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Southern Oregon Journal: Eagle Point resident recalls moonshiners, Agate Desert Sunday Jun 4, 2017 at 12:01 AM As we exited Herb Pruett’s cozy apartment at Waterford, and patted his dog chum, Ballou, I felt as though I had just stepped from an excursion on H.G. Wells’ Time Machine. A full hour had passed like a breath, when I’d budgeted the interview for 30 minutes max. Herb was kind enough to allow me a chapter of what I realized later was a mere snippet of the history inside him. A few weeks ago, I attended the Vintage Fair in Eagle Point, and enjoyed conversing with many lovely people, one of whom was Susan Watson. She told me about a 96-year-old Herb Pruett, sharp as a dart and bursting with early stories about Eagle Point. Her husband, Bill, visited Herb on a weekly basis. She thought I might like to interview him for a story, and she thought right. Bill Watson invests a couple of hours a week through the Veterans Administration volunteer services by calling on veterans who could use a friendly visit. He met me at the facility. Bill gave me a little pre-visit rundown about Herb. It seems Herb had served in the Army Air Corps and flew B29s, as did my dear uncle whom I so recently lost. In addition, Herb had been stationed on Guam, where Dad served as a radio operator. I wondered whether they’d swapped Camel cigarettes and stories from home. As Herb and I talked, I learned that he had spent time in Los Angeles in the 1930s, when Red Skelton clowned around as a busker in front of theaters before hitting the big leagues. But it’s his early tales of Eagle Point that I found most fascinating. “I played poker with Walter Woods. He usually lost,” he said, referring to THE Mr. Woods of the famous historic Woods House on Highway 62 north of town. He seemed delighted to learn that the homestead still stood stronger than ever, and received far more pampering than when old Walter, with his tobacco-streaked beard, adorned the porch. I learned how Walt earned the nickname of Bo Peep. “The Dahacks and the Matthews had stills. They were moonshiners, and the sheriff was always trying to catch ‘em. But they’d go up where they were and go every direction and they’d never catch them. This one time they’d taken after Walter Woods, and they chased him up the mountain. Well he got tired of running and he laid down and pretended to be asleep. And when they caught up with him, they asked him what he was doing here. And he said, ‘I was looking for my sheep.’ So after that they called him Bo Peep.” Herb attended Lone Mountain School, a one-room schoolhouse in the '20s, the same building that now houses the Eagle Point Museum. He remembered the old flour mill when it was empty, and he played in it as a kid. “That was before someone made a cold storage place out of it.” That was a long, long time ago. Camp White (before White City) bought his family ranch for $5 an acre. “When we lived there it was just desert with big potholes. I loved playing around there because I found agates and so forth.” I asked him whether he knew the Childreths, the original owners of my 1900 farmhouse, home of the town blacksmith. Herb had been good friends with the son. I couldn’t believe it. He made a mockery of my 33-year local history and helped me realize I had much more history to live through so I, too, can tell stories someday, if anyone’s listening. The point is, there are folks out there with fascinating histories, wisdom and knowledge to share. Retirement homes hum with volumes of character studies. Some residents can no longer pull up the details of their lives, but sometimes with a little patience and sharing, the projectors roll and the screens light up. Sometimes it’s just nice to have someone to tell your story to. Peggy Dover is a freelance writer living in Eagle Point. Email her at [email protected].