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.
During the progress of the legislative session
of 1891, it became known that in the spring President Harrison would visit the
Pacific Coast, including Oregon, and before adjournment a joint committee was
appointed to meet him and his party at the State line and to take charge of
their itinerary while they remained among our people. Accordingly, the
committee, consisting of three members of the Senate and five from the House,
including President Simon of the Senate and myself, went to Ashland on May 5 to
meet the Presidential party, which arrived there at four o’clock. The weather
had been quite dry for the preceding month, but at noon of that day a
threatening haze overspread the sky and ten minutes before the train arrived
there was a heavy fall of rain. This developed into a steady downpour, and by
the time the President appeared before the great audience to make his address
there was a general scurrying for awnings, doorways and anything else that
offered protection. It was thought to be only a passing shower, but it proved to
be the beginning of a three-days’ rain which has rarely, if ever, been equaled
in Oregon during the month of May. At Grant’s Pass the people had prepared a
huge bonfire, and when the train arrived at nine o’clock a large audience had
congregated to greet the President, sheltered by umbrellas and kept busy
endeavoring to preserve the life of the flames against the furious onslaught of
Jupiter Pluvius.
The Presidential train was scheduled to arrive
at Eugene the next morning at six o’clock, and the people of that enterprising
town had made great preparation to give their distinguished guests a magnificent
reception. Several men had been sent the day before up the McKenzie River to
catch a basket of mountain trout to present to the President. When the train
arrived, which it did on schedule time, there were literally acres of people
assembled to welcome the nation’s Chief Magistrate. When I arose and looked out
of the car window, it seemed to me that I saw more people than I supposed were
living in all of Lane County. After all, however, whether there were any people
at all was a mere matter of conjecture, since there was only an unbroken sea of
umbrellas in sight. It was raining so steadily and vigorously that one might
suppose it to be the middle of November. There were miniature lakes of water
everywhere, but all this did not daunt the enthusiasm of the men and women — and
children — of Eugene. Nothing ever does.
As soon as the President’s train came to a
stop there were loud calls for “The President,” “Harrison,” etc., but there was
no response. Finally his secretary appeared on the rear platform and bowed to
the people, while the anxious committee, having in charge the large basket of
McKenzie trout, handsomely packed in ice and decorated with beautiful flowers,
handed it to the secretary, with the compliments of the people of Eugene. He
graciously received them in the name of the President, and retired within the
car.
The people standing in torrents of falling
water continued to call for the President. After a delay of perhaps five minutes
his secretary again appeared and announced that upon retiring the night before
he had given orders not to be molested until just before reaching Salem, toward
noon. He was very tired, he said, and needed rest.
Upon this turn of affairs the people gave
vigorous utterance to their disappointment, which finally turned into disgust
and anger. The train pulled out soon after, amid exclamations that were not
especially laudatory of the President, and some of which would not look well in
print! And through it all President Harrison slept the sleep of the weary and
the unconcerned. Incidentally, it is proper to remark that neither Theodore
Roosevelt nor William J. Bryan would have been asleep under similar
circumstances.
But there was one man in the President’s party
who had seen this exhibition of indifference on the part of the President to the
expectations of the people of Eugene — whom he had promised to address as a part
of his itinerary — and who was sorely troubled over Harrison’s failure to keep
faith with them. That man was “Uncle” Jeremiah Rusk, then Secretary of
Agriculture in the President’s Cabinet — a man with a big heart, a typical
Western American of the true pioneer type. He was greatly annoyed by the Eugene
incident and that night, while sitting near me on the platform while the
President was addressing a great audience in the old Exposition Building, he
leaned toward me and said:
“Do you know that I wouldn’t have had that
affair happen at Eugene this morning for a hundred dollars? It was really too
bad and should not have been permitted.”
The Secretary’s peace of mind was especially
upset because during the afternoon the committee which had presented the
President’s representative with the mountain trout sent a dispatch to that
individual in Portland informing him that, if he would return the basket to
them, he could keep the fish and they would call it even!
At Salem an immense throng had assembled
though the rain continued. There was but one hour to be devoted to Salem and
nearly half of this was lost in trying to find Governor Pennoyer, who had
refused to accompany the committee to the State line on the ground that the
Governor of a State is a “bigger man,” officially, than the President of the
United States, since the States are “sovereign,” while the Federal Government is
but the “creature of the States,” etc. He had publicly said that he would be
glad to welcome the President in his office in the State House, but that it
would be “unseemly” for him to go to the State line. And he didn’t!
When the train arrived at Salem, however, the
Governor was at the depot in a cab, but this was not known until the procession
was about to start to the Capitol, when the committee in charge, learning that
the Governor was in the crowd somewhere, instituted a search for him. When he
was finally discovered, at least one — fourth of the hour was gone. Another
fourth was consumed in getting to and into the Capitol, where the program was to
be presented in the Representatives’ Hall. The first thing arranged was an
address by Mayor P. H. D’Arcy, and as he was a young man who appreciated the
great privilege of actually addressing: the President of the United States, he
had prepared a regular oration, dealing with the Boston tea — party, Paul
Revere’s ride, Israel Putnam at Ticonderoga and Webster’s reply to Hayne, all
leading up to the causes of the Great Rebellion, etc., etc.
Of course this consumed nearly all that
remained of the hour and when the President arose to address the people there
was only time to thank them for coming out to see him and to express his love
for this great Western Coast, etc.
This turn of affairs, taken in connection with
the antics of the eccentric Governor, presented an amusing phase of the
situation which was generally enjoyed, especially since Mayor D’Arcy was born in
Salem, had lived there every day of his life and was known personally to every
man, woman and child within thirty miles of the capital, and could be heard, —
indeed, had been heard, — on hundreds of other occasions. But D’Arcy was young
then, He has since developed into one of the most popular orators in Oregon, and
the public always is glad to hear him speak on any subject and occasion.
The Presidential train arrived at Oregon City
in the middle of the afternoon. Here another immense gathering had assembled to
welcome the Chief Executive, and it was raining’ harder, if possible, than it
had rained at any other point. The water simply fell in torrents and there were
more umbrellas in sight than I had supposed could be found in all Oregon. It was
here that the President made use of one of those strikingly apt expressions
which characterized all his speeches on that memorable trip. As he began his
address he was standing under an umbrella, while every citizen there was
actually ashamed of the weather — it was so “unusual” and unnecessary. Everybody
was apologizing for its misbehavior. Different members of our committee had over
and again assured him that such a storm in May had not been known since the
first white settler came here, ages ago, etc.
But the first thing the President said was:
“My fellow citizens, I have just come from the land of sunshine, roses and
irrigation to a country where it is evident that the Lord himself takes care of
the crops.” This put him on splendid terms with his audience, proved to us that
he knew a good thing when he saw it and convinced us that “this Oregon of ours”
never makes a mistake in its weather, after all.
A great welcome was given the President in
Portland, one entirely worthy of that city’s reputation for openhearted
hospitality, though it continued to rain. The only consolation to be derived at
the time from this unusual opening of the heavens was that when the Presidential
train arrived at Seattle the next morning it was pouring as steadily as it had
during his stay in Oregon.
“Uncle” Jerry Rusk, President Harrison’s
Secretary of Agriculture, was the kind of man who had full sympathy with the
disappointments or sorrows of others. He was a big man, physically and
temperamentally. He was always popular with the people of his State of Wisconsin
and after serving his district six years in the lower House of Congress was
elected Governor and served for two terms. Upon the creation of the office of
Secretary of Agriculture President Harrison appointed him to that position,
which he filled with great credit to himself and with benefit to the public. He
was a good executive officer and had the confidence of his fellows always.
In October, 1887, I was in St. Louis at the
time of the assembling of the Grand Army of the Republic for its national
encampment. One day of the week was set apart for an excursion to Springfield,
Illinois, to visit the tomb of Lincoln, and since it was my intention to visit
the home town of the great emancipator while on my travels — for it was my first
trip anywhere farther East than to Baker, — I accompanied the Grand Army men to
that most interesting city — interesting because of its connection with the
early struggles and final triumph of the great Lincoln.
Upon arriving at Springfield everybody went
directly to Oak Ridge Cemetery where the great monument stands over Lincoln’s
remains, and after an hour spent in walking reverently about the grounds, calls
were made for a speech by Governor Rusk of Wisconsin. As the demand would not be
stilled, he appeared soon afterward in an open place in the immense crowd and
began speaking. At once voices from every direction demanded that he speak from
some place where he could be seen as well as heard. Near by was a carpenter’s
work bench — the grounds at that time not having been cleared of the rubbish
left by the contractors — and several men picked it up and brought it to where
Rusk was standing. Upon this he was assisted to mount, and after he had spoken a
few minutes loud calls were made for his staff, which it was learned was
present, to mount the bench and stand by his side.
This brought out a loud round of applause, and
soon several old veterans took their places by the side of the Governor. It was
a most touching spectacle, as it was soon discovered that each man had lost
either an arm or a leg. They kept coming until eleven men were ranged beside the
Governor. As they stood there, hundreds of men in the vast gathering were moved
to tears and everybody was hurrahing for Rusk and his staff and the flag. Seven
of his staff had lost an arm each, three had lost a leg, and Colonel Henry
Fisher, who had belonged to the Second Missouri, had a shattered limb.
Taking it altogether — the place where it
occurred, the experiences of the men who constituted the assemblage, and
remembering what the struggle for which they had risked life and limb meant to
this great republic — it was at once one of the most inspiring and most pathetic
scenes I ever witnessed.
Governor Rusk was a splendid story-teller, as
most generous, big-hearted and whole-souled men are. On his trip to Oregon in
1891, he related one that is worth repeating since it aptly illustrates the
truth of the old saying that a prophet is not without honor save in his own
country.
Soon after his appointment to the position of
Secretary of Agriculture in the President’s Cabinet it occurred to him that he
would visit the home of his boyhood in Ohio, which he had left when barely of
age and to which in all the intervening years he had not returned. When he left
for Wisconsin in 1853 there was no railroad within twenty miles of the village
where he lived, but upon his return he found that a line had been run through
that section, but missing the village by a half mile, and that a “hack” was run
down to the station to meet such passengers as might, for some odd reason, want
to visit the little hamlet.
Upon arriving at the station — he was the only
traveler who alighted — he saw near by a two-seated vehicle which he surmised,
correctly, was waiting for a customer. He approached the prematurely old driver,
whom he recognized as one of his schoolmates in the early days, and who had
doubtless never been outside his county. Rusk took his seat by the side of the
driver, but the man seemed indisposed to engage in conversation save with his
horses, who appeared to be decidedly averse to arriving at their destination. To
induce a faster gait, the driver was constantly using both his whip and voice.
Rapidly taking in the situation, Rusk himself
began a conversation, or tried to. Presently he said to the man:
“I suppose you don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Giddup there,” said the driver, as he struck
the off horse with his whip. “Oh, yes. I know you. You are Jerry Rusk.” And he
said nothing more, except to continue his wrangle with his team. After a few
minutes, Rusk began the attack again.
“Well,” he said, “do the people here know that
after I went out to Wisconsin a long time ago I joined the Union army as a
private and came out a brigadier general?”
“Giddap!” replied the man. “Oh, yes; we heard
all about that.” And he shut up like a clam.
“And do they know,” continued the Governor,
“that after I returned home I was elected to Congress and served in that body
for six years?”
“Giddap!” shouted the driver. “Oh, yes, they
heard all about that.”
After vainly waiting for five minutes for the
driver to show some interest in the matter, and, perhaps, to get a line as to
how he stood in his old home town, Rusk ventured to inquire:
“Well, do they know that after that I was
elected Governor of Wisconsin for two terms?”
“Giddap! Yes, everybody heard about that,
too.” And he relapsed into a profound and unbroken silence.
“I suppose they know that at present I am a
member of the Cabinet of the President of the United States?” ventured Rusk,
after a short pause.
“Giddap, Bill!” shouted the driver, as he gave
the unambitious horse an undercut. “Yes, heard ‘em talking about it at the store
‘tother evening.”
There was a pause of several minutes, during
which, Rusk said, he eyed the countenance of the driver to discover what sort of
a man he was anyway. Seeing that he showed no glimmer of interest in his career,
he made this last effort to get an expression from him as to the local estimate
of himself and his political triumphs.
“Well, when the people here, where I was born
and where I grew to manhood, who knew that I went West without money and no
friends to help — when they learned that I came out of the war a brigadier
general, was afterwards elected to Congress three times, served two terms as
Governor of Wisconsin and finally became a member of the Cabinet of the
President of the United States — when they heard all this, what did they say?”
The man gave his sleepy horse a more vigorous
cut than usual and said:
“Ah, giddup there! Oh, they just laughed.”
Next Chapter -
In the session of 1892, there were several characters in the Oregon Legislature.
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:
