Fifty Years in Oregon was written by Theodore T.
Geer, a grandson of Joseph Carey Geer and a shirttail ancestor of
ours.
I have put much of the book on
this website. I started because several
chapters describe the early roots of our family history in Oregon. I
kept going because
I found many of the chapters from this perspective on the early
settlers and the history of Oregon to be quite
interesting.
Of course it would be
impossible to carry on a civil government without a sufficient number of office
holders to insure the proper administration of its laws, and, equally of course,
civilization would not survive without civil governments — and yet it would be
difficult to find a man who has spent the better part of his days in the public
service who will not freely declare that he made a great mistake and that he
would have pursued a much wiser course had he followed some business pursuit and
“left politics alone.” No doubt that, from a financial standpoint, the average
man would have fared better had he avoided the political whirlpool and remained
in private life, thus disappointing the “muckraker” and contributing to the
peace and comfort of his own mind as well as to the mental tranquility of his
family.
I know that most of the men
who have “passed the chairs” look backward, after an active interest and
participation in the turmoil of political warfare — ”warfare” is the proper word
— and wonder why it had any attraction for them, why so many have striven to
follow the same pathway, usually strewn with an appalling amount of wreckage.
I have often seen a much
greater scramble in a convention over the nomination for county commissioner or
assessor than for that of sheriff or clerk, — the fact being an evidence that
there is a charm about mere officeholding, regardless of the real value of the
position, that is irresistible to the ordinary man. To analyze the basis of it
leads one to the conclusion that it is founded largely on vanity — and yet all
of us, or most of us, must plead guilty to the weakness and it is practically
incurable.
Perhaps, however, it is providential, for the reason
already indicated, that it would be impossible to sustain a government unless
men made such sacrifices as are necessary to administer its laws. The average
American is a home-builder, a home-lover, a home-defender, and the safety of the
home depends altogether upon a stable and just government.
We have seen that the first
American settlers in the Oregon Country did not wait long in the wilderness to
which they had come before making provision for a government, though they came
from all walks of life and most of them, naturally, were without experience in
legislative matters.
But the raw material for the
construction of a creditable Legislature was here, and when the necessity for
action arrived it found them ready to grapple with the situation. When a
Legislature was authorized its members served for one dollar and fifty cents a
day, adjourned till after harvest,” reassembled, after their wheat had been
garnered, “in the old Methodist church” and did honest service, clad in buckskin
trousers and often coatless.
An amusing instance of the
difficulties under which the Oregon pioneers discharged their Legislative duties
was given a few years ago by ex-Senator James W. Nesmith in an address before
the Oregon Pioneer Association.
“As an illustration of the
honest and simple directness which pervaded our Legislative proceedings of that
day, I will mention that in 1847 I had the honor of a seat in the Legislature of
the provisional government. It was my first step on the slippery rungs of the
political ladder. The Legislature then consisted of but one House and we sat in
the old Methodist church at the Falls. Close by the church Barton Lee had
constructed a ten-pin alley to which some of my fellow members were in the habit
of resorting to seek relaxation and refreshment after their Legislative toils. I
had aspired to the Speakership and had supposed myself sure of the position, but
the same uncertainty existed in political matters that I have seen so much of
since. Some of my friends “threw off” on me and elected a better man in the
person of Dr. Robert Newell — God bless his soul! In the small collection of
books at the Falls, known as the Multnomah Library, I found what I had never
heard of before — a copy of “Jefferson’s Manual” — and after giving it an
evening’s perusal by the light of an armful of pitch knots, I found there was
such a thing in parliamentary usage as “the Previous question.”
I had a bill then pending to
cut off the southern end of Yamhill and to establish the county of Polk, which
measure had violent opposition in the body. One morning, while most of the
opponents of my bill were amusing themselves at “horse billiards” in Lee’s
ten-pin alley, I called up my bill, and, after making the best argument I could
in its favor, I concluded with, “And now, Mr. Speaker, upon this bill I move the
previous question.” Newell looked confused, and I was satisfied he had no
conception of what I meant; but he rallied, and, looking wise and severe (I have
since seen presiding officers at Washington do the same thing), said: “Sit down,
sir! Resume your seat! Do you intend to trifle with the Chair, when you know
that we passed the previous question two weeks ago? It was the first thing we
done!”
I got a vote, however, before
the “horse billiard” players returned, and Polk County has a legal existence
today, notwithstanding the adverse ruling upon a question of parliamentary
usage.
Genial, kind-hearted Newell!
How many of you recollect his good qualities, and how heartily have you laughed
around the campfire at his favorite song, “Love and Sassingers.” I can hear the
lugubrious refrain describing how his dulcinea was captured by the butcher’s
boy.
“And there sat faithless she a-frying sassingers for he.”
He has folded his robe about
him and lain down to rest among the mountains he loved so well and which have so
often echoed the merry tones of his voice.
The following extract from an
address delivered by Mrs. Sarelia Griffith Miller before the annual gathering of
the Oregon Native Sons and Daughters a few years ago narrates an incident,
which, aside from its ludicrousness, illustrates how our people lived under
pioneer conditions:
A dear, sweet old lady, Mrs.
Buck, of Oregon City, told me the following incident in her own life: “We were
living,” said she, “not far from where Portland now stands; our home was as good
and as well furnished as any of the homes in those times. It happened that two
officers from an English vessel just arrived from Fort Vancouver had been
hunting, and night overtook them near our house. They came and asked for a
night’s lodging. We told them that we were not prepared to make them
comfortable, but would make a bed on the floor if they could accept that. They
thanked us and said that they were glad to find a house to sleep in and not be
obliged to stay in the woods all night.
“Well, we had supper, and we
sat around the big, bright fire talking until quite late, for both the gentle
men were cultured Englishmen and splendid conversationalists and we enjoyed the
talk. Finally, we all retired for the night, they to their pallet on the floor,
and husband and I to a little room which opened off this room where our visitors
were. Our houses did not have doubled plastered walls and partitions in those
days, but very thin boards with quite wide cracks between. One could easily hear
from one room to the other every word spoken — in fact, it was most impossible
not to hear. About the time they were getting into bed, I heard one of them say,
‘I wish I had a night-cap.’ I thought I had better get up and give him one of
mine, or, perhaps, both gentlemen would like to have night-caps. But my caps
were so plain, and these were such aristocratic looking gentle men, that I did
not like to offer them. He said nothing more, and I concluded he had gone to
sleep. By and by, it seemed to me about half an hour afterwards, I heard him
say, ‘Rae, are you awake?’ and the answer, ‘Yes.’ Then the first voice again, ‘I
can never go to sleep without a night-cap.’ And the reply, ‘Neither can I.’
“I waited no longer,” said
the dear old lady; “I took two of my night-caps, made of white muslin with
strings to tie under the chin, and going to the door put my hand through and
said, ‘Gentlemen, here are two night-caps; they are plain and rather small, but
perhaps you can use them.’ I heard a faint sound of suppressed laughter, then in
an instant the house resounded with the hearty laughing of those gentlemen, who
finally managed to tell me that my nightcaps were not the kind they wanted.”
Among the men who
participated prominently in the affairs of Oregon in the early days and who was
an intimate and personal friend of Robert Newell — he who decided that the
previous question “had been passed two weeks ago” — was J. J. Murphy, who during
the last fifteen years of his life was clerk of the State Supreme Court. Murphy
was very influential with the people of French Prairie, where his home had been
when a young man, and had served the people of Marion County as sheriff, clerk,
and for a term or two in the Legislature. He had also been Mayor of Salem. He
was well past seventy years of age when death claimed him, but he will be
remembered by his host of friends as a boy to the last in buoyancy and
cheerfulness and keen humor. Advancing age impaired his health, though he “died
in the harness,” but after a chat with him one always felt the better for it.
While the Legislature was in
session in January, 1901, Judge Wolverton, of the Supreme Court, gave a little
dinner to a few invited guests at his home. During the progress of the meal we
were discussing some of the bills which had been introduced in the Legislature,
and among them one which proposed to levy a pretty stiff tax on dogs, from the
consideration of which we drifted into a general argument as to the dog.
“I have always had a warm
spot in my heart for dogs,” said Murphy, who, with his wife, was among the
guests, “but Mrs. Murphy will have nothing to do with them. I remember that on
the day we were married, after the ceremony had been concluded and we were left
alone, I suggested to her that, inasmuch as I would be compelled on account of
my business to be away from home much of the time, I had better get a dog to
keep her company. I had not before discussed dogs with her, there always being
other subjects at hand that occupied my attention, so I was naturally surprised
to hear her say she disliked dogs very much and that she would prefer no company
at all to that of a dog.
“Of course I wanted to be
agreeable, especially then, so I dropped the subject. But the next day I
ventured it again, doing so by degrees and diplomatically, but her answer was
the same — she could get along very well without any company at all, if
necessary, at such times as I could not be at home, so again I let the matter
drop.
“The next day I thought I
would see if, under the benign influence of married life,. she had not conquered
her antipathy to dogs, but I had not proceeded nearly so far as the day before,
when she said:
“‘Now, it’s no use to speak
of getting a dog any more, for I positively will not have one around the house —
not under any circumstances.’ So, finding her mind unchanged, I dropped the
question permanently and we finally compromised the matter and didn’t get a dog
at all!”
Next Chapter -
Geer is reminded by President McKinley and several personal recollections not to
pre-judge based on initial presumptions.
If you are interested in finding this book, Fifty
Years in Oregon, it can
often be located at Powell's Books in Portland
which is one of the largest used book stores in the United States or, through the
Alibris service
which catalogs used books from stores across the country. For more information on the Geer Family, visit the Geer Family website. Other resources
and references include:
