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.
When the Legislature met in January, 1895,
John H. Mitchell had been United States Senator from Oregon for fifteen years,
Joseph N. Dolph for twelve years and Binger Hermann had been in the lower House
of Congress for ten years. These were three able men and their influence in
Congress was at least equal to that of the delegation of any other State.
Indeed, it was frequently declared by Eastern observers that no other State had
two Senators who stood so well in the Senate in point of ability and who secured
so much in the way of appropriations for home improvements, as had Oregon.
Mitchell was a man of wonderful personality and popularity, and had great
influence among his colleagues. Dolph, though not so genial in his manner, was
the stronger man intellectually and his addresses before the Senate always held
the attention of his associates. He had a commanding presence and there was a
substantiality to his conclusions that indicated profound research and
unquestioned sincerity. He was not a demagogue in any sense and declared his
convictions without any regard whatever for their effect on his political
fortunes.
Binger Hermann was one of the smoothest
politicians Oregon has ever produced (and that is “going some” for Hermann) and
his ability to secure help for his State from the Federal Treasury was
unequalled by any other Representative in Congress. These three men were so
successful in obtaining what they asked for from Congress that Oregon gained
great prestige in the nation at large and their constituencies were justly proud
of them.
Mr. Dolph was a pronounced advocate of the
gold standard, having given much thought to the question, and before it became a
matter of general discussion had delivered several speeches in the Senate
relative to what he could foresee would soon develop into a national issue. His
term expired on March 4, 1895, just in the midst of the Populist wave which
overspread the country, but his attitude on the money question remained
unchanged and he went down to defeat at the hands of Republican members of the
Legislature, who were bound that no “gold bug” should represent them in the
Senate.
Senator Mitchell had always been an advocate
of the free coinage of silver and his friends took the initiative: in defeating
Dolph for re-election. A sufficient number of them refused to observe the action
of the Republican caucus which re-nominated Dolph and prevented an election
until the last minute of the session, when the name of ex-Secretary of State
George W. McBride was presented and he was elected.
The defeat of Senator Dolph was a great
mistake on the part of the Oregon Republicans who were responsible for it, for
not only did they retire from the public service a very able and conscientious
statesman who had conferred distinction on his State in the United States
Senate, but it arrayed his friends against Mitchell and was the beginning of a
bitter warfare against him.
The retirement of Dolph disrupted the
delegation which had done so much for the State and none has ever stood so well
in Congress since. Hermann was defeated two years later. Since then, Oregon’s
representation in the national lawmaking body has been of a hit-and-miss
character, frequently changing, and sometimes not changing fast enough, usually
at variance with itself and having little to do with questions of national
moment.
That was a splendid era in Oregon history when
Dolph, Mitchell and Hermann were for ten years its sole representatives in
Congress and were known as its “working delegation.”
Perhaps no Presidential campaign during the
last fifty years has so literally been one “of education” as that of 1896. The
question of the monetary standard had finally been brought to the attention of
the country at large, partly through the persistent agitation of the matter of
fiat money by the Populists, and partly by the silver interests of the West.
Bryan was nominated by the Democrats as a pronounced free silver champion and
McKinley was put forward by the Republicans on a gold standard platform. There
was no dodging the issue and every other question was subordinated to that of
the future financial policy of the country.
There was a very amusing aspect to the newly
developed situation in Oregon, which was also without doubt witnessed elsewhere.
Men who had never before been known to express an opinion on the question, who
had not discussed public matters of any kind — men whose entire lives had been
devoted to, daily toil on foothill ranches, for instance — suddenly developed
into veritable oracles on every detail of the complicated minutia of monetary
problems. I knew many men who had been my acquaintances for a generation and who
had devoted no thought to the free coinage of silver or any other phase of
public financial matters, who in 1896 would argue by the hour, or even by the
half-day, if an audience of only one man could be secured and held, to show the
tendency of the times toward “the subjugation of the masses” by the operation of
the gold standard. Prices had been distressingly low for three years and the
gold standard was the cause; therefore, prices could never rise and thus bring
relief to the masses until the gold standard was upset and the free coinage of
silver again adopted, and that “without waiting for the consent of any other
nation on earth!” This mere reference to the matter sounds like reading an old,
half-forgotten story, so familiar are these phrases and declarations, also these
mournful predictions.
The stress of hard times which had been
endured by the people for a few years had produced a condition favorable for the
successful propagation of these fallacies, and by regiments they accepted the
theory that what we wanted was a cheaper currency and more of it. Bryan’s speech
at the Chicago Convention had an electrical effect upon thousands, even
millions, of people who afterward themselves wondered at their shortsightedness.
So general was the spread of the free silver gospel that in Oregon, if the
election had been held on the first of September, Bryan would without doubt have
carried it by at least five thousand majority — and it required “a campaign of
education” to prevent it.
I had been nominated by the Republicans at the
State Convention which met in Portland in April as one of the four Presidential
electors and, as such, took an active part in the fall campaign. There was an
apparent hesitancy on the part of many Republicans of prominence to begin the
contest, which it was plain must be waged vigorously if a victory for McKinley
was to be won. Senator Dolph had been retired because his attitude had been
precisely that endorsed by the National Republican platform and Senator Mitchell
was one of the most pronounced and active free silver advocates in the United
States. He had repeatedly declared for the very principle embodied in Bryan’s
platform, and had contended with an earnestness not surpassed by the Boy Orator
of the Platte himself that it was of supreme importance to the people of the
United States.
Naturally, therefore, there was much
speculation among the people of Oregon as to what course Mitchell would adopt in
the situation thus presented. He himself said nothing, though repeatedly urged
by the Republicans to declare his intentions. In the early fall, however, he
made a journey to Canton, Ohio, had an interview with Major McKinley, returned
home and announced that he would support the Republican National ticket and that
he would take the “stump” for McKinley.
But his hesitancy displeased the great body of
the Republicans and his decision especially angered the Populists, the free
silver Republicans and Democrats. It was, in fact, a very hard situation for
Mitchell, and the action he finally took was the only one possible under the
circumstances — unless, indeed, he concluded to follow the course of Jonathan
Bourne, and thousands of other Republicans, who bolted outright and gave their
support to Bryan. Bourne had been elected as Representative from Multnomah
County in the preceding June as a Republican and was also the secretary of the
Republican State Committee. He was, however, a strong believer in the free
coinage of silver and an enthusiastic admirer of Mitchell, and after the
national conventions had been held announced his intention of supporting Bryan
and did support him. The fact that a Bryan man was secretary of the Republican
State Committee presented a very anomalous as well as embarrassing situation and
largely accounted for the difficulty encountered in putting any sort of life and
aggressiveness into the McKinley campaign. Mr. Bourne finally resigned his
position, and after Mitchell had decided what he would do the campaign was
formally opened on September 18, when an immense meeting was held at the Marquam
Theater in Portland, under the auspices of the Sound Money League, an
organization which had been formed by many of the leading Republicans of that
city, who were impatient with the apparent apathy of the State organization. I
attended this meeting, and from there went into Clackamas County and was not
again at my home, except one Sunday in October for two hours, until after the
election, which was held on November 3. I visited almost every county in the
State, speaking generally in the country districts and the smaller towns, where,
it was thought, the greatest defections from the national ticket were to be
found. It was a most difficult itinerary to follow, traveling by all sorts of
conveyances, sometimes on foot, and frequently speaking two and three times a
day.
I was sent to a town called Rufus, in Sherman
County, a railroad station merely, where at that time of the year there were
hundreds of farmers camped every night delivering their grain from the remote
sections of that district. Some of them employed three days to make a trip and
return. It was a very populous place during the grain delivery season but was
abandoned for the remainder of the year.
I arrived at Rufus in the afternoon and found
everybody very busy. As nobody appeared to be interested in politics just then,
I went to the hotel and entertained myself without molesting those who appeared
to be in better business. There I discovered an old schoolmate whom I had known
in Silverton, nearly forty years before, and who had lived in the old town all
this time. He was one of its well-known business men, and was so much better
dressed than I had ever seen him before that I was really surprised — also
surprised to see him where he was. So I said:
“Why, hello, Os! What in the world are you
doing here? It’s the first time I have seen you outside of Silverton for thirty
years.”
He explained that he was off for a short
vacation and that he was visiting some of his wife’s relatives who lived not far
away.
After supper, and when I had concluded that it
was about time for somebody to be looking after the meeting, I was sitting in
the hotel office near a table and my friend was at another, some twenty feet to
my rear. Suddenly two men came, somewhat out of breath, looked at me a moment
and passed on to the Silverton visitor, when one of them said:
“I beg your pardon, but are you the gentleman
who is to speak here to—night?”
“No, sir,” I heard him reply, “I am here on a
visit only.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the other returned.
”You are the only man in the room who looks like a speaker and I thought you
must be the man we are after. We are the committee.”
At this my friend explained who the speaker
was, but by this time I had presented myself, laughingly apologizing for my
ordinary appearance, and the four of us went to the meeting where several
hundred farmers had assembled, all deeply interested in Mr. Bryan’s declaration
that wheat, then bringing fifty cents a bushel, would never bring a higher price
until we got rid of the gold standard.
On the night of September 30, I addressed a
meeting in the town of Tillamook, and the next night, accompanied by a dozen of
the prominent Republicans of that place, took a gasoline launch and started
across the Bay to hold a meeting at Bay City, some ten miles away. We did not
start until after dark and the night was very foggy. When we had traveled about
long enough to have arrived at our destination we saw a light, but as we were
getting ready to disembark, it was discovered that it was the lantern hanging at
our starting point! We had made a huge circle around the Bay and returned to
Tillamook.
It was then time for the meeting to begin, but
we concluded, as the night was pleasant, to make another trial, explain to the
people the cause of the delay — it was thought not good policy thus to
disappoint a “bunch” of voters whose support was likely to be badly needed and
perhaps return by midnight.
Upon the second trial the captain was more
successful and landed us at the Bay City wharf at nine-thirty. We were met by a
committee which announced that the schoolhouse on the hillside was “full of men
and women who had been waitin’ for two hours,” so we proceeded there at once. We
found them singing “In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” “Onward Christian Soldiers,” etc.
When we entered, I at once began to explain how it was, and had been, with us —
that I regretted the affair very much and hoped that at some future time I might
have the opportunity, etc., etc. — but there were loud protests at any
postponement, one man rising and saying that the people wanted to hear the
speech, that there had been, it appeared to them, a disposition to slight their
locality because it was somewhat out of the way, and that they proposed to
remain.
I surrendered at once and the meeting
proceeded, occupying an hour and a half. After it was over we again boarded our
launch. The captain said that if we hurried we might be able to retrace our
course across the Bay, since the tide was just beginning to recede; on a low
tide we would be compelled to make a detour of several additional miles. So we
started straight across the Bay on an ebbing tide and when not more than a
half-mile from Bay City struck a sand bar. Of course, on a falling tide it was
impossible to get away, and in five minutes we felt the boat settling into the
sand.
Within an hour our little craft was “high and
dry” and not a drop of water within three hundred yards of us. We had no
bedding, no luncheon, not even a peanut to take off the edge of our keen
appetites, not even so much as a stool upon which to sit. There was a pile of
slab-wood which was used for fuel, upon which a few of us lounged by turns. One
of the men had his wife along, as she insisted upon having a little “outing,”
and she proved about the bravest and most patient of the entire crew, as is
usually the case.
About daylight, we saw the tide returning and
at seven o’clock or thereabouts were able to float once more and proceed to
Tillamook, where we ate a late breakfast of fresh salmon and other delicacies
that carried terror to the heart of the astonished landlord.
On account of this delay, I missed the stage
that morning for Portland, where I had expected to attend a meeting addressed by
Roswell G. Horr, a noted campaigner from Michigan. But I enjoyed the day with
friends in Tillamook, after taking a nap of a few hours duration, and became
very much interested in that splendid region which constitutes one of the finest
dairy countries in the world. Before many years there will be a coast line from
Astoria to San Francisco, making the coast counties of Oregon one of the most
desirable and prosperous sections of the Northwest. The Coast range of mountains
is not rocky, being unlike the Cascades in that respect, and with its relatively
mild climate and productive soil will furnish homes for millions of people from
its summit to the very beach of the Pacific Ocean.
There is something very fascinating in the
work of a campaign like that of 1896. There was absorbing interest manifested in
the questions at issue, and the people were deeply concerned as to the outcome
of the contest. For this reason the attendance was always large and the interest
never permitted to lag. If your friends were too few in number to greet you
frequently with “tremendous applause,” the “enemy” was quite likely to make it
warm enough to answer all reasonable purposes. I remember that I once addressed
a meeting at a place called Bellevue, in Yamhill County, which was held in the
afternoon in a schoolhouse. I was invited there by the only Republican in the
precinct, as it turned out afterward. He had written that it was a good place to
“do missionary work,” since the Populists were overwhelmingly in the majority,
but was careful to conceal from me the fact that they constituted about
ninety-nine per cent of the population and were on the warpath for every
Republican scalp from John Sherman down.
I had spoken at McMinnville the evening
before, and three prominent Republicans from there drove over to Bellevue to
attend the meeting. When we arrived within sight of the place — only a
schoolhouse at a crossroads there was a crowd waiting for me, most of them
sitting on the fences, whittling and relating what they would do to me when I
should make my “gold bug” speech.
We tied our horses to a maple tree near by and
proceeded to the schoolhouse. It was decidedly the coldest greeting — if that be
the proper word to describe the manner in which the suspicious people eyed us —
one can imagine. After we went in the house was soon filled and Watt Henderson,
the sheriff of the county, and one of those accompanying me, called them to
order — there were no local Republicans — and I began my “remarks.” I had not
talked more than five minutes before a long whiskered fellow who was sitting in
a window-sill interrupted me with the intimation that he would demand the proof
before he would believe what I had just said. l had copied the statement from a
speech in the Congressional Record, which I had at home, but, although I gave
the date and page, my questioner said that was not sufficient. He wanted the
Record itself, and added that the country was full of gold bug speakers who were
fooling the workingmen with rot for which there was no foundation. He was not
satisfied, he said, with mere quotations. ”Give us facts,” etc.
That was the signal for a display of fireworks
that knew no cessation for fully two hours. Finally, as I was to speak at
Sheridan that night, I was compelled to adjourn the meeting, which was done amid
the greatest confusion, When l had reached the door one of the men again
attacked me, with his tongue, also with a very threatening’ attitude physically,
and, with the entire gathering surrounding us, said I had not once referred to
so and so, and that was the most important thing he wanted to hear. All the
Republican speakers dodged it, he said. So I returned to the platform, called
the meeting to order, and we had an encore that lasted for ten minutes.
After this I was allowed to escape, for which
piece of good luck I have never since failed to be thankful. Although such
experiences were not uncommon in Oregon at that time, that was the “fiercest”
exhibition of political enthusiasm (I use the word enthusiasm rather than
intolerance out of deference to that spirit of charity which I have since
cultivated and developed) I ever encountered in my twenty years’ campaigning in
Oregon.
A few years since I was relating some of the
pleasures, surprises and hardships I had “met up with” while engaged in campaign
work to Fred Lockley, the genial manager of the Pacific Monthly, among
which was the trip to Tillamook. This reminded him of an experience he had in
the Coast Mountains once upon a time, when canvassing for the Salem Statesman,
that is worth listening to.
“It was in November,” said Lockley, “and the
rainy season was on. I was traveling on horseback and was on my way from Woods
to Tillamook. Night overtook me and houses were few and far apart. Occasionally
there would be a little clearing, with a cabin in it, and then it would be dense
timber for a mile or two. The rain was falling in torrents and I was wet
through. Suddenly, I spied a light through the timber and it soon proved to be
in a log cabin not far ahead. Arriving at the house, I shouted at the top of my
voice and a man came to the door. I told him my predicament and that I would be
glad for merely a shelter for myself and horse until morning. He said he would
be pleased to have me stay all night, so we put my horse in a small stable near
by. He gave me some supper and soon afterwards showed me where to sleep. The
room was a ‘lean to’ about seven feet square, and I was glad enough to retire
and rest, also to divest myself of my soaked clothing.
“The bed had not been ‘made up,’ but I cared
nothing for that. There was plenty of bedding and a good pillow, which still
showed the impression of the head of its last occupant. As the air was filled
with a dank odor which was not pleasant, I tried to raise the single window at
the foot of the bed, but I found it had been nailed in. I decided finally that I
was lucky to have a bed and shelter at all and retired.
I slept exceedingly well and awoke the next
morning refreshed and feeling like a new man. When I appeared for breakfast, my
host asked how I had rested.
“Oh, splendidly,’ I replied. ‘The bed was soft
and I was dead to the world until morning.”
“Well, I’m glad of that,’ responded the
fellow, as he poured out two cups of black coffee, “you see my wife died in that
room two weeks ago of pneumonia and I haven’t had the heart to go into it since
they carried her out for the funeral.”
“One cup of coffee was all the breakfast I
wanted,” continued Lockley, “and it took me several months to banish even
partially from my mind the picture of that impression in the pillow in which I
had laid my head for the splendid night’s rest which followed.”
Next Chapter -
Geer was named one of Oregon's three electors in the electoral college in 1896;
he visited with McKinley after the nomination was secured. Geer was later
snubbed, however, by McKinley for an appointed office.
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:
