Document text
Accession no.
W
UNIT
Form -3
0eAf-,7_4_
Collection (or Type)
Date received
/0/r.o/re.
Consignment no.
Shipped from
Label
Amount
Title ..7‘;-erf-1-0,-07.-0.-•
Place of origin Date./0,/-17
Project worker
Project editor
Remarks
Form A
Federal Writers' Project
Circumstances of Interview Works Progress Administration
OREGON FOLKLORE STUDIES
Name of worker Andrew C. Sherbert, Date November 28, 1938.
Address Project Headquarters.
Subject
Folkways, and Social Customs in the Willamette Valley,
from tJQQ
Name and address of informant George Estes&
=2"..11=XXIZIOrle
Room 512 Board of Trade Building, Portland, Oregon.
Date and time of interview 4.27Pmber 28. Forenoon and Aft ernoon.
Place of interview_kowialLajloundLztTrade Building. Portland, Oregon.
Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant
Mr. J. Thorb420139ALLAMftriAAA-DAnkjimildiag, Portland, Oregon.
Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you None.
Description of room, house, surroundings, etc. Typical lawyers' office
of two rooms private chambers and ante' -room. Ante -roam walls lined with shelves
of law books. Private chambers contain steel wall filing cabinets in which Mr.
Estes keeps book manuscripts, etc. The door between Mr. Estes private chambers
and ante -room is not equipped with a conventional door -closer so Mr. Estes has
attached a long rope to the top of the door and has run the rope through pulley'
to a point over his head. A teaseled hand grip is at the end of the rope (similar
to early -day French bell -pulls), and Mr. Estes automatically reaches for the rope
and pulls door shut as a person emerges. As Mi. Estes vigorously denounces the
use of tobacco there are no ash trays on his paper -cluttered desk.
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, each bearing the proper heading
and the number to which the material refers).
14/ 13.11
Form B Federal Writers' Project
Personal History of Informant Works Progress Administration
OREGON FOLKLORE STUDIES
Name of worker Andrew C. Sherbert Date November 28. 1938
Address Project Headquarters.
Subject Folkways, and Social Customs in the Willamette Valley. from, 1865 to 1900.
Name and address of informant George Estes.
Roam 512, Board of Trade Building, PortlandkOregon,
Information obtained should supply the following facts:
1. Ancestry 6. Occupations and accomplishments with dates
2. Place and date of birth 7. Special skills and interests
3. Family 8. Community and religious activities
4. Places lived in, with dates 9. Description of informant
5. Education, with dates 10. Other points gained in interview
1. Elijah T. and Susan Estes.
2. Born 4-1/2 miles north of present town of Drain, Oregon, Douglas County,
January 11, 1861e
3. Wife, Maud Estes, deceased. Daughter, Bertha E. Estes (Mrs. E. L. Fraley).
4. Place of birth, (Near Drain), Roseburg, Portland. Dates not available.
5. Was educated in Douglas County public schools and at the Yonoalla Academy,
Yonoalla, Oregon. Graduated from Y. M. C. A., College Preparatory in
Portland and from the Law Department of University of Oregon. Dates not
available.
6. Telegraph operator for eighteen years, concurrently serving as train dis-
patcher and train master. (Dates not immediately available). Practice
of law thereafter.
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, each bearing the proper heading
and the number to which the material refers).'
Form B Cont'd 2
7. Accomplished writer, author of seven published volumes. Skilled linguist,
fluent in Scandinavian languages, Chinese, and several Indian tongues,
notably Chinook and Calapooia. Keenly interested in natural sciences.
S. None.
9. Short, stocky, grey hair. Gesticulates freely in dramatically recounting
incidents of his past life. Convincing and eloquent speaker. Frankly and
without restraint evaluates himself and his accomplishments in gloving
terms which, in a younger man, would be set down as bragging or self.'
praise. He does, however, speak in equally laudatory manner of the accomplish-
ments of his contemporaries.
10. Informant seems to have vivid memories of life and times in Oregon in the
eighties and nineties.
Form C Federal Writers' Project
Text of Interview (Unedited) Works Progress Administration
OREGON FOLKLORE STUDIES
Name of worker Andrew C. Sherbert
Date November 28. 1938.
Address Project Headquarters.
Subject Folkways, and Social Customs in the Willamette Valley.
Name and address of informant George Estes,
Roam 512, Board of Trade Building, Portland, Oregon.
Text:
As an index to my background and family tree, perhaps it might be well
to start with a short sketch of the Estes genealogy. My great, great, grand
parents, Jacob Shearer and his wife Sophia, emigrated from Germany to America in
1740. They settled in a portion of North Carolina known at that time as Guilford
County. My great, great grandfather John Tate and his wife Elizabeth emigrated
from Scotland.
Jacob Shearer was a two-fisted American from the start, was a Whig,
and gave three- of his sons to the cause of liberty one was killed outright and
the other two were hopelessly crippled for life. John Tate was also a soldier in
the Revolutionary War. MY great, grand parents, David Tate and Hannah Shearer,
were reared and married in Guilford County, North Carolina, leaving there in 1793
to cross the Allegheny mountains on pack horses, hoping to establish a home for
themselves in what was then, "the west". There were, of course, no roads then.
After severe hardships, they forded the Kentucky river and settled in a cane -brake.
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, each bearing the heading given
above).
Form C Cont'd 2.
Later, my great, grand father was drafted for service in the War of 1812. Leaving
his family in the cane -brake, ten miles from their nearest -white neighbor, he left
for duty and was gone for three years. Returning, he moved his family to Illinois
where he later became the first Justice of the Peace in Illinois Territory. He
also, about this time, established a salt works, known as the "Saline Salt Works",
in Johnson County, Illinois. Later the family moved to Iowa, about 1634, where my
great grandfather again served as a soldier during the Black Hawk War.
James Estes, an uncle on my father's side, once served as Sheriff of
Cook County, Illinois, then, as now, the county in which the city of Chicago is
located.
My parents, Elijah T. and Susan Estes, emigrated from Iowa by ox -team,
Oregon bound. They left Iowa in 1850 and arrived in the Willamette Valley in 1852,
after nearly two years enroute. They remained a short time in the Willamette
Valley, later moving south to a point near the foot of the Calapooia Mountains.
The old homestead, near the town of Drain, is still known as the Elijah T. Estes
Donation Land Claim.
In the early fifties, there were no such things as stage lines, and,
of course, there were no railroads either in Oregon. In the later fifties, how-
ever, a stage line was projected and established between Portland and San Francisco.
As fortune would have it, the stage line's proposed route bisected my father's land
claim. When the line opened for business my father set up a stage station on his
place and did a thriving business. The station was a sort of division point, much
as a railroad division is designated today. Here the stages changed horses and drivers
the coaches themselves remaining but a few moments before they once more sped for-
ward. As many as fifty horses were kept at this point. Drivers and hostlers of
course made it their headquarters. It became a very busy place. The stages in use
Form C Cont'd 3.
were known as Thoroughbrace Coaches, the name no doubt indicating the staunch-
ness and sturdy construction of the coaches.
It was in suoh colorful surroundings that I spent the first nine years
of my life. In 1870 the railroad stretched its gleaming rails the length of
Oregon, relegating the colorful stagecoach to the limbo of hazy recollection, to be
revived occasionally in sorry effigy during a pioneer celebration or wildest circus
appearance. To my may of thinking, no more colorful or picturesque character ever
crossed the horizon of pioneer times than the stagecoach driver. In my book, The
Stagecoach, I have tried to make him live again, with debatable success.
In the year 1867, the first telegraph line was put through from
San Francisco to Portland. It was called, The Union Telegraph Company. This
amazing boon to the spread of intelligence, consisted of a single wire suspended
precariously from tree to tree through the wilderness. The line followed the
route of the stage line to facilitate reaching the source of trouble when the
wire broke which occurred frequently because of wind or weather.
Upon establishing a telegraph station at Eugene and another at Oakland,
Oregon, these two towns being 60 miles apart, the telegraph company decided that a
station was needed somewhere between these two points. A station was then establish-
ed on my father's place, where it continued until the stagecoach era ended. As a
very small youngster I was initiated into knowledge of the intricacies of that
marvelous instrument, the telegraph. I was fascinated with contemplation of the
thought that by merely tapping a series of mintelligible sounds on the telegraph
key, a person's express words could be conveyed by that slender strand of wire
with the speed of light to Eugene (I had been there, and it seemed a long way off)
and that they would arrive right side up, sensible and understandable. But the
Form C Cont'd 4.
unintelligible sounds did not long remain unintelligible to me. I soon learned
to read the Morse Code and the messages whioh clicked through our station kept me
informed of the happenings of the outside world, almost, if not quite as well as
today's radio news flashes come to the ear of the modern boy. Telegraphy grasped
firm hold of me at that early age and occupied my constant thoughts and activities
for a great deal of my life. As a matter of fact, and though I have been in the
practice of law for nearly 40 years, I still like to consider myself a telegrapher
and am proud to say that I hold life membership in the O. R. T., union of railroad
telegraphers. One of the most memorable periods of my life was during the form-
ation of the O. R. T., an organization which I was active in establishing. But
more of that later.
My work in the field of telegraphy brought me early to Portland. I
have seen this sprawling metropolis grow from a compact little village skirting
the banks of the Willamette. In my earlier days I contacted socially, many of
the aging pioneers who have long since passed from the scene. Right here I should
like to interject the statement that Portland's history, as set dawn by each
historian in turn (including my old friend, John Gaston), seems to me to be entire-
ly wrong. Too much stress is laid on the part played by Lovejoy and Pettygrove
in the founding of the city. Perhaps they did stake out the town plot perhaps
they did flip a coin and give the town its name, but I contend that what ever
else they contributed to the establishment of the city of Portland was of minor
importance. I fully believe that I would not be sitting here in this office
building, that you would not be here to interview me for there mould be no
building here if it were not for Captain John Couch. Captain Couch took a amen
group of primitive dwellings in a setting of stump -cluttered clearings and through
Form C Cont'd.
6.
his own efforts and determination gave Portland the impetus that made it a city.
Surely, Portland's future was extremely doubtful had it not been for one man
alone John Couch. It irritates me to see him treated historically as an
incidental figure.
I have seen the coming of the first horse -cars and what a luxury
and improvement over shank's mares they seemedt I have seen the advent of the
electric street -oar, hailed the earning of the first chugging automobile and
now, trackless trolleys. I have seen Portland's first squat buildings share
ground with tall structures. Airplanes dot the sky. Change, ohaage, change,
always change, and no end in sight. But to me, the most noticeable change is
in the people themselves, and their customs. Some writer once said, "Human
nature never changes." I can't subscribe to such a premise. I think I see
evidence of great change in the nature of man. For one thing, we of today have
lost trust in our fellows, generally speaking. In the old days any man was
accepted as an honest man and worthy of trust and friendship until he conclusively
proved himself otherwise. Today, the reverse is customary. We mistrust onyx=
and his motives until he proves beyond a doubt that his intentions are honest.
Of course, we, may accept him for what he says he is if he can produce papers of
recommendation from some person in whom we have learned to place confidence.
Even then, we are not above wondering whether or not the recommendation is forged.
In the matter of bodily health, I have seen great change. Nowadays
the average person visits a doctor at the first twinge of pain. If his dis-
comfort increases he skips from specialist to specialist. The average person
today can glibly call off medical terms and can give the medical names of the
many parts that go to make up his body entire. He mentions, sinuses, thyroids,
Form C Cont'd 6
pineal glands, appendectomies and tonsillectomies as easily as the old-timer used
to tell his neighbor that he had a lama back. With no disrespect for the old time
medical practitioner he was &wonderful character, and smart, too, for the times
according to my observations as a young man, his visit, with his ominous satchel
in hand, very frequently preceded the definitely -final visit of the village under-
taker by but a few hours. As I say, this was nothing against the doctor or his
knowledge of medicine. It was simply that most everyone trusted to the efficacy
of home -compounded remedies until the shadow of the grim reaper darkened the pillow
where he lay. Then they called the doctor. Every clan or family had a group of
time -tried remedies which they had used at one time or another with enough success
as to include in the family pharmacopoeia or file of receipts (pronounced "re-ceets").
People used their muscles in those days life was active, vigorous, body -wearing.
Liniments were used generously for anointing sore muscles of back and limb. Every
family had a liniment of their awn compounding the virtues of which they proudly
boasted. White liniments, soap liniments, ammonia liniments, vinegar liniments,
chloroform liniments, and liniments the formulas of which only the compounders
themselves knew. Rock oil, later called coal -oil or kerosene, onoe was regarded
as a veritable panactea. Sore throats, chest colds, croup, stiffness in the joints,
lumbago, and a host of other common ailments were cured almost miraculously by
gargling, sipping, or smearing the affected parts with this highly -praised, smelly
fluid. I an a lawyer. Would anyone think of coming to me today for a remedy if
he found himself ailing? Quite unlikely, yet I remember a time years ago, when a
young neighbor girl came running into our home, her face marked by anxiety, with
extremely agitated voice she blurted outt
"Mr. Estes! Mother has a dysentery and is getting weaker and weaker.
Form C Cont'd -7
I think she's going to die unless we can find something to help her. We've tried
everything but nothing does any good." Which meant that they had tried their own
family remedy for dysentery first, then probably several others offered by nearer
neighbors, and then had come to me.
It was just about milking time. I told her to run home, take a full
quart of milk warm from the caw, put it on the fire and boil furiously a quarter
of an hour without allowing it to scorch, and then cause her mother to drink
every drop at once while still as hot as she could bear it. The little girl did
as I bade her. A couple of days later the little girl trudged in at our gate
carrying a bag of seedling qpples for me. Sort of thank offering I suppose.
"Mother's dysentery stopped less than an hour after she drunk the milk
and she started getting better right away," the little girl said. "She's as
good as new, now."
As I review the incidents of my past life I can but conclude that luck
played a major role in all that I ever did or in all that ever happened to me. A
case in point. As a young telegrapher in Portland, I had a great many acquaint-
ances. At the time of which I speak, Burnside street was a busy thoroughfare
the cross-roads of the Oregon country, where one might meet anyone he had ever mot
or known before. In those few short blocks there congregated people of all types,
from the more or less dandified Portland sophisticates, to the rough, uncouth
wranglers of the hinterland. The gold miner from eastern or southern Oregon rubbed
elbows with the almond -eyed Chinese. The farmer from Tualatin Valley walked the
length of Burnside street a time or two, before he started for home with the new plow
he had purchased. There was only one Burnside street on the face of the earth,
Form C Cont'd 8
and that was in Portland.
One day I was approached by an acquaintance, a young fellow of no means,
who asked to speak to me confidentially. He said that he had made the acquaintance
of a miner, who at that very moment was waiting for him in a roam in a Burnside
street lodging house, and who had possession of a gold brick worth twelve thousand
dollars which could be bought for three thousand. He said the miner was badly in
need of money and had come by the brick "never mind how". It looked like a splendid
investment. Now as it happened, my bank balance because of frugal personal habits
stood at a sum just about ample enough to take care of such an investment. Three
thousand dollars becomes twelve thousand dollars just like that. No long, tedious,
slaving, scraping and waiting for slowly amassed principal and small, annual interest
aocruing to do the job. I hastened to the bank and draw out the three thousand. My
acquaintance and I hurried down to the miner's room, anxious to get there before
someone else did, or before he changed his mind. He WAS there. I bought the brick.
Certnim)y I was excited. My eyes bulged. The brick was golden yellow and heavy as
lead. I left the miner's room and with the winged heels of a Mercury ran over to
the shop of a jeweler and goldsmith who was a very good friend of mine. I wanted
him to appraise, and perhaps buy, my twelve thousand dollar brick. My friend was
out when I entered. It was some little time before he returned. I jumped up and
hurriedly told him of my good fortune. His face turned ashen. He clamped his head
with both hands in anguish and cried, "George, George, what have you done? You
bought a gold brick down an Burnside street? Oh, Georgel You damned fooll Give
me the brick. Run dawn to Burnside street and see if you can find the fellow that
sold it to you/ Get the Marshall Hurry! Run!"
Needless to say, I ran but I arrived there too late. My miner had
checked out and disappeared in the brief interim that followed the transaction. And
Form C Cont'd. -9
here is why I say "luck" played a major role in all of the incidents of my life:
whether for good or ill. I vended my way slowly back to the shop of my friend,
the goldsmith. I was callow. I had never heard of anyone being gold -bricked.
At that time I hadn't heard that the Brooklyn bridge was being "sold" by prosperous
looking New Yorkers to bucolic -looking strangers on an average of once a week. I
walked into the shop of my friend beaten, defeated, despondent. He jumped up
excitedly at my entrance, shouting.
"George, you're the luckiest damn fool in the world. I've tested your
gold brick and it's solid gold to the core. An ingot worth pretty near what your
miner said it was."
Now there's a gold -brick story with a different twist. My whole life.
has been just like that. Just luck that my father decided to settle at the foot
of the Calapooia Mountains, instead of taking up residence in the far -heralded
Will Valley, as so many other immigrants did. Just luok that the stage
line found it necessary to cross my father's homestead claim.
Just luck that the
first telegraph line followed the stage route through our place during my infancy,
causing me to know the Morse code almost as soon as I had learned my letters. You
might say it was luck that placed me at the head of all the railroad telegraphers
of the English-speaking world, for a time. It was discovered early in my life,
that I had the gift of elegant ,and eloquent speech. Unimposing in stature they
called me "Piecrust" when I was a youngster, I was so short I doubtless would have
remained blushing unseen had it not been for the commanding resonance and timbre of
my voice and the easy flaw of impressive words I could sumnon at will in debate or
discussion. Environmental changes cannot properly be said to change a man's nature,
but such changes most certainly do change his habits and behavior. Perhaps the
small boy of today who can rattle off the name of a certain automobile by the angle
Form C Cont'd 10
of its fenders, the size and shape of its hubcaps or the design of its radiator
ornament, is just as smart as the small boy of half a century ago, who could tell
the name of any bird on wing, knew the names and habits of every animal that walked
or insect that crawled. I am inclined to give the latter small boy a slight edge,
however, in any test of the powers of observation. I an amazed at the lack of
knowledge of the flora and fauna of this wonderful state, displayed by grown-ups,
to say nothing of children, in this day and age. When I was a youngster it was
extremely unusual to find anyone wham on a stroll could not call the names of all
the grasses, flowers, trees, shrubs, etc., found on the way. Because of this lack
of familiarity with nature on the part of most persons, I find it extraordinarily
easy to pose as an authority on the flora and fauna of Oregon. How many persons,
for example, know that the salmon that God-given commercial fish of our waters
can drown in the Columbia river? Not many are aware of that fact, yet it is
absolute truth. And here is why: A salmon's gills are so formed as to permit
the fish to swim only against the current or in still water. If the fish swim
with the current its gills soon become clogged with river silt causing the gills
to become inoperative, thus shutting off the supply of oxygen necessary to keep the
fish alive. For this reason, Salmon never enter the Columbia river except at ebb
tide.
If you will look in your dictionary you will find the definition of
"beaver" given somewhat as follows,
"Beaver Any of a genus of amphibious rodents having
palmated hind feet and a broad flat tail...."
I contend that the beaver is not an amphibious animal. I have corre-
spondence in my files from G C Merriam Company, publishers of Webster's diction-
ary, regarding their dictionary's erroneous definition. I base my contention
Form C Cont'd 11
entirely upon personal observation, arriving at the following conalusions The
average human being retains full reasoning power for about two minutes while
under water. After that he falls into a comatose state which obtains for an
average of twenty minutes. He is then dead, or drowned, unless resuscitated by
heroic and doubtful measures. Now, no one would think of terming a human being
an amphibian would he? The beaver is equipped with lungs similar to a dog,
cat, or human being, as you will. Where the beaver differs from the human being,
however, is in his ability to stay under water longer than the human before he
falls into a comatose state. A beaver seldom stays under water longer than six
minutes never more than ten. If he did he would drawn, exactly the same as any
other land animal.
Possibly because of the country's vastness; the ruggedness of its
topography; or the fact that the Northwest was a struggling young country
Oregon's men of wealth, in the past, have invariably been highly democratic). (I
mean socially, not politically). Take, for instance, Portland's men of means
of a generation or so ago I won't name them, they are all well known and their
names stand out prominently in any history of the city's growth. I do not
recollect a single one of them who lacked what is known as "the common touch". They
walked the streets of the town, meeting their financially less fortunate neighbors
with a smile and hello, and a hail by their first names. These men were never
unapproachable. Their doors were always open to calers. They did not dress
differently, act differently, or appear to feel different from the poor folk with
whom they came in contact. No real westerner in the old days, no matter haw many
thousands or hundreds of thousands of dollars he could lay claim to, ever was
"purse conscious" or expected you to make obeisance before him because of his
money. And if you had any business to transact with him you dealt with him per-
sonally, and not with his twenty-second assistant vice president.
As the result of personal observation, together with a number of
business experiences still vivid in my memory, I regret to say that the eastern
contemporary of the western man of wealth was quite the opposite. An easterner of
means might arrive in Portland in his private car; step out at the depot clad in
striped pants and swallow -tail coat, his nose elevated at an angle in keeping with
a high degree of self -evaluation; and find a plain dressed Portlander rich enough
to buy and sell him, whittling a stick on the depot platform.
I shall have to return to my experiences as organizer for the Order of
Railroad Telegraphers to sort of illustrate the foregoing points.
2.
After having organized the entire Southern Pacific and allied rail-
road systems for the union, it then became neoessary to present our demands to
the railroad heads. Now in those days, businesses, large or small, were operated
differently than today. I mean they were managed and controlled differently than
they are now. The president of a railroad ran the railroad. His word was law.
There was no board of directors to con and mull every new move the railroad con-
templated making. Some question came up, we'll say, and if it was an important
one the president of the road answered it; and his answer or decision was final.
If he made too many mistakes, why the road merely got a new president, that was
all. While he was in the chair, however, he ruled with as much power as a czar.
Before we could present our demands, it was necessary to appoint a
committee to represent the various districts into which the line was divided.
The choice of committeemen was not altogether a happy one. One member turned out
to be a tightwad who refused to attend a committee meeting unless all his expenses
were paid to and from the point selected far the meeting. And I was once foolish
enough to advance him twenty-five dollars out of my own pocket to assure that he
would attend one important meeting. Another member was a rabid socialist, which
in those days was considered much further "left" than a communist of today. He
was for disrupting the whole social system and insisted that we "take over" the
Southern Pacific railroad for ourselves, and kick out the owners and higher ups
the president of the road and all his ilk. I, as general chairman, asked him what
we would do with the United States Army after we had taken over the railroad. His
insane answer was, "The Army is with us." I then remarked that perhaps the union
members whom the committee represented, would not care to take over the railroad.
He answered, "They don't know -what they want. It's up to us to do their thirlring
3.
for them." His answer was not a new one. It's the answer of tyrants and
dictators since the world began. This committeeman was chosen by his people
to represent them, and he was ready to sell them out. He WAS not different
from Torquemada, who burned thousands of his countrymen because they didn't
believe as he did. Here let me quote a page from my account of the railway
struggle:
"This 'Communist' abolished many things: CAPITAL MARRIAGE
HEAVEN.
He said there wasn't any.
That downed Heaven with a bang.
But it raised PM7J.
Who sues by the Law is bound by his declarations. He gets no more
than he asks for if he gets that.
Having abolished Heaven, this 'Communist' was 'estopped' by the Law
to ask of St. Peter, admission thereto. He could not ask for a place he had
abolished.
He could not go to Heaven.
Whither was he bound?
There are but three destinations beyond here:
HEAVEN:
HELL:
THE DEN OF CAMS:
4.
Proceed by Cancellation.
STRIKE OUT HRAVEN1
HELL and TIM DEN OF CACUS remain.
The DEN OF CACUS is the final destination of Sodomites, infected
JEW PERVERTS and the Gentile Women who have contacted their LEPROUS DEGRADATION.
Against them HELL has shut its doors.
They are too vile for HELL.
They cannot go to HELL.
(If you want to know more about it, read my book, "The Den of Cams).
_ _ _
Nothing but HELL is left for US:
For HIM, because he abolished HEAVEN:
For ME too, because he abolished it for me.
Both of us are in a HELL of a fix.
So, when I meet him in HELL
There were eight members on the committee. Six of them were logical
and reasonable. The two above mentioned, balked all efforts at formulating any
sensible plan. It was finally decided that if we were to accomplish anything at
all we must first get rid of the two misfit committeemen. We could not legally
dispose of them and no time remained to apprise their constituents of the trouble
we had had with them, so the other members decided on a scheme to oust them with-
out arousing suspicion. It was well known that we had practically no money to
go on, so we simply let it be known that for lack of funds we were going to out
the committee down to five members. So not to arouse suspicion of oonnivery, we
at the same time dispensed with the services of one of our most valuable committee-
men, with his full knowledge and consent. We hated to have to do this, but it was the
5.
only way. No one ever suspected the truth. But the railroad heads had already
heard about the dissension in our ranks and decided to capitalize on it. Our
first move was ignored completely. I might add here also, that a number of rank
and file members withdrew because of our committee squabbles. Nevertheless, we
went right ahead with our plan and issued an ultimatum to the head of the road.
His name was J. A. Fillmore. That gentleman, whose home and headquarters were
in New Orleans, was a living, breathing archetype of the cartoonist's "Bloated
Capitalist". He weighed more than three hundred pounds, had a face as big as a
cart -wheel and a "bay window" like an ocean -beach hotel, and a voice that rattled
windows. Be was hard as steel in bargaining. Gave no quarter. Had scant regard
for the rights of labor, though he himself once was a laborer in the vineyard.
When he gamy an order he expected it to be obeyed. BS was not afraid of us. I
myself, was referred to derisively as, "a Moses from the hazel -brush of Oregon."
But as hard and aloof and snobbish as Mr. Fillmore was at first, the time came
eventually when he found out that he was no match for a handful of sodbusters from
the back country such as we were. The day came when he was stuffing perfectos
or 'fusee& as railroadmen called cigars that cost fifty cents each by the box,
into the mouths of our committeemen.
The workingman of today who thinks he has a tough time of it, would
hardly believe that such conditions could ever exist as did in those days. You
would scarcely think it possible that a big, money -making enterprise like a rail-
road would resort to such scheming tactics against labor as the railroads of that
day certainly did. For instance: they seemed determined that no telegrapher or
station agent would receive more than fifty dollars per month, regardless the
duties performed. If a telegrapher worked at a station that also carried Western
6.
Union mire traffic, the telegrapher usually received fifteen dollars per month
from the Western Union Company. Then, we'll say, the station also happened to
be the village postoffice and the agent was the postmaster. For this service
the government paid the agent fifteen dollars per month. That made thirty dollars.
Then the railroad company who of course knew to a penny haw much the agent
received for those two services made it a point to pay him exactly twenty dollars
per month for the services he rendered them, making a total of fifty dollars per
month the agent received from all sources.
Union representative perhaps were sinecures
certainly anything but that. He was on the
railroad and in the above instance received
His duties as postmaster and Western
but his work for the railroad was
job twenty-four hours a day for the
twenty dollars per month for his services.
If he hadn't had the postmastership or Western Union commission the railroad would
have paid him fifty dollars just the same. Haw long do you think the worker of to-
day would stend for such inequitable treatment at the hands of a corporation?
But I have always noticed that things usually have to get pretty bad
before they get any better. When inequities pile up so high that the burden is
more than the under dog can bear, he gets his dander up and things begin to happen.
It was that way with the telegraphers' problem. These exploited individuals were
determined to get for themselves better working conditions higher pay, shorter
hours, less work which might not properly be classed
and mighty Mr. Fillmore was not going to stop them.
outset, Mr. Fillmore let it be known, by his actions
as telegraphy, and the high
It was a bitter fight. At the
and comments, that he held the
telegraphers in the utmost contempt. In the early days of the hearings it was
common for Fillmore to vent his feelings explosively in such terms as theset
"I tell you, Estes, those God damned lazy, worthless good-for-nothing
7.
telegraphers will have to take care of the switch lamps."
Now as I may have said before, I was raised a strict Methodist and up
to this point in my life had never found it necessary to use profane words or
phrases to add force to any speech I cared to make. But this was too much, even
for a Methodist, and I hope I may be forgiven for the first time in my life I
called profanely upon the Deity to support me in the retort I thought Mr. Fillmore's
statement demanded.
Jumping up at the opposite side of the table from the redoubtable
Fillmore, I banged my fist on the desk with as much force and vehemence as he had
done, and, surprising even myself, I tossed the following he-man threat in his
teeth:
"I tell you, Fillmore, before the telegraph operators will ever clean
and mount another switch lamp we'll see your God damned old railroad a million
times in hell."
Instantly there came a change over Mr. Fillmore. His respect for me
jumped a thousand points. My awn estimate of my prowess took a sudden leap. Most
business transactions, legal arguments, trades and deals, are one tenth 'will do'
and nine tenths bluff. Fillmore saw his bluff couldn't stick. Be had found a man
who could pound a desk with as much vigor as he could. Be had found a man albeit
a Methodist from whose tongue could roll resounding, profane oaths, quite as well
as from his own. Big man that he was, he promptly cooled down and quickly capitu-
lated on this one point, saying with a smile:
"All right, Bates, they won't have to do it then."
And with that statement from Mr. Fillmore, the filling of switch leaps
became forever more no part of a telegrapher's work. But there were other points
8.
to be settled. The filling of switch lamps was but an insignificant thorn in the
telegraphers' (mown. Each point was a new and important issue in its awn right.
Each had to be laboriously and bitterly fought out between the committee and Mr.
Fillmore. Each bit of ground gained by the committee was given grudgingly by
Mr. Fillmore. But in the end, right triumphed, as it always does if you give it
time, and telegraphy at last came into its own as a pleasant, interesting, fairly
lucrative occupation.
At the conclusion of negotiations, as a reward for the signal service
I had rendered as Chairman of the telegraphers' union and indefatigable champion
of the workers' cause, I was given a purse containing fifteen hundred dollars in
gold, and a diamond -studded gold watch worth five hundred dollars. These gifts
were purchased and donated by grateful telegraphers as tokens of esteem for their
leader in a hard-fought battle for the rights of labor.
If anyone doubts the veracity of my statement regarding the match, I
will be glad to have him accompany me to my pawn -broker where the watch may be
seen. I regret to say that because of financial difficulties the match has been
in "hook" for a great many years. Several years ago I attended a reunion of the
O. R. T. in San Francisco. Mindful of the prominent part I took in the organi-
zation or reorganization of the union years ago, the present organization
insisted that I be present. It VW unthinkable that I attend the convention sans
my watch. Some old timer would be sure to want a glimpse of the wonderful, diamond
studded watch which I so proudly wore away from San Francisco on that eventful day,
half a lifetime ago. To me, it was either attend the convention with the watch in
my pocket and the ornate chain across my vest or not attend at all. I persuaded
a friend to advance the money necessary to temporarily release my watch from custody
9.
of the three balls, whereupon I blithely journeyed to San Francisco to strut
proud in the convention. Upon returning to Portland, I once more placed the
watch in the hands of the pawnbroker to raise the money to reimburse my
benefactor. For sentimental reasons I should like to have the watch in my
personal possession not that it's important for no to know the time of day,
for I seldom go anywhere, and town clocks are everywhere.
Nature will be any man's friend if he will only let her. Take, for
instance, the rattlesnake. Rattlesnakes have the reputation of being man's enemy.
In my opinion this reputation is entirely unearned. I have had lots of experience
with these snakes I like them and they like me. They know I am their friend.
They know I mean them no harm, and what is the result? The result is that I may
walk into a den of rattlesnakes without the slightest danger to myself. They seem
to know and trust a person whose intentions are not to molest than.
To my knowledge I seem to be the only person who has observed that the
Columbia river always reaches its flood stage, with the astrological sign of the-oan-
stellation of Leo rising. The only other place where such a phenomena occurs is
in Egypt, and the river is the Nile which, like the Columbia, rises annually in
the month of June.
(Interviewer's note). (While it is true that the Columbia and I believe, the
Rile rises in June, the zodiaoal period of Leo, the lion, is from July 21st to
August 21st inclusive).
With the papers crammed each day with news of labor strife and
with two great labor factions at each other's throats, I am reminded of a
parallel in my awn early and more active career. Shortly before the turn of
the century, in 1898 and 1899 to be more specific, I occupied a position with
regard to a certain class of skilled labor, comparable to that held by the
Lewises and Greens of today. I refer, of °aurae, to the telegraphers and station
agents. These hard-working gentlemen servants of the public had no regular
hours, performed a multiplicity of duties, and, considering the service they
rendered, were sorely and inadequately paid. A telegrapher's day included a
considerable number of chores that present-day telegraphers probably never did or
will do in the course of a day's work. He used to clean and fill lanterns, block
lights, etc. Used to do the janitor work around the mall town depot, stoke the
pot-bellied stove of the waiting -room, sweep the floors, picking up papers and
waiting -roam litter. Telegraphy was just part of his job, though he perforce was
expected to keep his ear oocted at all times for the messages passing through the
station sounder. In other words, he was an actor with a vide repertoire. Today,
capital and labor seem to understand each other better than they did a generation
or so ago. Capital is out to make money. So is labor and each is milling to
grant the other a certain amount of tolerant leeway, just so he doesn't go too
far. In the old days there was a breach as wide as the Pacific separating capital
and labor. It wasn't money altogether in those days, it was a matter or principle.
Capital and labor couldn't see eye to eye on a single point. Every gain that either
made was at the expense of the other, and was fought tooth and nail. No difference
seemed ever possible of amicable settlement. Strikes were riots. Murder and mayhem
was common. Railroad labor troubles were frequent. The railroads, in the nineties,
were the country's largest employers. They were so bi, so porrrftzl, so 2erfect1:-
2.
organized themselves I mean so in accord among themselves as to what treatment
they felt like offering the men who worked for them that it was extremely dif-
ficult for labor to gain a single advantage in the struggle for better conditions.
The Order of Railroad Telegraphers VAS organized in the late eighties,
with a handful of members. The Order struggled along gaining little ground and
adding few members for a decade, which brings it up to the period of which I speak.
It was apparent that if the Order was to be of service to railroad telegraphers,
was to force recognition from the employers, it would have to present a united
front. Would have to enlist the support of every last telegrapher on every last
line in the country. With ten years of stagnation behind it, the task of lining up the
country's railroad telegraphers one hundred percent, seemed an impossibility for the
wan, weak and puny organization. And right there, with failure unquestionably staring
me in the face, is where I actively entered the picture. I was appointed chairman
of the Order and charged with the hopeless assignment of expanding its membership
until the most insignificant telegrapher on the least important branch of the smallest
railroad in the remotest spot in America could reach into his jeans and jerk out a
paid -up card in the Order. Fired with ambition to at least make a creditable show-
ing, I entered the one-sided battle, and, haw well I succeeded you may learn by
asking any grey -headed faded -eyed "brass -pounder" who saw service forty years or
more ago.
To give you an idea of the membership strength when I took over my duties
as organizer, let me cite a few scraps of data from memory t The San Joaquin Division of
the Order had about 110 telegraphers eligible for membership, but only two belonged.
Of the two, one was a religious fanatic who was subsequently committed to an insane
asylum. Out of 140 eligible for membership, the Los Angeles Division had one lone
member doubtless a brave soul. It took courage to belong. If the "Company" die-
3.
covered an employe dallying with the notion of joining the Order, they straight-
way trumped up some excuse for severing him from his job. They did a neat job of
it, too. Here's how they did it: They never discharged an employe because of
union activity. It was always because of "reduction of force", "reorganization"
or other reason. However, in giving him his clearance papers any employee
leaving the service of a railroad was given clearance papers they employed a
secret code, known only to railroad officials, which as effectively blank -listed
him as if it were written in plain English. The paper on which the clearance was
typed, had a water -mark. The water -mark was a crane, a bird with long legs which
extended nearly the length of the paper. If there were no red lines crossing the
crane's legs or neck, the clearance was exactly what it appeared to be on the
surface a recommendation to be honored by any road in need of the applicant's
services. But if the red lines were there, although the wording of the clearance
was identical with the honorable one, the applicant could as easily obtain work on
a railroad as fly to the moon.
So in October, 1898, with only one hundred dollars in the Order's
treasury on this coast, I set about the work of breaking down the apathy towards
the Order which existed among the telegraphers of the Pacific states. With more
than six thousand miles of lines to cover, it was impossible for me to make personal
calls on the telegraphers. Also, any organizing I was to do, must be done by me
without relinquishing my job as station master of Grants Pass, Oregon for I had
a loving wife and beautiful daughter to think of, and could ill afford to surrender
my position and go about junketing for a cause, however worthy. How would you have
gone about it? Well here's haw I solved my problem: Do you recall a few years ago
4.
when a wave of chain letters flooded the country asking for dimes? It's no new
thing. Similar waves of chain letters have spread over the country from time to
time as far back as I can remember. Armed with a roster of names of all tel-
egraphers at work on west coast railroads, I marked an WI after the names few
enough they were, too of those who already carried a card in the Order. To the
ones marked "X" I sent a letter enclosing a tentative draft of a working schedule,
which I promised the railroads would be foroed to accept from us if we were only
strong enough numerically as to speak with the voice of strength. I than asked
each member to write a letter to the non-members near him, passing along my
message and soliciting the non-member for his application to the order. Each non-
member received from 100 to 200 letters and concluded he was the last to join. The
effect was magical. The idea took hold, grew by leaps and bounds, like a snow-
ball rolling dawn hill gathering size and weight as it sped onward. From time to
time I sifted out the stubborn ones, the ones who resisted minor efforts at enlist-
ment. To these I directed an overwhelming onslaught of mail from their brother
telegraphers. One by one they came under the banner. Remarkable as it may seem,
the day shortly dawned when we had gotten down to that "last" telegrapher in that
remote place amen named Fields, station agent at Reno, Nevada. Fields was
reputed to be a "Company" man, and was said to have remarked "that he mould see
the O. R. T. in hell before he'd join." Now the truth of the matter is that the
course of the Order's history should not have been altered a whit, had we con-
cluded to forget about Fields and let him stay outside the fold, but a queer quirk
in my nature caused me to want to "get that man". I wanted tomakemy conquest a
complete, one hundred percent victory. To get this one man, I sent out thirteen
hundred letters to key members all over the lines, asking them to write to Fields
5.
at Reno, asking him to join the O. R. T.; also asking them to enlist the aid of
all other members in their letter writing oampaign. Fields VW swamped. Having
a sense of humor, a portion of which quality I hope I still retain, I also dis-
patched a letter to the King of England and the Czar of Russia Russia was then
a monarchy apprising them of the situation and asking them to write to this
man Fields urging him to join the O. R. T. I sent copies of these letters to
Fields as a joke, never expecting to hear from the recipients of the originals.
Imagine our surprise, however, when the Czar of Russia entering into the spirit
of the thing sent Fields a letter, bearing the crest of the Romanoffs, urging him
to join the Order as I had suggested. In conclusion yes, Fields came in.
Fora D
Extra Comment
Federal Writers' Project
Works Progress Administration
OREGON FOLKLORE STUDIES
Name of worker Andrew C. Sherbert ,Date November 28, 1938
Address Project Headquarters
Subject Folkways and Social Customs in the Willamette Valley
Name and address of informant George Estes
512 Board of Trade Building, Portland, Oregon
Comment:
For fhrther information on the Rawhide Railroad, see
"The Genesis of a Myth, Re Estes Book, The Rawhide Railroad."
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, each bearing the heading given
above).