, sawyers, knee bolters, knot sawyers and
packers. Other workers in the mills were just laborers.
There was considerable rivalry among the various crafts
as to who was the champion in his branch of the indus-
try. No one ever came close to Jim Pinkey's cut. Gus
Larson was a runner up but was less than 100 thousand.

"In 1905 a young man named Clyde Harrison, 22.
packed 84 thousand shingles at Lytells Shingle Mill at
Hoquiam in a 10-hour shift. This record has never been
equalled. Harrison died in Kelso two years ago at the
age of 73.

"In 1904 Jack Horn, a knot sawyer at the Manley
and Sons Mill at Lake Samish, set up a record for knot
sawing by handling 56 thousand shingles in 10 hours

SLED TRAIN hauled by early Caterpillar crawler
tractor. (Darius Kinsey photo from Jesse E. Ebert
Collection)

BLAINE SHINGLE WEAVERS Crew of New
comb Shingle Mill, Blaine, Wash., takes time out
to pose with Clears, Stars and Kinsey photo-
graphs. (Darius Kinsey photo from Jesse E. Ebert)

138

SHINGLE BOLT LOADING RIG in 1925 driven by gasoline engine. Chain belt picked up bolts
from pond, dumped them in crib. (Photo courtesy British Columbia Forest Service)

out of raw timber. Raw timber was split blocks, not
knee bolted. This was an ordinary days work for two
knot sawyers. Jack died a number of years ago in
Everett.

"The old time shingle weavers had a disastrous gen-
eral strike in 1906, which nearly wrecked the union. The
union was poorly organized with less than 50 per cent
of the active weavers as members. A man from Bay City,
Mich., was president and was not familiar with local
conditions. A strike was called at the Simpson Mill Co.
at Ballard but the mill company had little difficulty in
securing a crew. As a result, Bolger, the union president,
came out from Michigan and at a conference of local
unions, a general strike was ordered.

"In May, 1906, the union members were called out.
The union was so poorly organized that the strike became
a dismal failure and in less than three months all the
weavers were back on the job with no gains from the
strike."

From men like Eli Buckley who worked almost 60
years in Washington and British Columbia shingle mills,
Gerald Massie, filer at Jamison's in Everett, from Charley

White at Ridgefield, E. E. Boyd at Acme and Ray Thomp-
son of the "Shingle Weaver," come colorful yarns of the
old days when men of the Northwest woods thought they
would never see the end of the cedar. And the names
they had —

Michigan Slim Allen, upright sawyer; Can Kelly.
short staker; Shoepac Johnson; Whisky Martin; Balky-
Bill Amsbury, hand machine sawyer; Whistling Rufus
(Peo Bessemer), upright sawyer; Music Box Charlie;
Workhouse Johnson; Chalky Dennis; Peanuts (Gaston
Laviolette) packer; Froggy Berg; Gooseneck Clampitt,
knot sawyer; Skabanga (John Napolean) kneebolter;
Twostep Peterson, packer; Snifty Pete Godderz, Hall
machine sawyer; Old Rippy — Billy Ried, packer; Old
Barbee — Walter Hammons, knot sawyer and upright
sawyer; Vinegar Bill Ferrier, double-block sawyer and
filer; Stuttering Andy Stevenson, packer.

Add the Chinamen in the Hastings and Canada Shin-
gle Co. mills in Vancouver, B.C. Ray Moore remembers
they all went around with their sing-song — " 'It no rain
no mol — no mol!' I used to call 'em all Charlie and ask
'em why they didn't quit. 'No quit. Get bellyache'."

139

SUNDAY IN SHINGLE LAND Wobbly-kneed guzzler hoists another beer in front of Pilchuck
saloon as customers try to stand still. Bartender on chair is only one smiling. Note planked side-
walk and street. (Photo courtesy Ray Moore)

THE INFLUENCE OF SWEDISH BREAKFAST FOOD
ON THE LUMBER INDUSTRY
by PAUL HOSMER
Reprinted from Brooks-Scanlon "Pine Echoes"

Not long ago the editor of the New Yorker, a most
estimable publication, stubbed his toe on something on
the sidewalk and investigation disclosed that he had
tripped over an empty snuff box. A short time before
there had been a shooting affray on this particular spot
and the editor immediately jumped to the conclusion
that a couple of old southern gallants had been fighting
a duel.

The editor, being an investigator of the highest type
and a very observing person, was much surprised to
discover that snuff was still being used in this country
and the fact started him off on the trail of what he
thought was a good story. He interviewed a corner

tobacconist and found that while there once had been a
snuff making plant in Helmeta, New Jersey, founded in
1760, the plant had been abandoned and had been taken
over by the city to be preserved as a memorial. The
tobacconist also informed the editor, in his knowing way,
that snuff was still being used by a few people in the
south and middle West and also by a few Norwegian
sailors and some New England salts along the Atlantic
coast. He was surprised, however, to learn from the
tobacco man that few people sniff the stuff, most of
them now merely placing a pinch of the concoction be-
tween cheek and gum and apparently remaining content
to leave it there quietly and unostentatiously while nature
pursues the even tenor of its ways. He was also much
surprised to learn that some people even chew it.

Further investigation on the part of the editor brought
to light the fact that although snuff is carried in one
Fifth Ave. shop in three different flavors, it is seldom

110

called for. The editor concluded that ladies who "manip-
ulated jewelled snuff-boxes to show their diamond rings,
handsome hands and snowy arms," now reach for a
sweetie instead of a Lucky, or something.

We have no doubt that if the editor of the New Yorker
ever read a Pine Echoes — which he probably never will
— he would immediately catalog us as too provincial for
words, which is all right with us. We're not a bit proud.
But in our humble way we can't help but feel that the
editor of the New Yorker is not so hot himself when it
comes to knowing the world outside of New York. Is it
possible there is a man in America who doesn't realize
the important part snuff plays in present day affairs?
God only knows how many thousands of words we've
written about snuff in the past few years, but alas, it

SAWYER TURNED SCRAPPER Si Gotchy (left)
was an Everett shingle weaver who saw easier
money in the ring. Heading out of Stevens Point,
Wise., he became pile driver, heavy construction
worker, shingle sawyer and finally Olympia,
Wash., police officer. On the back of this photo-
graph he wrote: "I sawed ten hours the day of
this fight with Bugs Crisp (in Montesano, 1918)
and it was a draw. Beat him later in Elma. The
guy behind me on the left is Frank Stone who was
mixed up with Jack Gillis looting the Industrial
Insurance Fund of nearly $100,000. Lee Williams,
the Montana Kid, is behind my head. The guy in
between Bugs and me is Casey Jones, Tacoma
fighter who got sent up later for robbery. The
others are bartenders, pimps and gambler. Would
you think a shingle weaver would keep this kind
of company? They were all good guys except me."
Photo courtesy Ray Moore)

REED AND FREEMAN operated this
shingle mill in 1899 at site where Pict-
sweet plant now stands. Jack Reed had
been filer at Clear Lake shingle mill
and Freeman also made shingles with
J. C. Waugh. Fin boom extended out
into Skagit River to catch cedar bolts
logged as far up as Lyman and sheer
boom brought them to mill. John Wylie
also hauled bolts out of woods and
recalls mill had a box kiln with no out-
side valve to turn off steam. "They
burned the shingles up drying them to
225 pounds a thousand to beat freight
rates East. You also burned yourself
up getting in to turn that steam off."
(Photo courtesy John Wylie)

141

*2>

V-*'* *

4;,i

has been for nought. The editor of the New Yorker
hasn't heard a word of it, and an empty snuff box starts
him off on an ineffectual scoop of his own. If he had
ever set foot outside of New York and had suffered
himself to be led astray by every discarded snuff can
he ran across he would have found himself in a state
closely bordering on epilepsy in the first couple of hours.
From what we can pick up about it, a party by the
name of Lief Erickson was the first man to come to
America. Lief is the person who got off the first good
Swede joke. It seems that when he got home and his
first son was born his wife caught him in his night shirt
picking up the baby about midnight one night. "What
are you doing?" she asked. "Oh, Aye yust ban turning
over a new Lief," replied Mr. Erickson, and that was
that. Anyway, Lief wandered over into America in some
way or other and was followed later by several hundred
thousands of his countrymen who took up their stations
around in logging camps and sawmills throughout the
country. All of these lads used snuff in its most violent
form and as the timber was cut out in the east and the
lumber outfits moved west in search of bigger and better
trees, the Norsemen went right along with them. Behind
they left a trail of empty "snoose" cans a hundred miles
wide and an inch deep.

The editor of the New Yorker is apparently laboring
under the delusion that there is only one kind of snuff —
the kind people sniff up their noses and which cause
them to sneeze whole heartedlv and with wild abandon.
The fact is, there are at least twenty different kinds of

142

GRAYS HARBOR SHINGLE MILL Interior of
Aloha Lumber Co. mill at Aloha, Washington.
Logs were sawed, cut into blocks and passed to
equalizer at right. (Photo University of Wash-
ington)

snuff manufactured. Scotch snuff is the kind the editor
is thinking of. This is used in the South by the old
settlers, some of whom still sniff it. The greater majority
of southerners, however, have a little twig of elm, or
some such wood, which they chew until the end assumes
the general shape of a broom. Then they dip this in a
bottle of Scotch snuff and rub it around inside the mouth.
When they are through with the stick they put it behind
a convenient ear where it rides comfortably until time
for the next shot. Very handy and sanitary.

It may interest the editor of the New Yorker to know
that there is another kind of snuff manufactured in the
United States in such quantities as to be staggering. We
have been unable to gather many figures but one year
the government collected taxes on 40,655,395 pounds
of it.

This kind of snuff is known the country over as
Copenhagen, and is the national breakfast food of all
Nordic lumber workers, from North Bend, Oregon, to
South Bend. Indiana, to say nothing of several hundred
thousand Americans and other nationalities who have
taken up the habit. It is a concoction of tobacco, salt
and attar of roses and is made up in a damp form so that
it will stay put when inserted under the lower lip. Damp
as it is, the beginner has some trouble in mastering the
secret of using it properly.

853^0=?

*-•■

€!■■■ -■

FALLS CITY SHINGLE MILL on Snoqualmie River, Washington, burning in 1910 after about ten
years of operation. (Photo courtesy Mrs. A. F. Coppers)

As a matter of fact, it is something of a thrill — that
first chew of Copenhagen. It looks easy to watch an
expert insert an educated thumb and two fingers into
the little round box and deftly drop a charge into the
pocket in his lower lip, which he has been cultivating
since early childhood for just this purpose. Beyond a
general perking up of the entire system, like a thirsty
bum who has just been tossed out of a saloon only to
find a forgotten quarter in his pocket, the old timer
shows no startling change when the snuff has been
tamped home. He brightens up and there is a satisfied
gleam in his eye and considerable speeding up of his
work around the place, but that's about all. He is used
to it and knows just how to handle it.

The beginner watches closely the loading operation
and decides to try a "rare" himself. In spite of the fact
that the old timer handles a handful of the stuff with no
apparent effort, seldom spilling so much as a grain in
the transfer from box to lip, the beginner runs up against
his first snag right there. Even though Copenhagen is
made up damp it has a decided tendency to scatter and
stray away from the fold; it insists on wandering from
the paths of righteousness and has a habit of disintegrat-
ing at the most embarrassing moments. It is not unusual
for the beginner to find himself with a small jolt under
his lip and the rest of the charge on his chin, floating
uncontrolled in and about his tonsils or drifting idly
down his shirt collar. It's a habit of snuff.

SHINGLE MILL CIRCA 1902 owned
by J. C. Waugh and Ed Freeman near
Mt. Vernon, Wash. Teamster John
Wylie is man in white hat by horses,
the small boy, Guy Freeman. (Photo
courtesy John Wylie)

143

COOKHOUSE AT ROBE— Best Shingle Co. This
was known as the Tunnel 2 Mill and was operated
by Frank Davis near Robe, Wash., from 1906 to
1910. (Darius Kinsey photo courtesy Ray Moore)

WALVILLE'S FAMOUS BLACK CAT was Hoo-
Hoo symbol and white man's magic to Japanese
green chain gang. Mounted on front end of Wal-
ville Lumber Co.'s building, its teeth were clam
shells, its whiskers baling wire. At right in photo
is Stewart Holbrook who recounts his impressions
of the cat in his book "Far Corner." (Photo Stew-
art H. Holbrook Collection)

However, even the small shot which the tyro manages
to pack away in his mouth is enough to afford him the
thrill he is seeking. At first he notices only a queer
taste and a burning sensation. He can't quite make out
what the feeling is other than it tastes like his foot had
gone to sleep. It might be the salt; it might be the
tobacco, or it may even be the attar of roses, but it
doesn't taste like any of them. The burning sensation
increases until in a moment or two he loses all sense
of taste.

From then on things go round and round. His head
swims, his temperature goes up so high that if anyone
put a thermometer in his mouth it would explode, the
air is full of pin wheels and Roman candles and he had
to hold onto things with both hands to keep from floating
out the window. Usually when things reach this stage
the beginner decides that this is not just the psychological
time to learn to use snuff and makes a dive for the
drinking fountain. However, one can't smoke around a
sawmill and it is only a question of time before he is

144

SCOTT'S SHINGLE MILL on Burrard Inlet, Vancouver, B.C., about 1908. Eli Buckley is second
sawyer from camera in this 12-machine mill. (Photo courtesy Ray Moore)

driven to the expedient of finding a substitute for to-
bacco, so he tries it again. Each time he finds that the
strain is a little easier and before long he is a confirmed
user of Swedish dynamite. Then he buys a ten-cent box
of it, slips it into his hip pocket and from then on, if
deprived of its strengthening influence for even an hour,
he is as useless and tired as a blonde manicurist after
an American Legion convention.

It is snuff that keeps the big western sawmills and
logging camps running. Food and other necessary com-
modities contribute a certain share to the industry, but
Copenhagen snuff is the real force that gets the logs out

of the woods and into the mill. Without it the industry
bogs down in the middle like a Dachshund after a full
meal and lumber production drops faster than the absent-
minded parachute jumper who reached for the ring and
pulled the belt out of his pants.

The editor of the New Yorker could get himself lost
in a maze of figures on snuff production if he would
just start out from the little tip we are about to give him.
The city of Bend is one of hundreds of similar lumber
manufacturing towns in the Pacific Northwest and its
entire population could be comfortably housed in a
couple of square blocks of New York's tenement section.

FLOATING COOKHOUSE

at Shawnigan Lake, Van-
couver Island, B.C., about
1908. (Wilfred Gibson photo
from MacMillan and Bloe-
del, Limited, Collection)

115

LYTLE'S CAMP in Grays Harbor for loggers and workers in Lytle's Shingle Mill about 1900.
( Photo University of Washington)

LYTLE'S SHINGLE MILL-HOQUIAM. (Photo University of Washington)

110

MORONI SHINGLE CREW Top, left to right-
Charlie Morris, Frank Stein. Middle row — Russell
Clow, Bob Hoyt, Carl Frisk, Buck Clemons, Ray
Hoyt, Harry Johnson, Deyo Russell, Ludwig Han-
son, Joe Briggs, Phil Wylie, Elmer Smith. Front
row — Oliver Helgeson, Carl Hulbert, Bud Jacoby,
Eli Neff, Spike Johnston, Roger Boyd and Ernest
Boyd (father and son now operating Three Rivers
Plywood and Timber Co., Darrington), Clem Fla-
herty, Cassius Bust, Morganthaler. (Darius Kinsey
photo from E. E. Boyd)

We have no intention of trying to figure this out for
ourself. We never were any good at figures, anyway.
All we had in mind was calling the editor's attention to
the fact that the making of snuff in America is still a
leading industry even though the jewelled fingers of the
ladies of the editor's memory are now reaching for
sweeties instead of Scotch snuff. As far as that goes it
is probably only a question of time before the dear girls
take up the Copenhagen habit, anyway.

We feel, however ,that this is not the time to view the
situation with alarm nor even to raise a cry of warning
at the crisis toward which the girls are heading. We
won't be a bit surprised to learn that after trying it the
dear things have decided to give up all bad habits and
retire to a quiet home life, content with their knitting
and alone with their thoughts, with possibly some books
and the family cat for company.

SMALL, MILL— TALL STACKS Moroni Shingle
Co., Acme, Wash., started early and produced late
into 1956, owned by E. E. Boyd who came from
Grand Rapids, Wich., in 1903. After working for
Hudson's Bay Co. in Winnipeg and Vancouver, he
operated shingle mills in Sedro Woolley, Turlo,
Alger and Acme. With son Roger A. Boyd, he
started the Three Rivers Plywood and Timber Co.
in Darrington. (Photo courtesy E. E. Boyd)

147

MILL AT DEMING, WASH-
INGTON — 1905 near Mc-
Cleary. Shingle mills were
usually on pond, river or
lake for easiest transporta-
tion of logs and bolts. Also
water kept wood clean and
easier on saws. Brattlie
Brothers at Ridgefield
taught shingle trade to
many who set up own mills.
Charles H. White was Brat-
tlie foreman for 24 years.
(Photo courtesy C. H.
White)

WHITE STAR MILL AFT-
ER FOREST FIRE of 1902.
Three shingle weavers won-
der what to do now after
fire wiped out their jobs
and left only twisted iron
and ashes. At top, J. J.
White, below him his broth-
er Charley. (Photo courtesy
C. H. White)

WASHING DOWN CEDAR
DUST at Green Tree Saloon
near Summit, Wash. On
barrel is Charley White, 52
years in shingle mills. Bot-
tom right, second from left
— Frank Bagley, next Bill
Bailey; extreme right, Billy
Van Kirk. (Photo courtesy
C. H. White)

143

WATER LINES

to Mill and Market

SILVERTIP'S RIDE

Where a mighty mountain is held at bay

By the threat of a brawling stream,
A valley wakes to its toilsome day

At a sawmill whistle's scream.
Far from salvation, and farther from town,

By a rutted road, rock-strewn,
A meandering road that winds up and down,
A narrow ribbon of rusty brown,

Through a wilderness rough-hewn.

From lofty range, over slope and side

To canyon cleft below;
Like wind-stirred waves of a dark green tide

Densely the pine woods grow.
Where water wells from a glacier spring

To the rim of a rock-bound pool,
Rough shacks of a camp to the hillside cling,
While saws and axe made the silence ring,

And the dawn comes clear and cool.

A ribbon of steel runs from camp to mill,

Where a Shay makes a daily trip,
With its swaying loads drifting down the hill

In the leash of the brakeshoe's grip.
But now and again it may chance to be

An ambulance or a hearse;
Like the night when the boss of the woods and me
Brought down in the engine young Barney McGee

With a crushed-in hip, and worse.

McGee was a lad who was liked by all,

But little there was we could do;
With the best of skill the chances were small

That ever he would pull through.
And hospitals, doctors, nurses and such

Were a million miles away,
With part of the road in the river's clutch —
A habit it had if we needed it much.

In the spring when the snow went away.

OREGON LOG FLUMES held out over trucks a
long time. The Pengra line was built by enter-
prising Eugene business men. Northeast of
Eugene several flumes ran down to Mariola.
Southern Pacific flumed from three big mills,
Fischer Lumber Co., 6 miles from Parsons Creek.
(Photo University of Oregon)

149

3-WAY FLUME AT BENE-
WAH CREEK in St. Joe Na-
tional Forest, Idaho. Each
line went to a different
point and water was divert-
ed as need occurred. Some
Idaho flumes had grades up
to 12 and 15%. (Photo Wil-
liam Roddy courtesy Chas.
H. Scribner)

We knew of another way to town,

But no one had tried it so far:
The flume! where the timbers go hurtling down

To their place on a main-line car;
The flume! where the whirling waters sweep

And foam in their wooden bed,
Whose tenuous trestles span and creep
'Round mountain shoulder and rock-cleft deep

To smoother reaches ahead.

Twenty miles in a straightaway line,

And beneath us a mile or so
When the light is clear you may see the shine

Of the city's reflected glow.
If a man had the guts and could stand the pace,

The flume is a road to town.
But perilous work he would have to face
On curves and steeps, where the timbers race

And sometimes shoot over and down.

A few of us talked it over that night.

But none of us found a way
To help the boy who was making his fight

With never a word to say.
He was smoking a cigarette to soothe

The pain and to steady his lip;
We thought his sailing would soon be smooth
But you could not tell if he guessed the truth —

When in walked Silvertip.

He was a logger of bad repute,

He gambled, he drank and he swore,
And rumor had it he was a brute

In a fight, but game to the core.

A vanquished foe with a humor grim,

Speaking of grit and of grip,
Once ventured, "A grizzly has nothing on him,"
So, though in build he was slight and slim,

We had named him "Silvertip."

He stared in a speculative way

At us and the kid, with a frown;
And in casual manner we heard him say

He guessed he was off for town.
A wicked joke from a foolish lip,

Thought every man in that room;
But the boss just scowled at Silvertip,
Then asked, "How in hell will you make the trip?'

And the answer came back, "By flume."

"I'm kind o' fed up on camp for a while

And just about due for a fling;
While travel by water was always my style,

Driving logs on the river in spring;
So if you don't mind I'm off for a spree

On a bit of raft I built,
But I thought I'd step down here and see
If anyone wanted to share it with me."

And he smiled to hide his guilt.

150

Someone softly swore in the silence that fell,

But it sounded more like a prayer;
For most of us knew that flume quite well

And we saw what he meant to dare.
And of course we knew that his play was a blind

And it didn't deceive us none;
We glimpsed the heart of the man behind
Who would stake his life for one of his kind,

And smile if he lost or won.

The darkness hid all danger from sight,

Which was just as well for the kid.
Who was forced to bank on what luck the night

In its passionless silence hid.
But he rose to his chance with a grim little smile

Which spoke in a language we knew;
So we picked him to win, for we judged that while
There is many a slip in a turbulent mile

His partner would bring him through.

We phoned the flume crew and folks below

To give them what help they might;
And with lantern lit, at the word to go,

They swept out into the night.
Silvertip, grim in a silent spell,

Vigilant, keen and bold,
Fearless to face whatever befell,
Sure of his strength and himself as well,

With a hunch that his luck would hold.

53 FLUMES IN BRITISH
COLUMBIA This Bear
Creek line at Adams River,
Chase, B.C., was one of the
largest. They ranged from
a few hundred yards long
to the 22 mile flume on the
upper Moyie River which
bored 300 feet into a moun-
tain. (Photo British Colum-
bia Provincial Archives)

Darkness around them, stark and blind,

Danger and menace ahead;
Swirl of whitening water behind,

And the forest aloof and dread.
Ruthless forces forbidding and chill,

The current in headlong leap
Poised on a brink for a breathless spill,
Swept 'round a curve or flung down a hill

And whirled through gulches deep.

A light or two adrift in the gloom

Where voices float out of the night;
Shadowy figures vaguely loom

And phantom-like vanish from sight.
A hail of cheer is lingering left

In the speed of a swifter flow
Through yawning blackness of canyon cleft,
'Cross spanning trestles of spidery weft,

In the grip of a raging foe.

Then luck turned traitor and cunningly wrought

With chance for a losing throw.
As a hidden projection foully caught
Their craft with a wicked blow,
Lifted and flung to the brink like a toy.

Death — and the end — seemed plain.
But Silvertip fought for himself and the boy
With such cunning and might and a fierce wild joy

That he won them to freedom again.

151

EARLY OREGON FLUMES above — water line to mill at Clatskanie; below— wood flume at Maygar.
(Photos Oregon Historical Society)

And now a cabin ablaze and bright

In the firelight's flicker and play,
With a woman's fingers, tender and light,

To comfort in woman's own way.
And medical men from the city's best,

Who promise the boy shall live;
For the grit that held in a cruel test
Will carry him through with such care and rest

As nature and skill can give.

But Silvertip, though he had nerve and to spare,

Took refuge in darkness and flight.
He had no hanker for praise or glare,

So he silently vanished from sight.
He had his fling, like a logger will

In the days of a red-blooded race;
For the men who work in a camp or mill
Mostly don't show to advantage — -until

There's work for a man to face.

. . . Charles Oluf Olsen

152

FLUME IN HILLS CREEK AREA. Lewis flume near Dexter, Ore., extended 8 miles from Lost
Creek Valley to railside mill at Pengra where it crossed both state highway and middle fork of
Willamette River. (Photo University of Oregon)

WATER LINES TO MILL AND MARKET

Flumes carried water and the romance of lumbering
down out of the high places, across gap, gully and
swamp, bridging roads and ridges where horse and high
lead couldn't reach. Here the big troughs sluiced logs
ten and twenty miles to the mills. There sawn lumber
floated leisurely and swept around curves so fast it
sloshed over the flume rim into canyons below.

There were log and lumber flumes in all the Western
states, most of them in Oregon, the longest ones in Cali-
fornia. British Columbia used spectacular water chutes
ranging from a few hundred yards to a twentv-two mile
reach on the Upper Moyie River. This flume, taking
logs to the Lumberton mill west of Cranbrook, rode over
several trestles 40 and more feet high and at one point
bored 300 feet into a mountain. Built in 1920 it was
used about ten years.

Another British Columbia flume near Crow's Nest
used 25-foot trestles down Alexander Creek. A trough
lined with metal connected Phillips Lake with tidewater
and one at Cardero Channel was built of galvanized iron.
And from Cougar Lake on Princess Royal Island logs
rode 1000 feet in a trench cut into solid rock and lined
with lumber.

Pine and spruce logs were sluiced out of the woods
in a dozen or more places. The Diamond Match Com-
pany, operating on the slopes of Mount Spokane, took
logs from two widely separated areas, the flumes joining
into one just before reaching the mill. Diamond Match
had another flume, an 8-mile carry, on Big Creek. Idaho.
At one point the grade was almost 15%, averaging 5%.
The record says the woods crew ran 6 million feet of
logs down this water line to the Priest River. The Pot-
latch Lumber Company used an 8-mile flume between
its Camp T and headquarters near Orofino, dumping
logs into the north fork of the Clearwater.

Until the Willamette River flooded and washed out a
section, Oregon's Lewis flume probably held a record
for variety of crossings. Operated by the Mt. June Flume
Company, it ran 8 miles from Lost Creek Valley to the
railside mill at Pengra and to serve other mills crossed
the state highway and middle fork of the Willamette.
Five men maintained the flume in summer, three in
winter. One 2-mile stretch was open to the wind and
swayed precariously but it took flood water to suspend
operations.

The earlv lumber flumes in the California sugar pine
intrigue the imagination. A gigantic flume was orig-
inally built in 1875 by the California Lumber Co. from

153

154

1800 FEET DOWN TO COLUMBIA GORGE went
the Bridal Veil flume carrying "a billion board
feet in half a century." Trestles were 100 feet
high in some places, the trough 4 feet wide at top,
handling stock up to 12"xl2"x40\ (Photo Univer-
sity of Oregon)

150 MILLION FEET TO GKEENPOINT MILL

Log flume of historic Stanley Smith Lumber Co.
trip gate flume in Hood River County, Ore. Here
rafting dogs have been removed from logs as they
bunch up at sluice gate. (Photo courtesy A. A.
Lausmann)

its sawmill on the headwaters of the Fresno River to the
present site of Madera — a distance of 65 miles. It was
taken over after a few years by the Madera Flume and
Timber Co. — a great, V-shaped viaduct, 46 inches from
rim to rim, each side 36 inches. It cost $300,000 and
could float about 250 thousand feet of lumber. It is
said to have taken two years to build, that over 5 million
feet of lumber went into it, 2100 kegs of nails. To give
it bouyancy, the lumber was dried before it entered
the water.

A similar flume in the same area was the property
of Kings River Lumber Co. Built in the '80s it ran 62
miles from the Kings River mill to the planing mill at
Sanger. The width varied from 36 inches at the start
to 48 inches near the end and it had about the same
capacity as the Madera flume. Lumber went into it
bundled about a foot thick, 20 to 28 feet long, the unit
held together by iron clamps. About six units were tied
together as the trip started. "Flume herders" were sta-
tioned about five miles apart along the line and as the
flume width increased, they coupled more units together.
"Inspections" were made by boat. A small block of
wood, called a "joker" was nailed to a unit of lumber
to warn herders an inspection would be coming down.
As a rule no trouble was turned up with this kind of
inspection.

Both Madera and Kings River were eventually moved
so far into mountains and timber, lumber could not be
dropped directly into flumes. At the former mill a strap
iron tram was built from mill to flume head and at Kings
River the carry was accomplished by railroad incline
operated by steam hoist.

The Diamond Match Company also had a big spec-
tacular running 45 miles from Lyonsville on the south-
western slopes of Mt. Lassen to the Southern Pacific
railside near Red Bluff. "What I recollect clearest about
that flume," said Charles O. Olsen who worked in the
company camps and walked all the way out on the narrow
footboard alongside the flume, "is that it ran through
utterly isolated country, away from roads and practically
all evidence of life. It circled from crag to crag in the
rugged mountain terrain to keep the water back and the
lumber from jumping over the side. At times I was
dizzily above the ground, then walking flat on it. The
flume was V-shaped, about two feet wide at the bottom,
five or six feet across the top and maybe four feet deep.

"Midway in the long push I came to the flume ten-
der's station and his kids, several tots, were so scared
at the sight of a stranger, they ran like barn cats and
hid. The tender got his groceries tied on a parcel of
lumber down-flume from Lyonsville, notified of the
'shipment' by telephone. That was some walk." Charley

155

Olsen was so impressed by this big flume, he wrote the
ballad which heads this section — "Silvertip's Ride."

Northeast of Eugene, Oregon, several flumes ran down
to Marcola. The Southern Pacific flumed from three big
sawmills. Fischer Lumber Company operated a flume 6
miles from Parsons Creek. Wendling was the terminus
of another water line — to the L. B. Menefee Lumber
Company mill which procured rough stock from other
mills by this method. Two other flumes in this area were
owned by Mohawk Lumber Company and Brookmayer
Lumber Company, the terminus of the latter at Donna.
Booth-Kelly Lumber Company ran a big flume to
Saginaw, 3 to 4 feet across the top, 30 feet average above
ground. On the bad turns a man stood on foot-wide
planks with pike pole to snub the lumber and keep it
from jumping out. An old-timer of Eugene is quoted as
one of the Booth-Kelly mill men "going out with the
lumber on Saturday nights."

"I was a young rooster then. We rode the flume
down from Prune Hill where B-K was cutting to Saginaw
and caught the Esspee into Eugene. During the week
we'd save out good timbers to ride on, 6x8s — 18 feet
long made fine 'horses' and we'd balance with a piece
of edging. We'd carry our fancy shoes and shirts in
sacks on our shoulders. Wore corks, of course — you
had to be catty on your feet around some of the curves
and steep places. You'd float slow and easy for a while
and then it was like water skiing — the timbers would
take off like they were going to sail right out of the
trough. The flume went under several small bridges.
If we felt real frisky we'd jump up on them, run across
and jump back on planks again."

Among the men who knew and rode these flumes
were — Gene Snellstrom, longtime sawmiller: Frank Gra-
ham, an official of Hills Creek Lumber Co. at Jasper.
This firm had a flume southeast of Eugene for 25 years.
He has said: "We'd ride stringers and make about 5 miles
in 45 minutes. It was easy — the trestles were never
more than 15 feet above ground."

Also in the Cottage Grove area was the J. H. Cham-
bers line to Dorena, the 8-mile flume of the Woodward
Lumber Company from Black Butte to south of Cottage
Grove. West of Eugene was the Forcia and Larson line
which ran 4 miles west of Noti.

The Bridal Veil Lumber Company flume was famous,
extending 1800 feet down the Oregon bluffs into the
Columbia River gorge. Fire destroyed the Bridal Veil
mill in 1937 and the line was abandoned. H. H. Holland,
who was associated with the operation after 1900 with
Charles Briggs, estimated the flume took out a billion
board feet in half a century.

Trestles were 100 feet high in some places, the flume
4 feet wide at the top, 8 inches at the bottom. It handled
stock up to 12x12 — 40 feet long but 8x16 stringers had
to be carted down as they would pile up. It sometimes
took ten men half a day to break up a lumber jam. The

water came out of Bridal Veil Creek and pond, with a
feeder spring about halfway. Part of the flow went into
1100-foot penstock, furnishing power for sawmill. It
was used nearly all winter.

On the Washington side there was a flume at Borth-
wick's Landing, below Underwood, another on the Bull
Run watershed which ran .railroad ties and lumber to
Cameron and Hogg's planing mill. The flume at LaCen-
ter dumped ties into the Lewis River. At Camas, the
Ledbetters flumed wood to the paper mill.

Lumber flumes in Idaho and Washington were com-
mon enough up to 1920. Rawson-Works Lumber Com-
pany dropped lumber from its sawmill at Caribel 2000
feet down the mountain by an 8-mile flume to the planing
mill across the Clearwater from Kamiah. The Washing-
ton Mill Co. had a water line from its Westbranch
(Wash.) mill on the Little Spokane to Allen near Milan.
This approximate location was later used by the Spokane
Lumber Company flume. Seven miles east of Blueslide,
Wash., the Wheeler mill ran lumber by water to planers
at Blueside. The flume water operated wheel to power
the green chain. Gardiner and Powell flumed on Mount
Spokane to their planing mill 8 miles down the valley.

One of the few lumber flumes to operate in late years
has been the 9-mile water haul from headrig to resaw —
of Broughton Lumber Company, Underwood, Wash. Logs
are cut into cants at the Willard sawmill and conveyor
chains drop them into flume. After an hour's ride they
nose up to rolls and are hand fed to resaw.

The Broughton flume was built in 1923 using water
of Little White Salmon River. The entire length is sup-
ported by trestles, some 80 feet above ground. The upper
half slopes gradually, lower half with steep chutes tightly
secured to sides of bluff by "deadmen" sunk in rock.

LUMBER FLUME from mill at Sheridan, Oregon.
(Photo Oregon Historical Society)

^TTr

156

SAWS and M EN

THE FILER

Behind the scenes, hid away somewhere

In any old corner there is to spare

The filer is often found

Working with hand, with eye and brain,

So sawyers may have no cause to complain,

In language emphatic and often profane,

Of saws that are timber-bound.

With patience enduring and steady of hand,

A man of worth in the timber land,

He stands in his chosen place.

Carefully gauging and filing each tooth

Keen and bright as the naked truth,

And fit as the eager heart of youth

For its task in a trying race.

Saws are a lot like you and me,

Warped by strain in the same degree,

Grow cranky and worn with age;

They lose their teeth and their tempers, too,

Break under stress, get dull and blue,

And sometimes, as men are apt to do,

Fly to pieces in sudden rage.

Their moods and merits the filer knows;

He cures their faults with crafty blows

And humors the cranky with cunning;

He soothes their troubles and mends their flaws

That they may not fail in the common cause,

For men are but men and saws are saws

And all must be kept in the running.

. . . Charles Oluf Olsen

CEDAR READY FOR CLIMB up log slip, sometimes called jack chain. Cut to length at pond cut-
off saw, log is pike-poled into position to be caught by dogs on chain and pulled up to log deck
inside mill. (Photo courtesy West Coast Lubermen's Association)

158

SAWMILL SIGN LANGUAGE

The man with the X-ray eyes, the fellow who uses
his head, eyes, both hands and feet to hold his job. has
more authority than the chairman of the board. He
would use his ears too if that "howling old she cat of a
band saw wouldn't make so much noise." He has authority,
yes — but he rarely uses it because he's a man of common
sense and needs his pay check. And maybe his authority
stops short of home.

From the days of little friction drive carriages, top
and bottom circular saws, and hand set works, sawyers
have had to make signals to the setter to get the kind of
lumber the mill superintendent wants. He stands behind
a screen or shield, order board at the side of his head,
and has to tell the man at the set works where and how
to place the log. As the carriage gigs back for another

cut, he makes up his mind and holds up his free hand
with the first and little finger extended. In fir that's
a (*y± cut.

The sawyer's two levers control feed (he could easily
put the carriage right through the end of the mill) and
nigger which kicks the next log from deck to carriage.
His eyes not only size up the log constantly but take an
occasional glance at the behavior of the band saw on
the wheel. But it's the hand signal liason between saw-
yer and setter that raises the grade, mill morale and the
sawyer's pay check.

An index finger asks for a 1 " cut. Add a thumb and
you get 6/4 — six quarter inches or a IV2" cut- All five
fingers tell the man with the log to come forward 5".
Until saws get silencers, sawyers will be using fingers
and are thankful "the old man don't know I got toes."

SAWYER SIGNALS FOR CUT Behind levers and
splinter shield, foot controlling log turning device,
order board at left of his eyes, head sawyer signals
setterman on log carriage for cut. From time
immemorial, sawyers and filers have carried on
feuds, friendly and otherwise, to prove which
"runs" the mill. Both are vital, and with edger-
man, can make or break the balance sheet. (Photo
courtesy West Coast Lumbermen's Association)
(Below) Sawyer signals for 2%" cut, next — 61/*",
(bottom) 41/4" and 6V2".

159

160

LITTLE ONES OUT OF BIG ONES Gang saw
reduces cants to 1 inch boards. (Photo courtesy
West Coast Lumbermen's Association)

SAWYERS AND SETTERS
by PAUL HOSMER

longtime editor of Brooks-Scanlon "Pine Echoes"

and wry observer of things timber wise.
It has long been an idea of mine that the morale and
efficiency of our sawmill crews could be greatly in-
creased through the adoption of a little idea which I
have lately thought out all by myself in less than a year.
My scheme is guaranteed to do away with the petty
jealousies which arise now and then between sawyers
and setters and should go a long way toward increasing
production by eliminating all the short, but frequent,
interruptions and delays which occur so often during the
summer when visitors flock to the sawmills to see how
lumber is made.

I have noticed that the social standing of sawyers
and setters is so indefinite under the present system that
every time a young lady visitor comes into the mill the
rig loses from one to six minutes while the question of
who's who around the place is settled. Being of a sym-
pathetic nature I rather lean towards the sawyer in his
noble fight for equal rights in the eyes of our fair visi-
tors. Somebody ought to say something nice about him
once in awhile and call attention to the fact that he is
really the man who runs the rig. Almost invariably the
young ladies who visit our mills during the summer
months go away with the impression that the setter is the
man who makes the wheels go around, and the setter,

(Opposite) SAWYER'S-EYE-VIEW OF DOUBLE

CUT BAND Saw is stopped for cameraman show-
ing teeth on each edge of 14 inch width. Double-
cuts require greater handling and sawing skill,
more time in filing room, but speed up production
since log is being sawed as carriage moves in each
direction. (Photo courtesy West Coast Lumber-
men's Association)

being usually a young man of much pep and vitality,
takes advantage of his seat in the sun, so to speak, and
does as little as possible to offset this impression. The
sawyer, I believe, should be entitled to some credit for
his work, but for this reason I venture to broach the
subject of uniforms.

Aside from his personal inconspicuousness, the thing
that holds the sawyer back the most is the cage in which
he works. When a man is set down on the mill floor
with a high board fence built around him, a castiron
shield on one side, a deck load of logs piled over him
and a carriage dashing back and forth in front of him
it isn't any wonder that lady visitors fail to pay him
proper attention. Only his head and shoulders appear
in the public eye at any time, but I contend that if those
shoulders were draped in a brilliant red uniform every-
body would notice him.

As it is now even the mill foreman forgets about the
sawyer in the morning. If the rig is moving and the
setter is making strange motions with his fingers he
knows the sawyer must be around somewhere and lets
it go at that. Now and then the cut inspector, after
having made the rounds of the office, the sheds, the
planing mill and the yard without finding anything to
kick about, filters himself through a maze of belts, live
rolls and whatnot down to the sawyer's cage with the
firm intention of telling him a few things about cutting
up logs. He alone knows that the sawyer is the man
responsible for the lumber. After a short but snappy

161

' 40

' • /

IN TO GET THEIR TEETH FIXED Automatic gumming and sharpening machine grinds gullets
uniformly and buzzes shoulders and points of teeth in same operation. Number and size of saw
teeth vary with type of lumber, speed of saw. (Photo courtesy West Coast Lumbermen's Asso-
ciation)

conversation in which a great many naughty words are
used, the inspector retires to the deacon seat on the deck
with the feeling of a duty well done, and the sawyer,
spurred to renewed efforts and brought sharply back to
life by this word of warning, bites off another chew and
proceeds to run his rig, grade his lumber and tell funny-
stories to his setter in sign language exactly as he has
been doing it for the past ten years and will, no doubt,
continue to do for the rest of his life.

There are points about the sawyer which should
command attention from an admiring populace, but
hidden as he is from the public view, his talents are
often wasted. For one thing he is an ambidexterous

162

individual and it is an education to watch him when he
gets under way. Of course, there are other people who
can use one hand as well as the other in certain places,
such as the lumberjack at dinner time who feeds equally
well from either side, but like the pipe organ player,
the sawyer not only uses both hands all the time, but
both feet as well. After he gets really warmed up to his
work it is nothing for him to push the steam feed with
one hand, the nigger bar with the other, work all his
fingers talking to the setter and use both feet in pressing
the doodads in the floor; now and then a real good one
will be found who can, in addition to keeping all the
above in motion, remove a box of Copenhagen from his

FILERS ARE KEY MEN IN THE MILLS

FILERS WERE KEY MEN IN MILLS (Top left
to right) Weyerhaeuser men — Jack Tracey who
filed at Longview shingle mill and later at Willapa
Harbor; W. J. "Bill" Murphy, Mill 1 Longview,
who first filed at Hammond in Garibaldi, Oregon;
A. E. "Bert" Proctor, Everett; Harry Armstrong,
Mill 3 Longview. (Below left to right) John Sells,
filer for English Lumber Co., best known for
patenting crosscut saw handle; Bill Proctor, Grays
Harbor and Seattle filer and well known band saw
expert; Fred Hill, Grays Harbor mills and Ed Ben-
nett, Shevlin-Hixon at Bend, Oregon.

BIG BAND SAWS IN FOR FRESHENING Eigh-
teen-inch bands are mounted in sharpening ma-
chines in Manary filing room. Other steps in
fitting saws were gumming, swaging, sometimes
hammering out kinks, retensioning, "stretching"
and brazing ends when saws broke or pieces had
to be removed. (Manary Logging Co. photo)

163

BIG SLAB DROPPED on

live rolls as carriage starts
forward into another cut.
(Photo courtesy West Coast
Lumbermen's Association)

left rear pocket, take a chew, mop his brow with a red
handkerchief and get his stool out of the rack and under
him without missing a lick. When they get this good,
however, they are usually retired on a pension and given
the title of mill foreman so as to have an excuse for
signing the payroll.

The time and place in which the sawyer appears to
the worst disadvantage, however, is when visitors to the
plant go up on the deck to see the big saws work — espe-
cially female visitors. Here it is that the setter is apt
to get in a few dirty licks tending to show the gallery
that he is somebody and, due to his sensational job on
top of the rig, is likely to completely eclipse the sawyer.
Invariably the girls ask me if the setter is the man who
runs things. If it happens that I am under a financial
or other embarrassing obligation to the setter I tell them
yes. If, on the other hand, the sawyer is a particular
friend of mine I take pains to explain the entire layout
and impress on the young lady the fact that while the
setter seems to be doing most of the work the sawyer is
reallv the man who tells him what to do.

There seems to be some question of my veracity in
the minds of a good many sawyers, however, and just
to make sure that I don't make a mistake they are very
apt to use methods of their own to correct any misleading
impressions which the young lady may seem to be get-
ting. The sawyer knows that the girls cannot be blamed
for mistaking a setter for a sawyer. He realizes that to
their impressionable minds his setter cuts quite a dashing
figure as he swings debonairly back and forth on the
darting carriage, but being a man of high intelligence
and realizing his power to put a stop to the proceedings
any time he wants to, he is usually willing to give the
setter a good fair chance to make the dame.

From his commanding position on the carriage, the
setter is naturally the first to catch sight of the fair
visitor as she comes onto the landing, and this is the
signal for him to begin to police up a little and make
sure she sees him. He rubs his chin warily and in so
doing covertly removes three fingers of snoose which, if
found on his person, he fears may count a point against
him in her estimation. As the carriage whips back for

\(y\

the next cut he sways gracefully to the swift motion,
dashes his cap recklessly against his knee like a buckaroo
at a Fourth of July rodeo, and combs a peck of sawdust
out of his hair. With these preliminaries he is ready to
strut his stuff.

Awestruck, the young lady visitor is gazing around
the mill at the crashing machinery which snaps logs into
the air as easily as a man twiddles a match between his
fingers, and she does not seem to be paying the proper
amount of attention to him which his job demands. Sud-
denly the setter sits up straight in his seat, yells loudly
to the sawyer to stop the rig, pushes every lever on the
carriage and, when it stops, lifts himself to his feet. Ah!
now she is looking at him. With an air of importance
he climbs over half a dozen cylinders and two miles of
air hose, meanwhile cautioning the sawyer with a warning
hand not to move the rig, and very carefully removes a
piece of bark the size of a dollar bill from under one of
the dogs. This bark has been in that identical place ever
since he came on shift that morning and he knew it
would come in handy if he left it there long enough.
Then he climbs painstakingly back into his seat, waves
a hand airily, grins contentedly and resumes his ride,
knowing that the young lady is giving him her full at-
tention.

The sawyer, of course, now wakes up to the fact that
something is going on which he doesn't know about, and
being an old head at the game, he looks first to the
visitor's gallery. Sure enough, just as he thought, there
is a girl up there — a good looker, too — and she is
watching with an admiring eye the manly form of the
young setter who has apparently just saved the sawmill

BAND SAW RAN AMOCK

Traveling at 9400 feet a
minute, this 54 foot band
saw, 10 inches wide, struck
a sickle embedded in the
log. With a ripping, scream-
ing whistle, the saw split,
27 feet of the broken side
spearheaded through 24
inches of solid wood, struck
the log carriage, coiled,
twisted and broke out a side
of the mill. Miraculously,
no one was killed or in-
jured. Steel band wheels
have been known to crys-
talize and fly apart, creat-
ing as much havoc as an
explosion. (Photo courtesy
West Coast Lumbermen's
Association)

from serious disaster by removing the piece of bark in
time. The sawyer sighs resignedly. He is a man of
family and has no interest in the fair visitor, but never-
theless it is going a little too far when a setter delib-
erately steals the spotlight by running in that old bark
gag on him before he has a chance to spot the girl for
himself, so he begins to use a little strategy.

Carefully easing the log up to the saw he examines
it carefully. Then he backs the rig up to the nigger,
whirls the log around three times, pushes it back an inch
and immediately orders his setter to set it up again,
whereupon he saws off a board. The carriage starts on
its return trip so fast that the setter has trouble in regain-
ing his balance, and just as he gets set the rig touches
the bumper just hard enough to throw him over the other
way. He is rapidly becoming demoralized, and hurriedly
setting the log up for the next cut, he is surprised and

I ^B

JAP SQUARES WERE STAPLE ITEM in '20s. 28"x28" and 30"x30" Douglas fir cants were stand-
ard export material to the Orient in the boom days of high mill production. (Photo courtesy West
Coast Lumbermen's Association)

somewhat hurt to learn the sawyer signaled for 5|4 in-
stead of 6|4. His dial shows he is not coming out right
on the log and he attempts to call the sawyer's attention
to this state of affairs, whereupon the latter stops the
carriage and with many forcible gestures and a few well
chosen words, tells the setter where to head in at. Then,
with a casual glance at the gallery which shows him that
the young lady is now fully cognizant of his presence,
the sawyer majestically takes up his station in the cage
and resumes his work. The setter pulls his cap down
over his eyes, recklessly takes a fresh shot of Copenhagen
in full view of the audience and things go on as before.
Some day he will be a sawyer, too, and his time will

166

come.

The idea which I would like to see our sawmill adopt
is to give the sawyers a neat but not gaudy jacket of
red and gold and a pair of green pants. Of course, he
should have a suitable number of epaulets and other
insignia to signify his ranking at a glance, the same as
any other commanding officer, and the setter should have
a uniform of more subdued shade, say gray or olive
drab, with a quiet chevron or two — just enough to let
him feel his oats, like a corporal. The idea appears
sound to me and I would like to see it tried. The sawyer
should have a break out of it somewhere.

STIFFS and SAVAGES

The mournful chords of "Just A Wearyin' For You"
crept out of the black pianola set against the partition
that formed the back room. They curled like wraiths
around the gaudy-labeled whiskey bottles and pyramids
of glassware on the mirrored backbar and settled with
an almost audible thud into the big, brass spitoons.

Strong men, who last week were running thousand
pound fir slabs down the live rolls or rigging steel on
spar trees, dropped salty tears in their nickel schooners
of beer.

"Chee-riminey Christmas!" Like a powder blast split-
ting a log was the voice of the mustachioed bartender.
"Light the candles and sing a hymn! Is this a drinkin'
joint or a welcomin' party for the new undertaker? Is
this town gone and crawled into a bear trap or somethin'?
You — Sally! Get off your big hunker and put on a
lively roll. Wake up, you mugs settin' there and spend
some dough!"

The girl in the red kalsomine bounced the man in
the tin pants off the bench and kicked off a glittering
shoe on her way to the music box. She flipped the lever
and the tearful tones stopped, the perforated paper roll
rattling and flapping as it wound to an end. The bar-
tender stomped around the end of the bar and rolled
with every step on the pock-marked floor. Behind him
came bouncing the husky voice of Eva Tanguay — "I
don't care, I don't care — ." He hesitated just long

enough to slick down his oiled hair and swept wide the
swinging doors, bellowing into the street:

"Bank your money here, boys — and have one on
the house!"

The Silver Spike Saloon was itself again.
# * *

The Skidroad was at its lustiest between 1895 and
1915. Here was life — everything for the guy Avith money
in his store clothes looking right and left like a hungry
hawk for a good time. He was carnal man with a thirst
and long deprived of satisfaction of the senses. He was
a red-blooded escapee from the woods and some green
chain foreman's gibes. He was free and frolicsome and
blowing her in was going to be a grand job.

The elbowing and jostling, the bawdy profanity, the
roistering and buffoonery — all are parts of this life.
With a grin the logger and sawmill stiff dodges a pitch
from a job office and another from a bald-headed man
in a hand-me-down clothes shop. With the same grin he
tosses a half-dollar to an old man mauling a wheezy
accordion and singing a quavering ditty. A street vendor
with a tray of phony jewelry gets in his way and he
nudges him into a female phrenologist making overtures
from a doorway on the sidewalk.

In the next block there is more hurly-burly — a droop-
ing peddler of Chinese lottery tickets, the con man with

ALLISON'S RED FRONT
SALOON in Tillamook had
all the customer conveni-
ences from hand towels to
dish of cloves. (Photo Tilla-
mook County Pioneer Mu-
seum)

167

SUNDAY STREET SCENE — 1903 Sawmill hands dress up and spend Sunday afternoon in front
of Mt. Vernon, Washington, hotel — entertained by fisticuffs and other sports to the accompaniment
of violin and guitar. (Photo Stacey Collection, Mt. Vernon)

his sleezy approach, the shoestring beggar, bootblacks
and newsies, the street walker, the tin horn, the penny
arcade and the female barbers — windows of herbs, teeth
and used magazines. A shooting gallery. Back in the
planing mill he might think of all these with black mis-
givings but right now they were his. He made them — so
why shouldn't he wade right in?

That was the way this blatant, hilarious, devil-may-
care dazzle of The Skidroad lost its wickedness, became
only setting for a carouse. They lent tone to the play, as
did the tin-panny music pouring through the swinging
doors, the clink and rattle of poker chips and dice, the
shouts and smell of liquor and wet sawdust. "Try your
luck, boys? Bet 'em high and sleep in the streets!"

At night the tempo increased. The extra bartenders
polished the mahogany, roulette dealers spun their wheels
invitingly, the wheel of fortune man spieled: "Round

PACKERS AT ANACOR-

TES Shingle Co. owned by
Vincent and Owen in 1907.
Shingles were dropped down
chute from sawing floor
above, men gathering them
into a "packer," making up
standard bundles. Strapped,
they went to dry kilns. In
front is Joe Shransky, be-
hind him Frank Gagnon, in
rear Charley White. (Photo
courtesy C. H. White)

and round she goes an' where she stops nobody knows!"
The swinging doors swung faster and faster. Feet joined
feet on the brass rails and if anybody slumped he was
carted into the back room or dragged out on the street.

At the curb was the soap-box orator and the Salva-
tion Army troupe with the big up-ended drum — the
prayers, songs and exhortations. "Where Is My Wander-
ing Boy Tonight?" The country-bred lassies were selling
"War Cries" from saloon to saloon and nobody touched
them or made ribald remarks. And the other kind of
women inviting molestation. Around any corner — the
sporting houses, girlie shows, dance halls and dives for
all tempting pleasures. "Come on, honey. Only a lousy
dollar. Trip around the world for a pair of 'em."

If The Devil walked down The Skidroad nobody
saw him.

168

THIS WAS ERICKSON'S Skidroad view of Portland's famous thirst emporium and rendezvous for
working stiffs, adventurers and boomers from the four corners of the world— 243 Burnside Street.
The bar ran the entire length of the block. (Photo Oregon Historical Society)

ERICKSON'S
by CHARLES OLUF OLSEN

Charles Oluf Olsen has used hammer, anvil and
typewriter to fit himself into a niche of logging
camp and sawmill memory. Born in Denmark, lie
short-staked himself in and out of every state for
over fifty years. By trade he has been a blacksmith
but by inclination a writer and his output has cov-
ered the West Coast woods. With a mind as keen as
an axe blade and a facile writing style which he
acquired after he learned English at the age of fifty,
Charley Olsen is full of fun yet solemn as a sphinx.
In verse and article he has always accented the
viewpoint of the working stiff with a fierce love for
his fellow man.
It is a long look back to the nineties. Most of the
men who then knew August Erickson are now grizzled
old-timers. Lonesome figures of yesterday, these think
of the man who passed away on a prisoner's cot in the
Good Samaritan hospital during the month, and another
day rises vividly in their minds. They see what was
almost another civilization. They feel the wild pioneering
days of their youth.

The manner of Erickson's passing revived the glamor
that clung around his name. It enhanced the fame of this
picturesque ruler of his little world, this stage king who

played his hour within the four walls of his world-
renowned saloon at Second and Burnside streets, Port-
land. The tragedy of his death must have set men all
over the world to talking. His fame, in song and story,
reached even to those far-off, out-of-the-way places where
only rovers go.

Erickson, like many a gambler before him, played
a losing hand to the bitter finish. He sat at the last
facing heavy odds, in an unfamiliar game. He mis-
calculated his hand. He made foolish bets. The per-
centage against him ate up his stake and ill health blurred
his judgment, until at last Death put the cards away.

The men who crowded his massive, mirrored bars are
scattered to the winds. Loggers and ranchers, railroad
men and miners, fishermen and sailors, prospectors, cow-
boys, stakey men and stiffs; high and low, adventurers
all, they came from everywhere, drawn to his corner as
iron filings to a magnet.

For Erickson's was more than a drinking-place; it was
a wide world's rendezvous. Had you lost track of a pal,
like as not you would find him waiting for you there,
his elbow on the bar, a huge, frothy scoop of beer in
front of him. Sought you some particular man, you
would in time see him pass in the throng that milled in
and out through the swinging doors. The whole world
of roving labor passed here in review. Life lay lightly
on the shoulders of this crew who frolicked before the

169

m I'. >

HI. ..-..

. r 1

*^ a

VENEER WAS PEELED ON 40 INCH LATHE and sheet was split on center in this early day
Washington plywood mill. (Photo Ames Collection, University of Washington)

attentive barkeepers, made eager groups around the gam-
bling tables, talked in loud, assertive voices, sang the
songs of a dozen tongues or, elbow to elbow, lined the
bars drinking, arguing, listening to the music or boasting
of their exploits. They were largely workers, doing the
hard, manual labor of the frontiers, on a temporary spree
of enjoyment and making the most of it while money and
time were theirs. It was in such coin they paid them-
selves for months of enforced abstinence from social
excitement, taking revenge for weary days of drudgery.
Drinking their fill of pleasure to last them till the next
period of indulgence.

But Erickson's was no blessed asylum for bums. Fel-
lows of that stamp got scanty sympathy there. I recall
a sunny spring morning some thirty years ago: After a
big schooner of beer and a short but spirited attack on
the free-lunch counter under the watchful eye of the
porter, I passed outside and stood loafing in front of
the entrance, soaking in the warmth. I had just come
down from Seattle. The logging camps were opening,
but jobs as yet were scarce and my pennies were disap-
pearing. As I lingered there, figuring on my next move,
a burly cop rounded the corner and in a casual, business-

like way grabbed my hand, turned it over and scrutinized
the palm. With a non-committal grunt he dropped it
and went on. I turned to a fellow who had been watching
this performance from inside the saloon and asked:

"What in the world did the cop do that for?"

"Oh," came the answer, "harness-bulls in this burg
has their instruction; around this corner here they frisk
a bo to see if he's got calluses on his paws; if he ain't
it's the rock-pile for him, savvy." Then he added scorn-
fully: "You kin get calluses from glomming the rods on
a rattler; these cops don't know it all!"

Not that Erickson's place wasn't generous. If you
had "blowed" your pile there you might depend on a
lift to get you a job or perhaps your fare to reach it.
But everybody could not be helped. There must have
been an appalling number of askers and it was impera-
tive that rules should be established, a limit set. Begging
was the one unforgivable offense. Stewbums, pan-han-
dlers, moochers and spearers of drinks were given the
short shrift of the bum's rush, if not a policeman's arms!

When gambling was outlawed, when Fritz and Blazier
left Erickson and opened bars of their own across the
street and took some of his trade with them; when the

170

VENEER CLIPPER IN EARLY DOOR FACTORY (Darius Kinsey photo from Jesse E.
Collection)

Ebert

lid was clamped on the town in crusades on vice, the
red-light districts eliminated and the lurid attractions of
that section began to fade, the character of Erickson's
customers changed and with them many of the old ways.
The gambling games dwindled to petty stud-poker in the
back rooms; the splurging of the revellers in the place
gradually ceased and the premises often had but a sprin-
kling of patrons where before there had been crowds.
The drinking in Erickson's was of the hectic, impul-
sive kind; it differed altogether from the quiet places
uptown where little noise was tolerated and polite, con-
ventional manners ruled. Here on Second and Burnside
the boisterous and hearty, but often rude, spontaneity of
rough men had free rein. A spender usually invited the
bartender, those who happened to be already lined up,
all within reach of his voice, or even the whole house
to have a drink at his expense. His inclusiveness or exclu-
siveness depended on the size of his stake and the gen-
erosity of his spirit. A man seldom drank alone, espe-
cially in the evening, unless he was down to bed-rock.
"Come on, all you fellows, and have something," was
the slogan there. An invitation to share someone's spree
would not be long in coming after you had entered

Erickson's. It was the spirit of the place and the day.

The gambling was also of the plunging, reckless kind.
It was in the evening that this sport was in full sway.
Portland itself contributed a very small portion to the
professional gamblers' income. The bulk of it came
from the woolly sheep that flocked in from the woods,
the grading camps, ranches and mines. These supplied
the fleece that kept the spoilers in comfort for a large
part of the year. Fourth of July and the Christmas holi-
days were their banner times; then the wool was heaviest
and easiest to shear. The workingmen of the frontier
were for the most part heedless, generous players and
easy losers. For most of them this was a blessing in dis-
guise. Far better to go broke in one glorious, meteoric
orgy of a single night than to squander your stake on a
continuous drunken blow-out of three weeks' duration.
Better king for an hour and then back to drudgery, with
wild glory booming in your ears, than never to have
tasted life's brimming cup.

Naturally, the deplorable vice that thrives on the
outskirts of districts like the North End was in full evi-
dence here. Nor was it camouflaged. It flaunted openly,
barring the periods following the occasional crusades

171

that public opinion called for. It was an accepted custom
of the times, connived at by the police powers, considered
a necessary evil, an indispensable adjunct to a really
"swell" time as demanded by the money-spenders who
might otherwise have transferred their coin and their
desires to a more "wide open" town.

Looking back over the intervening dry years to those
flaming days, what is the old-timers' judgment of them?
They were both good and bad. I often wonder now just
what it was that impelled men to stand bellied against a
bar all night long, downing drink upon drink long after
thirst and desire had fled squandering a stake acquired
by the most brutal, manual labor, often earned literally
in sweat and blood. From these calmer, more disciplined
days it appears like sheer madness. That a man should
come to Erickson's, step to the bar, throw his stake on it,
turn around and bawl out: "All you stiffs come and have
something," and stay there guzzling until it was gone,
when the earning of it had actually been a case of "A
hundred days for a hundred dollars" seems as foolish
as impossible. But it was so.

Maybe the times were to blame. Spending one's stake
was then a universal and respected pastime, encouraged
not alone by the profiting saloon-keepers, but often by
the bosses on the job. A stakey man was apt to be inde-
pendent and a hungry belly always guaranteed a willing
pair of hands, at least until its wrinkles had disappeared.
The men who drank in Erickson's were a husky, hard-
working lot, for the most part young and spirited. Cooped
up for months in places as devoid of pastimes as a prison-
cell and then suddenly let loose in a world of pleasures,
theirs for the demanding as long as they had the price,
they satisfied their desire for play in the same direct,
brutal way in which they conquered their tough jobs.
Tough times and tough men!

The attraction of Erickson's for these men was the
comradely, democratic atmosphere, the cheerful setting,
the hilarious and carefree companionship, the devil-may-
care spirit. Even if there was the morning after, of
furred tongues and aching heads, they were willing to
pay the price — it was well worth it.

But lest we forget: There were also those who, clear-
eyed, red-checked and bright-minded, lined up at the
bar and stayed there until they were carried away, hours
later, to a back room, where they lay on the floor dead
drunk — broke, corpse-like, repulsive. Erickson's had
no monopoly of these things; they were the regular out-
cropping of the saloon of that day.

Years lend enchantment to those joys. I remember the
delicious concoctions Erickson's accomplished bartenders
could conjure from the mysterious-looking bottles on the
back bar — bottles that teased my imagination with their
odd shapes, suggestive labels, queer, fantastic names and
attractive colors. That old-time Manhattan cocktail with
its genuine marachino cherry on a toothpick and an
ensnaring perfume ! On frosty mornings there was a cer-

tain chill-chaser at the making of which one of the
drink-dispensers was a wizard; a thin glass, delicate al-
most, half full of boiling water, a silver teaspoon of
powdered sugar, a generous dollup of gurgling, amber-
colored Jamaica rum, a touch of lemon peel and the
merest dash of nutmeg, made a drink that was 100%
efficient, stimulating and intoxicating, a drink that would
have thawed out Paul Bunyan in the memorable Winter
of the Blue Snow! And who could forget on Christmas
holidays the bowl of Tom and Jerry? The golden sheen
of the jolly, frothy mixture that mellowed your mood,
put blarney on your tongue, enraptured your senses and
enthralled your spirit, until the whole world was truly
a place of good will toward men!

And let us not pass by the toothsome free lunches.
Everything savory — and salty — on display to entice
the patron to eat, but nicely calculated also to make him
drink! Fish of all kinds from strange parts of the globe,
catering to outlandish tastes; a regular delicatessen where
everything was "free gratis" — provided you kept drink-
ing. Meat balls, fish balls and "balls that were no balls
at all," as the ballad had it. My mouth waters when
recollection flies back to the steamed clams and broth,
the stews, the soups and all that array of tempting dishes!

They are all gone now.

A ghost-like place now, is Erickson's, teeming with
memories. What stories those bars could tell! Here men
related wonderful tales of prowess on land and sea; many
a perilous voyage was sailed around those mahogany
counters, many a hazardous trail traveled again, many a
daring feat of valor reenacted! Safe to say more logging
was done within those walls than in all the woods of the
Northwest since logging began!

Free from the greatest of faults, commonplaceness, it
breathed the tang of the sea, the scent of forests, the
smell of sage-brush desert. Here was the flavor of the
wilds, the spirit of untamed things. Erickson's belongs
to the Northwest's youth, its period of wild-oats sowing.
It but expressed the times. It was a reckless age, a prodi-
gal age, a mad age, if you will, but who will deny that
it was an age worth while?

172

MILL AND CREW ON YUKON Roy Rutherford grew up in Falls .City, Washington, started saw-
milling at Valdez in 1901. mushed over the trail to Fairbanks in 1904. Independent Lumber Co.,
above, a Rutherford operation, was sold to S. Widman in 1912. (Photo courtesy Roy Rutherford)

SKIDDING WATER FOR BODLERS Mt. Vernon pioneer, John Wylie (foreground) hauled water
for sawmills with this 10-horse team. He came from Michigan in '98 after oxen had logged, worked
in sawmill at Clearbrook, Whatcom County, then for many years drove teams in woods. He hauled
shingle bolts over planked roads for Green and Hammer mill at Skyu Slough (now Skytopia) and
for mills pictured opposite. This photo taken by early Mt. Vernon photographer Robertson in 1903
on Bay View Ridge, site of present airport. Man by rear barrels is Dick White, next Linberg and
George Hobson. (Photo courtesy John Wylie)

^ti

-.<.

"FREE FARE TO HAPPY VALLEY"

Call them "job sharks," "slave shops," "workhouse
traps" or whatever you will, the employment offices that
funneled men off the Skidroad and into mills and woods
had a timely worth, however misused or misunderstood
it was.

You saw the job boards at dozens of places along

Vancouver's Cordova Street, San Francisco's Embarca-

dero, Portland's Burnside and Seattle's Occidental —

blackboards or boards painted black vying for attention

with the saloon, tattoo parlor or honky tonk. You were

looking for them with one eye and avoiding them with

the other. It was just that you sort of wanted to know

where you might be going after you got off this job of

getting yourself a good time. But you didn't want to

get too chummy with those ominous white chalk marks:

CHOKER STR $3.50

2 AXE MEN FAIRHAVEN $3

STACKER — MILL CITY

DOGGER — PIE MEN — TAIL SAWYER

WE GIVE YOU THE BEST DEAL IN TOWN

No matter what the sign said it all meant work and
you couldn't get too giddy about it. "Say, mister, I
worked there at Hokum City and I don't go back. I'll go
for the green chain 'cause me, I'm scared of saws and
anyway I like fresh air and rain. Man, do I like rain.
Pond man? Hunh-unh. No two-stepping on them slip-

174

pery logs. Say — I just remembered. I don't want no
job. Remembered a guy that owes me a ten spot. See
you tomorrow maybe."

So employment offices had a function. Mills and
camps needed men constantly and every day thousands
had to go back to work. The job offices were necessary
to the boom conditions of lumbering, a natural outgrowth
of good times.

Back in the early days when the first West Coast
mills were getting started, men met in the general stores
and exchanged news about jobs, and the storekeepers,
in touch with the general situation, grew to be employ-
ment agents of a sort. But in those days labor turnover
was at a minimum. A man didn't just up and quit a
good sawmill or woods job. He had to have a driving
urge to leave a camp or mill and hike miles over a rough,
muddy trail with a bed on his back, carrying his own
food and cooking pots.

The steam sawmill, with both California and Yukon
gold rushes, changed the pattern. The steam mill was a
bigger operation, needed a permanent location, not only
for the boiler and engine but for machinery to dress,
plane, groove and dry lumber. It took a bigger crew to
run it and so began to have a continuing employment
problem.

Men were so scarce in Portland when Oregon's first
steam sawmill was built there, not enough manpower
could be rounded up to put the 16-inch square hewn

timbers for the framework into place. A flat-boat was
sent to Oregon City for men and came back empty. The
beams were finally hoisted into place with a block and
tackle on a homemade derrick. When men still stayed
away, convicts from Oregon State Penitentiary were put
to work.

This sort of condition was bound to right itself and
up sprang American ingenuity in the form of job-getters.
These employment offices sent appeals to the cut-out
areas of Michigan, Minnesota and Wisconsin to recruit
men for woods and mill jobs and as trains and ships
brought them out, they went right to work and sent back
home for their brothers and cousins.

Most employment offices in lumbering's heyday were
two-way establishments, even those run by saloon keepers
in their spare time. A man getting a job through the
agent was entitled to store his bedding and belongings
free of charge until he shipped out. While he was gone
he could have his mail sent there and meet his friends
at this spot when he came back in town. Now, if his
particular kind of a job wasn't on the board, he could
lay down a five dollar bill with some information as to
how to reach him while he was having his good time.

Bed rolls and personal belongings were placed in a
"bin" in the back room — an enclosure made of slats
and chicken wire with a padlocked door. After the "tur-
key" was cashed it was sure to be buggy because those

(top left) "IDAHO? THAT'S FOB SPUDS!" Em-
ployment office pitch in the old days, like the sign
in front of this Portland "job office," included
free transportation to the job. Old timers recall
one notice — "WANTED — NEW KING FOR
SPAIN. No blankets needed." (Photo Oregon His-
torical Society)

(right) SECOND AND BURNSIDE Corner housed
Pacific Employment Co. as well as the famous
belovv-the-line resort — House Of All Nations. (Pho-
to Oregon Historical Society)

(center) FALLERS GOT $4.25 a day when this
picture was taken of the Oregon Labor Agency at
Ankeny and Second in Portland. Sign at right
reads — "Waffles at all hours, 5^". Photo Oregon
Historical Society)

pests in a blanket or two would run rampant through
the whole lot.

As a rule employment offices were what you expected
them to be. They looked at employers and worker cus-
tomers with an honest eye. They dealt fairly with both
parties, supplying the best labor obtainable and at times
advancing rail fare to the job to men who looked trust-
worthy. But there was naturally a minority who didn't
care to whom or where thev shipped men as long as they
got their fees. Among these "jobs sharks" were those
whose specialty was "free fare," meaning they sent men

175

HARDLY EVER SEE THIS NO MORE Douglas fir planks like these would be worth a king's
ransom today — No. 1 clear, 3x/4"x4'xl6'. (Darius Kinsey photo from West Coast Lumbermen's Asso-
ciation)

to employers known to be unfair.

One thing only was required of "free fare" rides —
bedding. Since many of them were "mill inspectors" who
didn't aim to work, only wanted transportation to some
"happy valley" where life might be easier but probably
wasn't, they were not packing more than they could get
in their stomachs and pockets. So they had to hustle a
bed roll. The second-hand stores were sharp to this and
would sell you something like a roll for a dollar or so.
The outside of this bargain looked genuine if consider-
ably bunk worn, but inside it was stuffed with news-
papers, rags or maybe a brick. If the "free fare" boys
arrived at the sawmill or logging camp at night, they
handed over their bed rolls as security for a bunk,
supper and breakfast. If they arrived during the day,
they just walked away — period.

Few of these men worked at their jobs — a week or
ten days at the most — then moved on in the same manner
to another spot. Mills that resorted to "free fare" prac-
tices had standing orders with employment agencies to
send a given number of men at stated intervals. This was
called the three-crew system — one crew quitting, one
working, one on the way to work. "Free fare" employers

naturally accumulated store rooms full of turkeys and
periodically hauled them out into the air with pike poles
and gave them the kerosene and match treatment.

There was a type of labor agent who specialized in
supplying Japanese and other ignorant aliens to saw-
mills badly in need of men. Some of these agents used
legitimate enough methods but many were unscrupulous
and exploited the laborers for their own gain. One
practice was to send aliens to nearby mills so that close
contact could be maintained. Then each week or oftener
the labor agent would go personally to the mill and col-
lect the exhorbitant wage percentage he claimed was due.
Often he would organize dice games and use other ruses
to fleece the workers and keep them dependent on his
services. There is at least one case on record where
rebellious Japanese turned on the job shark with knives
and in the resulting melee, six of them were shot to death.

It is safe to assume it was not this employment man
who, during the downfall of the Spanish monarchy,
chalked up this immortal message on his skidroad bul-
letin board:

WANTED — NEW KING FOR SPAIN
NO BLANKET NEEDED

176

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