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A Non-Profit Organization Annual membership fees (includes membership and Sou'wester subscription) $20.00 single $25.00 family $50.00 corporate $50.00 contributing $100.00 benefactor Address: P.O. Box P; South Bend, WA 98586 Pacific County Historical Society welcomes articles relating to Pacific County. Materials accepted for publication may be edited. Entire contents copyright 1999 by Pacific County Historical Society. All rights reserved. Second class postage paid at South Bend, Washington. Ruth McCausland and Joan Mann, Editors Printed by Midway Printery, Long Beach, Washington Our Cover
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by Willard R. Espy Illustrated by Robert McCausland
Editor's Note: The following poem, never before published, was sent to the Sou'wester by Louise Espy, the author's wife. We present it here in memory of Willard R. Espy, who died on February 20th, 1999. As to the legends, including that of poor John Lyon and the golden sovereigns; they are another matter. About Mr. Lyon we know only that he lived on Long Island in the late 1860s or early 1870s; that his wife died; that he disappeared; and that some sort of hanky-panky was suspected. That he was a gambler, that he received a huge quantity of gold, that the devil ate him for supper; none of this is attested. But it may have happened. I ask only that you keep an open mind. |
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The southwest corner of my state
Is water-bordered twice: the great Pacific to the west; and south, Columbia's wild, disgorging mouth; Where these two intersect, a narrow
To east lies farm and forest bounty.
Behold here, near the shoal bay's head,
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| Here Weyerhaeuser, Uncle Sam
Lie down, the lion with the lamb - - By treaty bound that none can sever To keep this wild land wild forever.
So what's there now? - - Birds; deer, elk; bear;
A fearful legend I shall spin
Where the Columbia thrusts pell-mell
A thirty-mile-long war canoe
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| Where salmon, oyster, crab, and clam
Skedaddled, sprawled, or dug, or swam. Upon its back sprang berries, fruits; Two-winged birds; four-legged brutes. Then back the wand'ring red man came
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| Now cars by hundreds drive off-hand
Down thirty miles of packed beach sand, And tourists dig for clams, and chaw On fish, and swallow oysters raw; And villages on either side Keep time by bay or ocean tide. There's Seaview, Long Beach, Ocean Park; And there's Nahcotta, with its Ark; And northernmost, remoter still,
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| I trust that now the background's clear,
So you can settle down to hear A grisly legend some have spun About Long Island, Washington. |
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| 'Twas 1867. First
A few bold oyster growers durst To put up shacks; then more arrived, And for a little while they thrived. They lived with fish and oyster smells,
Nor dreamed that ere ten years had sped
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| He gamed - - he cheated - - won! His wife
From shame fell ill - - despaired of life. He cheated more as she grew worse, Till sadly she intoned this curse: "If one more penny touch your hand
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| John gave his word. But that same day,
From Oysterville, across the bay, A sailboat anchored - - in its hold Two saddlebags of glittering gold! Two galaxies of shining suns - - Ten thousand English sovereigns! - - Addressed "John Lyon!" Who but he Had won the British lottery! The oath that John had sworn his wife
So since his wife he dare not tell,
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| John shot that evil fowl. It fell
With horrid cry into the well. He stowed the gold, and hurried back Through rain and tempest to his shack. His wife stood trembling by the bed;
John wept; none saw the falling tear.
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| And then he knelt. He did not speak,
But gently kissed that icy cheek, And rose, and stumbled out the door To flee that spot. But first - - his store Of sovereigns. He reached the well - -
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| And that same night, at midnight black,
A mudslide swept away that shack - - It filled that well - - entombed that gold! There followed weeks of bitter cold; The oysters died; before the sun Returned, all oystermen were gone. Be right my tale, or be it wrong,
18 April 1987 copyright 1987 by Willard R. Espy 8 |
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1938 to 1946 by Ann Sherwood Anderson In the summertime, the "city kids" would come to visit their relatives and they would join our fun and games. Since we had no sidewalks or colored chalk, we had to make do with drawing lines in the dirt for our games of Hopscotch, but I'm sure we had just as much fun as the |
Oysterville Baptist Church, built in 1892 by R.H. Espy. Now restored, it is open at specified times. -courtesy Ann Sherwood Anderson |
| city kids. Just got a little dustier
than they, but probably didn't have as many skinned knees.
Another place we played was on Sand Hill by the Oysterville store. We would race down the hill and when we later got bicycles we raced those. We felt very daring because, after all, it was the highest peak in town. My cousin, Vernon Andrews, taught me to ride, even though he was 6 and I was 8, but he managed to hold onto my bike while I pedaled wobbly along. Vernon was my best customer when I started my library, too. We had a shed in the back yard that was empty, so my Dad, Ed Sherwood, said I could use it. Luckily, I had lots of books and borrowed some from my sister Betty. I made little cards for each frontispiece to show when the books were checked out, to whom, and when they were to be returned. There were fines for late returns and I very nobly planned to buy more books for the library with the money. I did buy a couple, but I am confessing here and now that some of it went for licorice pipes down at the store. |
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| Vernon was always late with his books because he read
them over and over. He had such a thirst for knowledge he read soup
can labels, cereal boxes; anything that had words.
Soon the library got tiresome and the rains started and the books got a very musty smell and the few I still have never lost that mustiness. One summer, Ted Holway and Glen Heckes got a big load of oyster seed and put the empty wooden boxes in a field between their cannery and Clark Taylor's house. They said we could play with them and we stacked them like a house and had hallways and rooms and we crawled around inside and, with the mysterious imagination of children, those boxes turned into a |
Vernon Andrews teaching "Memi" (Ann) Sherwood how to ride a bike. -courtesy Ann Sherwood Anderson |
| beautiful mansion. It made no difference
that they smelled pretty bad. We were used to the smell of old oysters
and mud. It is a part of the nostalgia I carry with me, for how could
a town named Oysterville smell like anything but oysters? The clean
fresh aroma of a freshly opened oyster to the acrid odor of rotten oysters
and mud; mingled with honeysuckle and roses.
An unlikely place we played was the Oysterville cemetery. Children love to scare themselves and what better place is there? We always respected the graves, mostly because of the fear that if we stepped on one that person would arise and haunt us forever! One time I was there with my cousins, Bitty Redell and Nita Stone, and we saw two graves with big slabs of marble, probably six feet long (grave size), laying on top. We decided the people were trying to push them up and get out of the graves and we ran screaming out of there. Now I go to the cemetery and look at those two graves and smile. |
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Bitty Redell on "Amber". -courtesy Ann Sherwood Anderson |
With the ocean so close we used
to walk to it and play on the beach. I have a memory of walking along
and my cousin, Gary Whitwell, suddenly running out into the woods, hopping
onto a log and beating his chest and giving a piercing Tarzan yell.
He used to talk about seeing green Goons, too. You will be happy
to know that Gary grew up to be nice and normal.
Sometimes the tide would get very high and come up even with the road and my Dad and I would go swimming. Or he would borrow my sister Betty's bike and I would get on mine and we would pedal the mile or so toward Nahcotta to Uncle Randy's house to visit. His hill was even steeper than the one in town. Going up wasn't a problem but going down was curvy, and I always knew I'd never make that last comer and would prepare myself for a crash. Eddie and Randy would go into the house and have a cigar while I followed Alice around with her wheelbarrow full of fertilizer to put in the flower beds and vegetable garden. Eddie, a non-smoker, kept running outdoors to spit and each time his face was just a little greener and I thought that was pretty strange. He never did manage the fine art of cigar-smoking. |
| One time while playing
in the mud in the bay I found periwinkles clinging to the rocks.
They were so tiny and cute and so I scraped a lot of them off and took
them home and strung them into a necklace. A mysterious odor took
over our house and it was traced to my pretty necklace. I didn't
know there were little sea creatures inside the shells and I had skewered
them alive!
We had our jobs, too, but even they were fun. We did a lot of oyster shell stringing and blackberry picking. Some of the women, including my mother, Millie, would string shells, too, and we were able to listen to 'grown up' talk, which was very mystifying. I felt it must be a lot more fun being a kid than an adult. I liked blackberry picking just fine until the time I came across a dead snake that someone had hung over one of the limbs and I screamed, dropped my berries and ran back to that oyster shell pile. I was always thrilled when Bobby Wachsmuth would come to visit his grandparents because he would sit on the front steps and sing. He had a lovely boy soprano voice and I have always wondered if it changed into a rich baritone when he grew up or if he even sings anymore. |
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| When the Wright family moved to town and bought the Oysterville
store, Keith Wright also had a beautiful soprano and I was enraptured.
I was in awe of anyone with talent and that included my Dad. He was
always singing and he brought classical music into my life with records
he brought with him from Philadelphia. He would walk around singing
anything from Grand Opera (using la-la-la's because he didn't know the
words) to "Go Tell Aunt Rhodie, the Old Gray Goose is Dead."
You can imagine the excitement I felt this past July when I attended the Sunday Vesper services in the Oysterville church and listened to Katherine Holway sing her heart out and I felt as if the church was enfolding her in its arms and saying proudly, "This is one of my children." |
OYSTERVILLE SCHOOL: Teacher, Mrs. Soumela, left to right: Ramona Gove, Helen Martin, Betty Sherwood, Shirley Whitwell, Patsy Dalton, Ann (Memi) Sherwood, Gary Whitwell, Richard (Red) Robertson, Donald Robertson. -courtesy Ann Sherwood Anderson |
| As we got older
and became mad for horses, we would hold rodeos out at Grandpa Biggs' farm
on Skating Lake Road. Bitty Redell had a horse, Amber, who was faster
than the wind, so she won everything, not to mention the fact that she
was the best rider by far. Nita Stone rode a sweet little horse named
Lady, but it had a shying problem. Just a flutter of paper or grass
and she would leap to one side leaving Nita suspended in mid-air.
My horse, Ruby, was a strawberry roan and a nice horse, but she only liked
to go in one direction; toward home. I remember a little Shetland
Pony named Sugar who became our bucking bronco because she was so short
we didn't have far to fall. Besides that, she was a mean little thing.
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| One time, it was obvious that
my mare, Ruby was ready and willing to accept the overtures of a stallion,
so Bitty and I decided to become horse breeders. She borrowed a stallion
called Smokey, who was also called Gone-Wrong because he was ugly and had
a horrible gait, and we put them into a field together and Bitty and I
climbed a tree and waited. Sure, enough, Smokey liked Ruby very much,
but she squealed so loud I thought he was killing her. Bitty and
I were scared to death at what we had done. Eleven months later,
a little white colt was born and only Bitty and I were not surprised.
In August 1998, my Bitty passed away with cancer in San Jose, California. My husband, Bob, and I went down to spend a few days to visit and help care for her. I sat beside her hospital bed which was in the living room of her home, and we talked of the old days and had a good laugh remembering our day when we were horse breeders. Now I enjoy visiting Bud and Sherry Goulter in Oysterville and they keep me up to date on "The Oysterville Kids and How They Grew" and when I hear the names of Gove, Martin, Robertson, Heckes, Holway, Wachsmuth, Espy, Wright, Olsen, Dalton, Whitwell, Sherwood, I feel so fortunate to have been one of the Oysterville Kids. |
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by Alfred Whealdon The present school district comprises
all the land of the original, with the exception of a small portion near
Frankfort on the Columbia. This first district was mapped out in
1881 by J.A. Whealdon and accepted by the County Commissioners, then sitting
at Oysterville, as School Dist. No. 10.
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| The second and third
terms were taught at the same place by Miss Cynthia Scott and Miss Kitty
Clark, respectively.
A new building where school was regularly held for a number of years was now built at the Landing near the present site of the Finnish church. Among the teachers were Mr. Matthews and J. Stephens, afterward County Superintendent. The history of our school may now be divided into two periods: a period of division, in which the old district was cut into a number of small ones, and due partly to the improvement of the roads of the country a period of consolidation, in which all, or nearly all, were again united into one district.
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NASEL SCHOOL ANNUAL MAY, 1917 EDITORS AND PRINTERS: ESTHER SILVOLA WALDEMAR CARLSON ARTHUR KEISKI LEONIE OLSON "A book's a book, altho there's nothing in it." The Nasel School Press |
Nasel School and Bus, 1917. |
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A portion of land was laid out along the east boundary of District No.
10 in about 1890, and called the Bighill district. Then the Frankfort
district was sliced off the South side, and after some time the remainder
was divided into upper and lower sections.
A schoolhouse was now built at the Landing, and at about the same time another was erected on what is now Mr. Hill's big field. But before work on this could be completed, it was time for school to begin; and so Mrs. Chase, an English lady, taught in a house on the north side of the Valley, now Mr. Matt Hundis' residence.
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SCHOOL OFFICERS: left to right: Oscar Kolaback, director; H.V. Pellervo, director and clerk; W.A. Johnson, director and chairman; Herman Tapio, janitor. |
HIGH SCHOOL (EXCEPT THE GRADUATES): Top row, left to right: Arthur Keiski, Wayne Parpala, Leonie Olson, Selma Nasi. Bottom row, left to right: Waldemar Carlson, Esther Niemi, Ila Johnson, Agnes Paju, Esther Bighill. |
| The next term was held
in, the new building and the teacher was Miss Amy Holm, who later became
Mrs. Moffit. It is interesting to note that in this school no desks
were provided. Benches for writing desks were improvised and every
one who wished to sit down brought a chair. Mr. Matthews taught at
this school and it was here that some of our high school graduates commenced
their scholarly careers.
The school at the Landing progressed in about the same manner. Among the teachers were Mrs. Mansur of Knappton and a certain Miss Collins who in after years became Mrs. Thomas O'Connor. The school term began to be gradually increased from three to six months, eight months and finally to nine month session.
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EIGHTH GRADE: Top row, left to right: Olga Silvola, Charles Moffitt, Martin Talus, Charlie Paavola, Elmer Nasi; bottom row, left to right: Hilda Nasi, Bertha Paju, Tena Ericson, Lucille Carlson. |
SEVENTH GRADE: Top row, left to right: Otto Hill, Ralph Wilson, George Wiitala, Oscar Paavola, Victor Ullakko; middle row: Helmi Penttila, Linea Ehrlund, Pearl Koskela, Anna Anderson, George Miller, Locksley Whealdon; bottom row: Walter Bighill, Nelo Ericson, Teddy Higgins and Charles Keiski. |
| For at least six years, school was regularly held in these two districts, the upper and the lower. But in about 1906 agitation for consolidation began. It was argued that a large single school, with several teachers would give the pupils more advantages. On the other hand, it was said that the distance some pupils would have to go to a single school would be too great. But, as the main object of a school is education, the people decided to consolidate, and erect a building at about the center of the neighborhood, which is the site of the | 
1917 GRADUATES: left to right: Saima Kolaback, Esther Silvola and Alfred Whealdon. |
| present schoolhouse. The first structure,
or rather the beginning of the present one, had one story and two rooms;
one of them being what is now the kitchen and hall, and the other, the
room of the third and fourth grades. As the work was finished in
winter, only the latter part of the term was taught. Mrs. McCroskey
and Pauline Paulsen were the teachers.
At the end of the first full year, there were four eighth grade graduates, the first in Nasel, Wendell Holm, Janfred Parpala, Taimie Parpala and Rowan Whealdon. The next year a high school course was offered and these four graduates took advantage of it. But a two room building was soon found inadequate to the needs of the school, so the present primary room was added. With Mr. F.W. Tisdale as principal, things went along evenly for some time. Then in 1912, when the Bighill district was brought into the fold, it was deemed necessary to alter the schoolhouse again, and in the summer of 1912 the building was completed in its present form. The next thing worthy of special notice was the first High School commencement. This class was rather remarkable, because, instead of shrinking as most classes do, it had all the aforementioned eighth grade graduates and another, Mrs. Bessie S. Matthews. Mr. W.P. Matthews had the honor of giving the first High School diplomas in Nasel. The next year there were no graduates, but in 1915 with Mr. E.E. West as principal, Max Wilson and Walter Hill were presented with diplomas. Miss Pettibone was added to the faculty. |
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| Lilia Penttila, Halga Nasi and Jake Doll were
graduated in 1916, and Esther Silvola, Saima Kolaback and Alfred Whealdon
compose the class of 1917.
Thus we have seen our school grow from a little three months affair with one teacher managing all the grades, to an institution which is a credit to the community, and which draws people like a powerful magnet to Nasel to educate their children. But we do not wish to stop here, but keep on and on. |
THE FACULTY: Top row, left to right: Miss Grace Jensen, primary; E.E. West, principal; Miss Anita Pettibone, high school. Bottom row: Miss Johanna Fiedler, grammer grades; Miss Vivian Suti, intermediate; Miss Emma Jackson, fifth and sixth grades. |
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by Saima Kolaback While in the sixth grade, the boldest one dropped out of our companionship and stopped school later, when in her second year of high school. But a new member, Willie Mickelson of Eureka, Cal., took her place. Fortunately these four passed the eighth grade examination in the spring of the year 1913, under the instruction of Miss Orswell, who later became Mrs. Gilfrey. Willie Mickelson did not come back to high school with the other three. These, however, have continued their studies in high school, first under the supervision of Mr. Matthews and later under Mr. West and Miss Pettibone. This year, these three are graduating and they have the honor of being the fourth high school graduating class at Nasel. |
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by Arthur Keiski Arthur Keiski began his school career in the Taylor school, Astoria. He next attended the Youngs River school, then the McClure school, Astoria, then Bighill district school till consolidation united it with the Nasel district, since which time he has attended the Nasel school. This year he is a Sophomore in the High School. Arthur is a great baseball player and is enthusiastic about athletics in general. He has played on the Deep River team for the past two summers. Basketball is a play-game and
it should be played for the sport in it, and not for individual fame or
glory. A true sportsman would play this game only to satisfy his
desire for sports; therefore a clean game should be demanded by all who
take part in it.
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| The men should have speed, plenty
of endurance and be in good physical condition. There is one bad
mistake made by trainers and coaches in regard to the positions that some
players are put in; the player might be a good man in a certain position,
but he cannot fill every place with equal ability.
The guards should be fast men, and one of them should be a man of endurance so that he can play in the field, while the other guard plays a defensive in his territory. The center, besides being a good jumper, must be a man that the team can rely upon, as he is in the best position to direct the men. Of course, the forwards must have basket shooting ability and in other respects have the same qualities as the guards. If the court is small the players must not adopt the long passing game; this sort of thing will usually allow the ball to fall into the hands of the opposing team. As a rule, the passes must be short and snappy. The dribble, bouncing the ball on the ground, is a play that the "starter" should never use throughout a game, as it is a hard thing to succeed in and still harder to learn. The only time that this ought to be used, is when a player has a clear field before him, but is too far to make a throw for the basket; and then again in dodging around an opponent. Combination plays are essential and the men ought to practice them until they know them perfectly. In working these plays, if the team is not fast, the men must always try to work the ball to the best basket shooter. Most of the men who start to learn these plays get excited and don't know where to throw the ball. This should be overcome as quickly as possible, as nothing can be developed when there is a man like this in the team. And again, basketball is a scientific game and requires more headwork than any other sport. In learning how to play, one must take care of his physical body, or he will not last long. The same rules come in as in most of the games that require hard exercise. Tobacco and liquors must be left out entirely. Foods that contain much grease are not good; such as pastries. Sleep is one of the most important things that a player should keep in mind. A large number of nervous breakdowns among athletes is the result of lack of sleep. If the player will learn these rules and keep them in mind, he will find that they are a big help to him. He should be out, not to play weaker teams and win, but to play the strongest teams and learn the game. Remember, you are out for sport, win or lose! Slowly moving westward, Across the blue midsummer sky, Brightened by the sunlight, To a beautiful, golden dye; Every part a-glowing With that brilliant, mellow light, They are slowly fading Into the dim, heat-tired night. |
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by Ruth McCausland Editor's Note: Hazel Charley McKenney, direct descendent of Chief Charley Ma-Tote lives on the Shoalwater Bay Indian Reservation at the north end of Tokeland. An interview with Mrs. McKenney supplied information on the following article. Members of the Charley Family
were living in the Tokeland area long before 1866 when the Shoalwater Bay
Indian Reservation was established. It is impossible to trace them
back to their origins for some very good reasons. It was not important
to the local Native Americans to know their ancestry. With no written
language, there was no way to keep records of one's lineage. The
people were entirely dependent on passing their history verbally from one
generation to the next.
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| This was all that mattered to them until the white man
came onto the scene. James Swan, who arrived at Shoalwater Bay in
1852, a onetime Massachusetts schoolteacher, was fairly successful in taking
the sounds of the Indian's patois and applying them to letters used in
the English language. This was no easy task considering some of the
words used by the Indians had sounds that could not be accurately translated
into English letters. This somewhat explains the various spellings
of words and names used in Swan's time that are different from the spellings
used today.
From the time James Swan settled on the bay, he maintained a good friendship with Chief Toke (referred to by him as "Old Toke") and his wife, Suis. He did learn that Toke was probably a mixture of Chehalis and Chinook tribes. That, too, was not possible to determine with any certainty as these Indians always moved around a great deal. Chief Toke and his extended family lived most of the year on the east side of the bay (now Bay Center). When the weather calmed down in late spring, they moved across the bay to their summer camp on the point of land south of Cape Shoalwater (Tokeland). There they lived until late fall, occasionally crossing the sand spit over to the ocean beach for clams and crab. They also canoed southward on the bay, sometimes all the way to the Columbia River where salmon were plentiful. During the era when various illnesses were dropped off by visitors from other lands, the Indians fell prey to diseases from which they had no immunity. It has been estimated that ninety percent of the native peoples died during those years. Families were broken up due to death, often losing one or both parents. Those remaining would then join another group, usually relatives. Nephews became sons, nieces were treated as daughters, cousins were considered brothers and sisters. That way, they always had family protection, as much as was possible. Suis told Swan that Old Toke was her seventh husband. It was not likely she and Toke had any offspring together but had raised a variety of children that were his, hers, or surviving relatives of both of them. Survival was important, ancestry was not. Many years ago, when a local Indian died, the custom was to bury his or her body above ground. A small "house" was built over the grave. In it were placed various mementos and possessions of the deceased. The campsite was then deserted. After the establishment of the Shoalwater Bay Reservation, the few Indians who had chosen to live there, moved onto the land reserved for them. The residents of the area always called the settlement "Georgetown," some still do. A section of land was designated as graveyard and, for the first time, these Shoalwater Bay Indians were buried in ground set aside for that purpose. "Lighthouse" Charley Ma Tote, instrumental in picking the site for the first Cape Shoalwater Lighthouse built in 1854. This was twelve years before the Reservation property was formally set aside for the Indians. When the Reservation was visited in 1875 by an Indian agent, he reported that only two families were living there: Lighthouse Charley and his brother who was believed to be Toke. However, the Superintendent of Indian Affairs opened the Reservation rights to all the Indians who lived around Shoalwater Bay. Lighthouse Charley was appointed Chief of the Shoalwater Bay Tribe in 1876, and served his people until 1889 when he drowned in the Columbia River. His son, George, succeeded him as Chief, at which time the title "Ma Tote was dropped. When "Old Toke" died, the time and place of his burial was not recorded. |
| Chief George A. Charley and
his wife, Caroline Matil (Matell) were parents of twelve children.
For a time they lived at Taholah along with members of the family who had
moved there. Chief Charley was still head of the Shoalwater Bay Indians
and had a home on the Reservation. Eventually land on the Reservation
was designated as a graveyard. From then on, Shoalwater Bay Indians
were buried in ground set aside for that purpose. Markers were not
used at first but as time passed, names and life dates were duly recorded
at the gravesite.
In 1935 when seventy-five years old, Chief Charley was fishing on the Quinault River with a friend when he fell into the water and drowned. He was survived by his wife and children: Mitchell, Roland, Lizzie, Stanley, Nina, and Irene. The highly respected chief had served his people for forty-six years. His body was brought back to Georgetown where it was laid to rest in the cemetery. Roland Charley and his wife, Catherine McCloud, had seven children: Myrtle, Edwin (known as Audy), Hazel, Thelma, Bernice, Earl and Christine. The family, who had been living in Bay Center, moved back to Georgetown during the 1920s. Roland was appointed tribal head after the death of his father, Chief George Charley. His daughter, Hazel Charley McKenney, is the only surviving member of his family. She was born in 1916 in Bay Center. After the family moved back to the Reservation, she attended school in Tokeland. She also went to an Indian high school in Oregon from 1931 to 1936. Two years later she married Harry Baker with whom she had three children, Colleen Dietl of Ilwaco, Denny Baker, and Kenneth Baker. When married to Fred McKenney, her son, Roland, was born. Several grandchildren and great grandchildren have since joined the family. The tribal head, now called Chairman, is elected to office by Shoalwater Bay Reservation residents. These have included Myrtle Charley Landry, Dennis Baker, and Earl Davis. The current Chairman is Herbert Whitish. |
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by Lempi Koli Lillegaard If you attended school in the
primary room of the Tokeland School, you probably sat at a round oak table
that had been cut down to size to accommodate the 6, 7, and 8 year olds.
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Lempi Koli Lillegaard -courtesy of the author |
| We were moving to
Arizona, so it became part of our garage sale. No one purchased it.
We were planning to send it and a few other unsold items to the Salvation
Army.
However, two young girls drove up in a Volkswagen Beetle. We didn't have "anything much" to sell so we told them they could have the table if they had someone who could come and get it. Oh, what youth can do! They disassembled the base from the top. Somehow they managed to get this round top in the back and then somehow managed that heavy base, too, with part of it protruding between the two front seats. I told them I hoped they could make it to Seattle. They replied "Oh! We also have to pick up our two boy friends in Westport!" That's the story of your round oak table that many young Tokeland children started their school years sitting studying at. I also bought the hand school bell which was sold at my estate sale in 1994. |
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