The Grays Harbor country has long been an area rich in wild game. Their pelts have clothed and their meat has nourished innumerable generations for thousands of years. When the European white man arrived in the area around 1850, his trusty rifle got a lot of use bringing down animals clad in fur or feathers. Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned and these news reports are grim reminders that hunting accidents happen - and to beseech the reader to be careful when carting loaded firearms around in the woods.
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‘Fire!” The shout throws fear into the heart of the stoutest man, even more so when the call goes up in a town made entirely of wood. The role fire has played in Harbor history is great: Aberdeen had its baptism by fire in 1903, Cosmopolis had hers in 1929, and Moclips was leveled several times over the years. Those were the “Great” fires that left everlasting changes. Of course, there were other fires that could have lead to great tragedy if not for the fast actions of the local fire boys. Here are some tales of fire when Aberdeen was still 95 percent wood.
Back in the waning years of the 19th century when Aberdeen was growing into more than a muddy clearing and the timber trade was taking hold, it became a target for the lazy and indolent. At that time there were plenty of jobs available and little excuse to be unemployed which led in 1897 to the city fathers passing Ordinance 140 concerning vagrants and providing the punishment thereof.
For no particular reason, it seems to be a good time to finally let this column go to the dogs with a series of random stories about man’s best friend. 1906 seems to have been an especially rough year on the Harbor for dogs and people (and trains and streetcars) to mix.
From the rampant ickyness at the Thunderbird Motel to that runaway female prisoner, Aberdeen’s seedy underbelly has supplied some interesting news these last few weeks. These brought to mind other tales from the Harbor’s past that reflect the criminal element and their inability to follow the rules.
Drug addiction on the Harbor is a major problem, but the abuse of narcotics is nothing new for our area. In the late 1890s, opium was a common ingredient in patent medicines, and the use of laudanum and morphine was widespread among all classes of society. Opium and cocaine was more or less available over the counter until the passage of the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act of 1914 regulating the procurement and pharmacological distribution of medicinal narcotics. Grays Harbor was also one of the many ports along the Pacific Coast that struggled with rampant smuggling of Chinese opium. Today, narcotics are still an issue on the Harbor, the only difference being that “tweakers” have supplanted the “opium-eaters” of old. Here are some tales of woe that came with the arrival of Chinese opium to the streets of the Harbor.
This photo, taken between 1910 and 1912, was shot looking north on H Street from Heron Street. The only visible structure still in existence is the one on the left, at the southwest corner of Wishkah and H Streets, which most will remember as the long-time home of Reiner’s Sporting Goods. Adjoining it is S.K. Bowes & Co., a pioneer real estate and insurance firm. Across H Street was Mark Payette’s Music House, where you could also purchase art supplies and sewing machines. Today it is the location of Rite Aid. In the distance looms the spire of the Congregational Church which stood on the southwest corner of First and H streets. Visible to the right, is the Crescent Hotel, located in the Ninemire & Morgan building on the southeast corner of Market and H streets. That structure was demolished last year and is now a rubble-strewn vacant lot.
As we conclude the Christmas season, here is a handful of random holiday stories from the past and a trio of tales where St. Nick ends up more than sooty.
Historically, one of largest immigrant populations in Aberdeen were those who came from Finland. Until 1917, Finland was a part of Czarist Russia. In the early 1900s, to avoid conscription into the Czar’s army, thousands of young Finns fled to the United States and hundreds of them came to Grays Harbor. The Finns, a clannish people, created two distinct “Finntowns”: One in South Aberdeen west of Boone Street; and the second that ran on each side of the Wishkah River from roughly the Wishkah River Bridge to the North Aberdeen Bridge. While most Finns were industrious, providing much-needed labor and economic benefits to their new hometown, there were those who spent a large amount of their time in the local saloons, creating headaches for the Aberdeen police department. Here are a number of stories published by the Aberdeen Herald covering the antics of dissolute Finns.
At the turn of the last century, Aberdeen was considered “wide open” to gambling and, day or night, one could always find a card game or roulette wheel to risk their money on. In 1902, the City Fathers called for a crackdown on gambling in Aberdeen and one of the first to be charged was Ed Dolan (later the “D” in the D &R Theater) of the Grand Saloon on the southeast corner of Heron and F Streets. The Aberdeen Bulletin reported the story on April 1, 1902: THE BREACH BETWEEN THE CITY COUNCIL AND THE GAMBLERS GROWS WIDER EVERYDAY — Yesterday Ed Dolan, proprietor of the Grand saloon, was arraigned before Justice Pearson, on a complaint sworn out by Marshal Graham, charging him with conducting a game of chance, on last Saturday night.
From 1916 to 1933, prohibition was the law of the land in Washington State. From fine Canadian whiskey to bathtub gin of questionable origins, bootleggers and rum runners managed to supply tipplers with liquid refreshments. The election of Franklin Delano Roosevelt brought an end to the “Great Experiment” and on Grays Harbor during the first weeks of wetness, the great demand was limited by a lack of supply. Here are some stories on the issue as reported by the Aberdeen Daily World in April, 1933.
The day after Halloween is a time for the kiddies to assess their loot in a sugar-induced frenzy while their parents take inventory of the damage that may have been caused by the little witches and goblins the evening before. In the early years the majority of silliness involved knocking over wood piles, removing gates, and soaping windows.
When the first men came to this corner of the country and began toppling the big timber, they started by tackling the trees nearest the rivers and transported them to the mills using the infinite strength of the rivers. As the forests receded, loggers resorted first to oxen and skid roads, and then to railroads, with tracks extending miles into the back country. All phases of the timber industry carry a certain amount of risk, and logging trains were no exception. What follows are a number of gruesome and truly horrible fatal accidents that took the lives of men who had no idea that they were facing their last day on earth. These stories are not for the fainthearted.
There is a misguided movement afoot to remove the squat, shoebox-shaped wooden structure at the west end of the Wishkah River Bridge known as the Pourhouse building. The plans call for it to be replaced by a soulless glass-and-metal terrarium for use as a “visitor center”, which, in this age of smart phones, has itself become an antiquated, quaint concept. To raze this nearly 120-year-old building would be no less than a crime against the history of this city, the people who built it, and the generations of past and future residents who would call Aberdeen home.
The relationship between husband and wife can be at times quite contentious. Ideally a happy union exists until death do them part, but often one or the other party opts to call it quits. Here are a few stories from local papers documenting the tale from pitching woo to marriage to dissolution.
When the first bicycles appeared on the streets of Aberdeen about 1890, the only place they could be ridden was the planked city center. A plank road (present day Pacific Avenue) was soon constructed connecting Aberdeen to Hoquiam and providing a passable route for cyclists. Whether for transportation or diversion, bicycling has been popular in Grays Harbor for well over a century, and the issues they dealt with then are still with us, as seen in stories from local papers a long time ago.
I often hear people say that the crime in today’s Aberdeen is worse than ever. I went back and took a look at some old newspapers and found that things weren’t all that much better or worse in the past than they are now. Here are some of the more interesting articles from way back.
A personal note: As I was sauntering home on the eve of Art Walk 2014, I stumbled and hit the pavement, breaking the fall with my face. As the abrasions heal, it seems a good time to look back at other Harborites who have taken tumbles of varying degrees of seriousness. Whether it is an unfortunate accident or a case of simple human stupidity, the Law of Gravity always wins. The first one is a classic.
The first picnickers appeared on the streets of Aberdeen, Hoquiam and Cosmopolis shortly after seven, an odd sight on a Thursday morning in 1914. Clutching picnic baskets, groups headed toward the railroad station in anticipation of the second annual Merchant’s Picnic at Moclips. It was to be a day filled with sports and games, clam digging and dancing, and a free barbecue with the attendees requested only to bring knife, fork, spoon and cup with them.
In commemoration of this weekend’s McCleary Bear Festival, it is a good time to look back on the life of Billy the Bear; a study in fortitude and self-reliance in the face of physical infirmity, and Grays Harbor’s real-life answer to the mythical mountain men of lore. Billy lived the life of a hermit, but his door was always open to visitors at what was known as the Winter’s cabin 20 miles above the Wishkah Falls.
Today is Aberdeen’s first Founders’ Day celebration, featuring the city’s largest parade in decades, and harkening back to 1914 and Aberdeen’s first Fourth of July Splash. Back in the early days of the Harbor, a logger’s two most anticipated holidays were Independence Day and Christmas; the only times they could get a week out of the woods and raise hell in the city. From the time of their founding, Aberdeen and Hoquiam held separate Independence Day celebrations; it took two decades for them to end that rivalry — and begin another.
On June 15, 1914, 112 registered Westport residents voted 96 to 16 for incorporation, and elected a mayor, treasurer and council members. This was the first step on the road from small settlement to full-fledged cityhood.
Harper Whisky is liquid music, bottled poetry, ripe mellow, refreshing and delicious. Sold by L.W. Walker and O.C. Vammen.
Right around 1900, Aberdeen experienced her first big growth spurt. Lumber had become an established industry and more ships were arriving at the docks daily. With the population nearly doubled, the city quickly outgrew the available space in the former tide flats and organically spread toward the hills. The primary need in the new residential areas was passable roads. Dirt was hauled from the hillsides to fill and level the gulches, creeks and sloughs that cut through the area and by 1914 the topography of the city appeared pretty much as it does today. One exception was east Fourth Street just off Broadway, where a bridge was constructed to carry street traffic, and where one of Aberdeen’s leading ladies met her end 100 years ago next Wednesday.
The tender, golden-shelled razor clam that grows in abundance on our coast has long been a source of local pride and a renewable resource that draws thousands of hunters to our sandy beaches every year. It was the pioneering newcomers in the late-1800s that saw the economic value in the humble bivalve — long a succulent staple among the native population — who developed methods for distributing the tasty treat worldwide. In celebration of the last digs of the season, here is a chowder of clam tales and methods used to acquire and distribute the sweetest shellfish in the world.
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