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| Volume XLII, Numbers 2 & 3 Summer & Fall, 2006 |
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| Volume XLII, Numbers 2 & 3 Summer & Fall, 2006 |
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| The
Sou'wester |
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| ISSN #0038-4984
Copyright, 2007, by the Pacific County Historical Society. No portion of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the Society's Editorial Board. The Sou'wester is a quarterly
publication of the Pacific County Historical Society and Museum.
The Pacific County Historical Society is a non-profit 501(C)(3) organization,
located in South Bend, Washington.
In addition to the Sou'wester, the Society publishes a quarterly newsletter for its members and operates the Pacific County Historical Society Museum in South Bend, Washington.
Working with author Doug Allen has been a very positive and memorable experience. The Society is so fortunate to have someone of his caliber willing to donate so much time and energy to a project. As we progressed with the project more and more information kept emerging and there are still many great railroad stories and photos out there. If anyone has stories or photos to share contact Doug Allen at dallen35@mac.com and we’ll try to post them on our web site in the future. I am also blessed with a patient wife, Denise, who graciously proofread more than a few drafts and tolerated my extended periods of time in front of a computer screen and at the museum digging for photos. This is our second double-issue in a row. Although it is the Summer and Fall of 2006 issue(s), it was produced in June of 2007. We have fallen behind and are working hard to catch up. We plan a single issue in mid-summer and another in the fall. We’ll get there. Steve Rogers, PCHS president
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Cover Photo:
See “A REMINISCINCE: A Grandson’s Story” on Page 33. |
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In the 1920s the greater Willapa Valley community (South Bend to Frances) was a bustling, developing place. The population had grown steadily from the turn of the century, and the transportation and communication systems had been revolutionized, as they had been throughout the nation. Roads and bridges were improved and constructed, which helped market automobiles to the working class. There were two daily passenger trains going in and out of Raymond and South Bend, plus a third daily train, the Milwaukee, which served Raymond. The railroad’s freight service connected with viable seaports in both South Bend and Raymond. A slogan was coined by the Raymond business community: “Sawed in Raymond, Nailed Everywhere.”The telephone had become a household and business necessity, and the radio and phonograph were used by nearly everyone. Fast forward eighty-five years. Although the timber resource still supplies an important industry, it is clearly changed, with the cutters now relying on sustained yields and tree farming. With a depleted resource, and the local population down, the railroad and ocean freighters disappeared from view many years ago. At one time the railroad brought great promise to Pacific County. Today, there is hope for a future that comes with a changed vocabulary: telecommunications, broadband, fiber optics, and more. Some of us hope for an upgrade to our 1920s-era transportation route, specifically an improvement of SR 6, between Pe Ell and Frances. All that is needed is a steady hand from visionary leaders. Doug Allen, May 2007
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| In 1890 the Northern Pacific
Railway Company began the construction of a rail line from Chehalis to
the booming town of South Bend. It had been nearly 40 years since
the crewmen of the schooner Robert Bruce were miraculously rescued
when the vessel was purposely destroyed by fire. At the time, Shoalwater/Willapa
Bay was primarily the home of the indigenous people, bands of Lower Chinooks,
Lower Chehalis, and a smaller group called the Kwalhioqua.
The Bruce incident led to the establishment of the village of Bruceport, and a lively commerce between the bay and San Francisco, both in oystering and lumbering. From that occurrence, until 1890, all goods leaving or entering the bay were transported by sailing vessels. Rail transportation in the Pacific Northwest had been planned before 1880, but an economic depression forestalled the dream in 1873. Instead, Willapa Bay and Pacific County had to wait until the promising boom of the mid to late 1880s. Railroad companies, reasoning that feeder lines could enhance both population and economic growth, convinced bankers to finance new rail construction between the main lines and places like Port Townsend, Aberdeen/Hoquiam, and South Bend. THE PRETENDER: THE PACIFIC, CHEHALIS, & EASTERN RAILROAD The new railroad venture was called the Pacific, Chehalis & Eastern, and its western terminus was to be called Pacific City, located at Potter Slough, immediately west of South Bend’s original mill. The site name was soon changed to Sea Haven. There is no discovered reason for the name change, but the out-oftown developers surely learned of Pacific County’s first Pacific City, located on the Columbia River, near Cape Disappointment. The company’s key financiers included:
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| Sea Haven, wrongly called a
deep water port, was promoted through South Bend’s first newspaper, the
Western
World, and the Chehalis Bee. By early June, 1890, a new
three story hotel (the Hotel Potter) was being readied for occupancy.
A contract was signed by a Chehalis bank, the Dobson, Coffman, & Company,
to agree to have manufacturers Hamshaw & Hamshaw deliver 200,000 bricks
to Sea Haven. A second building of brick, was begun, designed to
be the home office of the Bank of Sea Haven.
Trouble hounded the company from the start, especially in its effort to attract investment capital. The plan to build its tracks to the Sea Haven port was blocked by Asa Simpson and his big sawmill, which was located on the west end of South Bend. Although the Chehalis and middle west financiers had engaged good railroad men, their lofty plans eventually failed. Regardless, the owners opened the new hotel in late 1890, and a party of revelers from rival South Bend was grandly entertained. Soon afterwards, in early 1891, the company and new village of Sea Haven were closed, with many investors suffering disastrous losses. It should be noted, however, that all was not lost: financiers such as Noah B. Coffman had also invested in the Northern Pacific. DELIVERING THE GOODS Coinciding with the new rail route to Willapa Bay, both mail order businesses would supply, for the next 60 to 70 years, everything a household and business might use. Older folks can readily recall the mail order catalog that advertised everything from underwear, toys, dolls, stoves, to farm equipment. In earlier times the catalog was the answer to many a dream, but also the disappointment to the owner of the local general store. Eventually, the trucking business would replace the rail delivery business, but for a long time the NP was a beneficiary of this activity. |
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THE BUILDING OF THE RAILROAD 1890-1893
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While Kyle’s surveying party pitched tents near the new Leonard & Bristol mill, the latest issue of the South Bend Enterprise reported that the crew was prepared to conduct a grade survey, boasting that the work would lead South Bend to become the NP main line’s western terminus. The announcement went on to say that South Bend “now held the trump card on the Pacific Coast…” On April 18, a bold press release quoted a New York banker, stating that the new rail line would run from South Bend to North Yakima, and that by terms of the contract the road would be completed by the first of October of the same year. In response to the NP’s activities, Chehalis and South Bend investors rushed to promote their properties. In Chehalis, the city’s Boistfort Street block of 26 lots was offered as a donation to anyone who would be willing to build a $30,000 hotel. Within ten days several Chehalis groups became active in the Lewis County real estate market, with sales exceeding $40,000 for the week ending April 28. Portland, Tacoma, and Seattle investors soon descended upon the local scene. In South Bend, the situation was duplicated, with many investors buying up lots. In mid-May, it was learned that the South Bend Land Company had agreed to sign over a large bonus of riverfront property to the Northern Pacific to ensure that the company would indeed build its western terminus at South Bend. This agreement would have everlasting complications for the local community and its riverfront. With the survey underway, articles of incorporation were signed in Tacoma to create the new company. The capital stock was announced to have a value of $5 million, divided into 50,000 shares of $100 each. At the same time, the NP signed contracts to build another line, the Tacoma, Olympia, & Grays Harbor Railway Company. Scheduled to use the same labor pool as the Chehalis to South Bend line, the capital stock for this venture was larger, at $6 million. The Tacoma Globe announced that James Ashton would play a key role in both companies. |
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No sooner had the ink dried
on the contracts than preliminary roadwork commenced and complaints began
to come across Division engineer W. C. Marion’s desk. Farmers along
the Lewis County end of the route filed protests about the company’s livestock,
especially horses, breaking down right-of-way fences, and entering private
pastures. A soured correspondence between Marion and the sub-contractors,
Webster, Kelso, & Dare, persisted for the next two years. Typical
of his impatient emands, Marion beseeched the contractors with this note:
“You have promised to take care of this problem, and I want it done at once…”On Saturday, May 9, the same day the above contracts were announced, a historic occasion took place in Pacific County. The first stage arrived in Willapa City from Chehalis, by way of Mauermann’s Prairie, which was a portent of things to come. The traveling party included A. E. Partridge, editor of the Chehalis Nugget, and four Chehalis businessmen, including A. L. Coffman and D. C. Millett. It was announced that the new stage line would continue to run every other day, and that it would include a mail run. In South Bend, editor Partridge encouraged prospective investors, especially the South Bend Land Company, to help raise $1,500 for the new wagon road. Eventually, the Lewis County Board of Trade led the support of the stage line, while the major work took place over an eight-mile stretch between Elk Prairie and Pe Ell, over the Rock Creek summit that would soon be named Pluvius. W. C. Marion’s correspondence revealed concern about the NP’s priority, as in his plea to Surveyor George Kyle: “Clear a trail so I can get through on horseback. It is important that we open direct communications between the camps…”Soon afterwards, the railroad company joined with the contractors in building the wagon road, helped with a payment of $2,000. |
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On March 13, the South Bend Journal repeated the overly-optimistic story which outlined the route all the way to Yakima: “Starting from South Bend, the line follows the Willapa River and its tributaries, crosses a low divide (Pluvius), then follows a tributary (Rock Creek) to the Chehalis River itself and then into the town of Chehalis. From Chehalis the line crosses into the Cowlitz River Valley to the summit of the Cascades, then descending the Tieton and Naches rivers to North Yakima. The line will pass rich veins of anthracite coal, the only anthracite known on the Pacific slope.”On both ends of the proposed 58-mile line, grading jobs were begun in the spring and summer. In April, Marion sent a small work force of men to South Bend, a job that was soon turned over to subcontractors Webster, Kelso, & Dare. On the Chehalis end, the work force under contractors Griggs & Heustis was weakened when many of the men were transferred to the Grays Harbor line. Throughout the summer months, about four miles on the west end and six on the east end were graded. One bridge was constructed in the Littell area, while plans were made for another, a 100-foot long draw span across the South Fork of the Willapa. At the time, the South Fork was considered a part of the eastern outskirts of South Bend, as the establishment of Raymond was still more than a dozen years in the future. The company had also completed a new wharf at South Bend, which included a warehouse for storing equipment and material shipped in by sea. By May, Marion reported that 600 men were working on the line, with more soon to be employed. The hopeful chief engineer cautiously claimed that the line would be complete by the end of 1892. In July, a spokesman for Griggs & Heustis submitted another optimistic report to news reporters: “There are more than one thousand men employed on both ends of the line, and on the South Bend end the right-of-way is cleared beyond Mauermann’s Prairie (Pe Ell), and 17 miles of grading is completed. We now have nine miles completed out of Chehalis, and track-laying is to be pushed six more miles in the immediate future. Eight miles have also been completed from South Bend.”In August, Joseph Clark, who directed the work on the South Bend end, reported his Willapa gang had as few as 150 men and 60 teams available, but that only 15 miles of grading separated his crews and the gang of workmen from the Chehalis end. In South Bend, supplies and powder were picked up to blow stumps and remove heavy clay. As fall approached, NP officers anticipated that the work would continue until late in the year, but delays and inclement weather limited the work. |
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“Sorry you’re dissatisfied, but so am I. The wet weather of the last two months has been horrible. The men leave as fast as they get here. I don’t expect jobs to get done until the end of June.”Marion was again mistaken about the completion of the work, as weather and labor problems haunted the company throughout the entire year of ’92. Much of the work at this time was done in the Pluvius area, where steep canyons and difficult physical conditions were as much of a problem as the weather. Inspired by the incessant rain, Principal Engineer McHenry (Marion’s boss) named Pluvius in honor of Jupiter, a Roman god. The Romans used the name Jupiter Pluvius as their god of rain, wind, and dark storm clouds. Desperate to complete the job, Marion’s correspondence of late 1892 reflected a strong frustration with the worsening labor problems. Many of the transient laborers were foreign born, and they increasingly walked off their jobs as payments were often held up. The contractors, in their attempt to squeeze as much of the profit as possible, provided poor working conditions, and long hours, with a long lag in the men’s paychecks. In one letter to Griggs & Heustis, Marion commented: “I know for a fact that if headquarters knew you had no regular payday, this would be stopped at once. If my superiors should ask me why the men leave so fast, I can no longer say ‘because it rains so much.’ You have lost about 100 men during the past week, and this comes at a time when all our striving is to finish the work so you will not get caught here during the rainy season. I would advise you to instruct your banker to pay the men as fast as the checks are presented, and no matter who presents them.”One item that revealed a food requisition gives a hint of how the workers were fed. William Abbott, an experienced professional cook, studied the 1892 food order and came up with a strong indication of how the men would have fared at the dinner table. For breakfast, bacon would have been the key item, probably served each morning. The monthly order of 300 pounds (of bacon) amounted to 1,200 servings. Divided by fifty men, that would have worked out to around 25 days of breakfasts. There was ham that also could have been used, with buckwheat flour used for pancakes. The 500 pounds of potatoes would have been a staple for breakfast and dinner, while the baker had 800 pounds of flour to use for bread, for all meals. Dried cod fish would have been used for soup, for both lunch and dinner. The supply of ham might have been for lunches and dinners, and the same with the corned beef hash. The potatoes would have been supplemented with rice and macaroni, which would stretch the starches for a month. For desserts and snacks, there was sago, a starch product used in puddings, or as a thickening agent (but seldom used today). If sago is added to the canned fruits, it could have been a dessert. Currants and raisins were used in bread puddings, or for desserts, or for a snack for lunches. Regardless of the good quality of the food, poor weather conditions hampered the work through September. Finally, there were clear days in October and early November, and good progress was made. Grading and track-laying progressed, and a second bridge was constructed across the Willapa in the upper valley. Next, a big cut in the heavy clay along the bank of the Willapa at South Bend’s St. Paul Hill was accomplished. (St. Paul Hill is now a part of Raymond. The area is next to the Willapa Harbor Port Dock.) The right-of-way clearance for the St. Paul Addition took another five months. Marion reported that the company’s center line was on the east end of the curve, and that to move the track over four feet would entail cutting into the hill and adding more than 200 yards of dirt and rip rap along the river’s edge. |
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“We are making exceedingly slow progress with the ballast (crushed rock under the ties and rails). The reports show that our trains have hauled the extremely low average of 92 cars per day since March 3. It has rained so hard that all work was suspended several times, and the track is rougher now than it has been any time this past winter. We have taken out all the gravel from the Lilly pit, so I’ll send one engine to Tacoma and use the other three engines at the Giesy pit. I would suggest taking a couple of months off to allow the rains to let up and the mud to dry.”The culmination of the work came at a difficult time for the company and the local populace. The nation’s widespread economic problems of 1893 struck hard in South Bend, as it did throughout the west. In South Bend, Marion wrote in March that he had returned all papers concerning the South Bend Lumber & Manufacturing Company’s voucher. The evasive mill owners, Leonard and Bristol, wriggled out of the situation by claiming that no signed papers could tie them to any corporate contract. Judge Holcomb, the primary officer of the failed South Bend Land Company, also denied any legal connection with the mill, claiming that the land company had merely bought out the business, but had not assumed ownership as an assignee. Nearing May, with completion at hand, Marion’s correspondence revealed that Pacific County lumber was beginning to be shipped via rail. Marion told McHenry: “The road is practically finished as far as Frances, although the gravel has not been what we wished. We have ordered about 70 cars to be loaded with lumber at South Bend for the Yakima country. I also expect to get 30 or 40 cars of hay at Lebam for Portland. The mills at Dryad are running and shipping shingles and lumber to eastern fronts, and I am badly in need of flat cars to load our surplus steel. The county commissioners and settlers want the county road changed at Forks Creek, for both the public and cattle crossings.”During the first week of May, signs were ordered for many of the stations, but two months later many were still not set. In one of his last company letters, Marion once again reminded McHenry of the need for last minute details. “The work on this line is now all finished with one or two slight exceptions. The station signs for Claquato, Pluvius, Lebam, and Menlo are not yet set. I have not received the signs, except for Claquato, but I am still waiting for the posts. The water barrels, which were delivered at the third crossing of the Chehalis and the second crossing of the Willapa, were stolen before we got ready to fasten them. About six barrels will be needed at the former bridge and the latter.” |
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When the train started back to South Bend, a mad scramble was made to get on and get a seat. Only some of the passengers found seats until others got off at Littell and Adna. Sometimes “specials” ran between Chehalis, Pe Ell, and South Bend and Raymond, especially for baseball games, fairs, and occasional special events. For the popular baseball games, the crowd would include the teams, fans, and brass bands, especially the popular bands from Frances and Dryad. From 1915 to 1930, Raymond had been served by three daily passenger trains; two with the NP, and one with the Milwaukee railroad. On November 27, 1931, the NP halved its service, with its outbound train arriving in South Bend at 2 pm, and departing for Chehalis at 4 pm. Beginning in December 1931, the local passenger service was reduced to one NP car, which later became a combination freight-passenger service, which usually meant one passenger car with a freight train. There appears to be two main reasons for the initial decline of railroad passenger service: the Great Depression and the advent of the automobile and, consequently, state and county highways during the early 1930s. After the end of the Second World War automobile transportation and oil production boomed, which led to the end of rail travel on the route in 1954. Pacific County is not alone in this historical phenomenon. At one time the Seattle and Tacoma area had a wonderful light-rail transportation system, as did most municipal areas in the United States. Before 1940, Los Angeles was known to have the best urban rail system in the United States. In their wisdom, the city fathers allowed General Motors to buy up the magnificent rail system to construct a lauded freeway system. |
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DEPOTS and TOWNS
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| To preface what is representative
of the glorious years of the rail line, it must be noted that the “good
times” were over long before the last passenger train left the South Bend
depot on March 19, 1954. (See “End
of an Era: The South Bend Flyer,” The Sou’wester, Summer, 2004.)
The trains bound for South Bend began the trip from the Centralia station, where engine and cars were organized. Although there are 23 stops in the following list, in the early years there were more. In any case, not all stations were regular stops, especially in the early years, as some were flag stops. Increasingly from the 1930s, passenger cars were combined with freight cars, and in the last decade the train made many trips with an empty, or near-empty passenger car. station be built. Transportation routes were established when a wagon road was opened between the growing town and Claquato, and a ferryboat began operation at the mouth of the Newaukum River, which became the location of Alexander Park. When Saundersville’s name was changed to Chehalis in 1879, the town replaced Claquato as the county seat of Lewis County. New businesses were established, including a hog packing house, whose owner shipped to Portland and Victoria, B. C. Next came cattle and wheat shipments, and a flouring mill which provided a market for the local wheat growers. The demand for lumber encouraged the growth of sawmills and shingle mills, and in 1883 the Leudinghaus brothers opened a sash and door factory. A substantial wooden train depot was built in 1883, at the foot of Pacific Avenue, running west from streetcar tracks. Along with the new depot, increased business growth during 1889 and 1890 triggered the incorporation of three banks, the Chehalis Land and Timber Company, Security State Bank, and the First National Bank. In the midst of the accelerated growth, the Commercial State Bank was opened in 1892. Several brick buildings were constructed on Market Street, along with the St. Helens Hotel. Decline in business and a halt to growth began with the Panic of 1893, which was accompanied by widespread factory and bank failures. |
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| The 1883 depot served Chehalis
until a larger structure was built in 1912. The new building was
constructed immediately south of the existing facility, which was left
in place until the new depot was completed. When the 1912 building
opened in the autumn, the old depot was moved south of the new one.
The new Union Station was designed in a mission-style architecture, built
of cement, brick, and stone, with a slate roof.
As the economy slowly recovered following the Panic of 1893, the community generally prospered, and reached a peak through the years of the First World War. After the Lewis-Pacific Dairymen’s Association was started in 1921, that industry was most prosperous the year before the 1929 Stock Market Crash. During this era, both the freight and passenger rail traffic thrived on the Chehalis to South Bend run.
The first post office was begun on September 15, 1858, and moved to Littell in 1903. Austin L. Davis was Claquato’s first postmaster. The NP railroad depot was established in 1892. |
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One of the early families to arrive in town was that of Joseph and Catherine Staeger. The Staegers had seven children who were raised in their small two bedroom house. Other settlers included the George Onn and J. A. Dennis families. With the help of his two sons, Onn operated a shingle mill for many years. One of the Staeger children, Carl, grew up to become a well known local writer with the Lewis County Advocate and later with the Centralia Daily Chronicle. Much of the information gathered for this project is from his work. Staeger, in a May 1949 Chronicle, commented: “Dryad’s town and mills were gone, but the memories stayed alive. The Dryad picnic was annually held at Rainbow Falls State Park, with attendance sometimes in the several thousands.”Another Staeger tale, with his usual tonguein-cheek humor, told of the railroad crew’s rare triumph of its chronic problem of being late. “One day, in Dryad, the train came in, right on the dot, and not a minute late. Jim Souter was the conductor. Several of the pioneers of Dryad, including Charley Mauermann and Charles Bennett, took up a collection to give to the conductor and engineer for the good service rendered that day. Several dollars were raised, but the train’s conductor (slyly) turned down the money, stating, ‘We’re sorry, but this train was due in yesterday, and is 24 hours late.’”Dryad’s economy was booming when the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul railroad was being constructed in 1913. With the Milwaukee Road serving the town, there were two railroads within 100 feet of each other, on both sides of the school building. (Chehalis Advocate, Dec. 2, 1913). After the completion of the Milwaukee line, Dryad’s citizens expected the new state automobile road (now called SR 6) to enter the town. However, the town was bypassed, and afterwards businesses moved, stores were shut, and eventually the school was closed. When the railroad service ceased, the depot was sold and turned into a private residence. The last sawmill closed around 1930, and a quarter of a century later the post office was closed on June 26, 1957.
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A post office was established on December 2, 1900, and Albert and Amelia Toepelt first filed the Plat of Doty on June 10, 1901. Later, a mail messenger was employed to exchange mail pouches, and for years he met the westbound trains at noon, and the eastbound trains at 5 pm. In 1915, the Puget Sound & Willapa Harbor railroad (Milwaukee line), complete with depot, was built through Doty. The following year it was estimated that the town’s population was close to 1,000. The town had a high school, a large community hall, businesses, a dance hall, and much more. In the late 1920s both Doty and Dryad had baseball teams that played in a summer league with teams from Raymond and South Bend. When the mill was closed and sold in 1929, nearly all the businesses closed. R. W. Mesereau (owner from 1913 to the end) sold the mill equipment and standing timber to the Shaffer Brothers of Montesano. Today Doty has about 20 families.
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Several white families claimed land in the area, including Perry and Andrew Roundtree (1854), and the Joseph Mauermann family, who arrived in September 1855. For a time the area was called Mauermann’s Prairie. The Muller brothers operated a pioneer sawmill on Rock Creek, a mile above Pe Ell. The Mullers sold the mill in 1902 to the McCormick Lumber Company. Pe Ell’s first school was begun in 1882, with 12 students and Inez Townsend, of Centralia, as the teacher. With the coming of the NP railroad, the population rapidly grew. Stores, real estate offices, businesses, a hotel, a newspaper, the Pe Ell Guardian, and new residences were added. By 1909 the town had many dairy farms in the surrounding area, as well as three school buildings (248 students), four churches, and a handful of fraternal organizations. In 1909 Pe Ell claimed a population of 1,000, which was supported by three large sawmills. The mills had a daily average production rate of 300,000 board feet of lumber, along with three shingle mills, which could produce 85,000 shingles a day. By 1930 the population had decreased to 850. |
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Harry McCormick retired from the mill around 1906, and died at the age of 51. In 1909, a fire completely destroyed the mill with an estimated loss of a quarter of a million dollars. At the time the plant had employed nearly 300 workers. This was the mill’s third major fire, and each time the operation had been reopened with newer and more efficient equipment. The mill was permanently shut down in 1929, and sold and dismantled in 1931. In 1937, the Lewis County Advocate reported that McCormick had become a ghost town. Frank Gudyka, later of Raymond, often talked about the large mill, with its band and gang saws, edgers, large lathe, two resaws, five planers, and many employees. Well-known writer and newspaper reporter Stewart Holbrook recalled the mill in a 1952 Sunday Oregonian article, with its large sun dial. Holbrook was fascinated with the sundial. In his book, The Far Corner, he has more remarks: “…Some homemade scientist built an enormous sundial which covered the entire upper half of the south end of the planing mill. It worked well, too, and its roman numerals and the shadow of the sun could be seen a quarter of a mile away. It was probably the only sundial of this kind and size in the Northwest…I like to think that the big sundial may have created an interest in the sun’s daily course and its effect on the blowing of the mill’s starting and stopping whistles. Perhaps the slowly creeping shadow may also have given substance, far more than a clock, to the adage that time never stops, that it is indeed fleeting; and to the I. W. W. slogan that time was made for slaves.”All is now gone. During the 1930s, after the mill closure, the old McCormick townsite was used as a sanitarium. In 1986, Bob and Lois Phillips, of Pe Ell, and others tried but failed to save the old McCormick train tunnel.
“I recall a few old collapsed buildings there when I was a boy in the 1930s. The location was just east of the bridge that crosses over Rock Creek and the trail. The settlement was confined pretty much to the area between the railway, now a trail, and Rock Creek, since there is a steep rock cliff on the south side of the highway, and building there would have been too difficult.”Reynolds had a sawmill, a few ranchers, and their families, and a post office, which was established on November 2, 1900, but lasted only four years, when it was closed on May 31, 1904. (The Reynolds Post Office was little more than a half-mile from the Walville or McCormick post offices.) The NP supplied mail daily at Reynolds on the Chehalis to South Bend run for only four years. |
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WALVILLE: COUNTY LINE
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In a 1968 Raymond Herald feature column (Echoes From The Past), Ruth Dixon wrote: “The county line ran through Walville’s homes, and stories were told of persons avoiding taxation by moving pianos from one side of the house to the other when the assessor appeared, and of children sleeping on opposite sides of the bed obliged to attend different schools.”Checking the records, one will find that Walville children attended school at either Frances, Lebam, or Pe Ell. Stewart Holbrook wrote about Walville in his 1952 book The Far Corner: “…Occupying much of the front end of the big mill was a truly gigantic black cat made of painted wood, its fierce whiskers fashioned from haywire. For thirty years this cat had bared its clamshell teeth and held its tail above its head…The cat was a symbol of Hoo Hoo, a lumbermen’s fun organization, and it had been made and erected by one of their number as a pastime…The great black cat must have had added something to life in the dreary clearing by the railroad track, for one evening there I watched while Japanese parents and their three youngsters walked hand in hand to the end of the mill, looked up at the cat, then all bowed low and gravely, and returned to their hut beside the millpond.”
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The late Lucile McDonald, well known northwest author, wrote about the subject in the Seattle Times on August 31, 1958: “It is said that when Pluvius was being acquired in the vicinity for the right-of-way, a homesteader made a deal stipulating that if he granted a strip of his land all trains would stop at his place. This was written into the contract in 1893. Anyone wishing could board or leave the train at Pluvius until the line ceased operation, which it did in 1954.”In 1958, former Pacific County resident Clarence Dolan recalled Pluvius when his brothers were partners in a logging camp at that point. In 1958 Dolan found some photographs made in the 1890s showing a train halted there (See above photo.): “It was a combined freight and passenger train,”Dolan explained. “You can see that three logs were a good load for one flat car. There were times when one log was all that could be loaded on a car.”To the railroad men, however, Pluvius was a place with too much rain and stormy weather. It is documented that many of the railroad workers quit the job because of the miserable conditions. When the work came to an end the Pluvius camp was closed, and only a few families stayed in the area. Several years ago, Mary Driscoll recalled her parents, Ray and Edith Schriner, and their move to Pluvius when she was only two and a half years old. She remembered her mother’s difficulty in drying clothes in the wet and cool weather, and other activities of her youth: “The weather was ideal for growing flowers and vegetables, though, and mother and I always took many prizes at the Pe Ell Garden Flower shows—me with my dahlias and she with all the rest. I also had fun at 4-H, entering flowers, vegetables, and handwork at our Southwest Washington Fair, and taking home a handful of prize ribbons. My roots go deep in Lewis County as my great uncle Simeon Wheeler was the third settler in Pe Ell in 1879. His sister and family, John and Austa Wheeler Hendricks, came and took out a homestead claim in 1881. She opened the first post office in her home in July 1886. I went to Walville, Frances, and Pe Ell schools, and graduated in 1940. I then attended the Centralia Business College and have lived in Centralia ever since.”Mary’s bother, John Schriner, also told about their home on the summit. John, who later lived in Fairbanks, remembered the years of growing up at Pluvius, from 1923 to 1940: “Pluvius was a flag stop. You stood in front of the depot and waved your arm up and down until the engineer saw you and gave two whistles. The half-fare, when my younger sister and I would go to Pe Ell was 12 cents. I think I went to Walville once for 6 cents. If traveling to Pluvius, about a half mile ahead of the station the conductor would pull the whistle three times and the engineer would answer with three whistles. That way we always knew when the train was going to stop and let someone off.”Another thing not known outside railroad circles is that there was a turntable at Pluvius until about 1930 or so. I suppose it was put there during construction days, however, many times when the tide at South Bend was extra high they could not turn the engine there. The passenger train would have the engine backing up to Pluvius where it was turned on the turntable and proceeded normally to Chehalis. Trains no longer chug up the hill from Frances, and no one makes their home on the summit nowadays, but local drivers still know it as Pluvius, or Pluvius Hill. |
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The town plat was filed at the county auditor’s office (Plat Book C) on February 27, 1893, by the Northwestern Lumber Company of San Francisco. (This was the same company that owned the early South Bend mill, owned by A. M. Simpson.) The company had timber holdings in the Frances vicinity and had purchased the claim of William Duckwitz for the town. Several accounts speak of the local farmers assisting and interacting with the railroad construction in 1892. For example, Leonard Habersetzer helped build the road bed along his property using nothing more than horses and a wheelbarrow. Local farmers sold goods to the crew’s cooks; NP correspondence tells of the purchase of vegetables, meat, and prepared sauerkraut. The NP, having acquired a 99-year lease on the water rights, built a dam on Fern Creek on what was then Alois Custer’s property. Water was piped from the dam down to Frances, to fill the water tank for the train engines. Until 1958, when Diesel engines replaced the steam engines, section crews kept the pipe and water intake in good working order. As late as the 1960s, the NP-built dam remained in good condition and water was still available from the pipes, although the water tanks had been removed. At one time, the railroad company had a “helper” engine stationed at Frances to assist in pushing the freight train from Frances over Pluvius Hill. There was also a turntable to reverse the engines. Two decades before the railroad construction, in the1870s, there had been a primitive trail between Woodard’s Landing (Old Willapa) and the upper valley. A trail over the ridge connected the upper Willapa Valley with the area that became known as Mauermann’s Prairie, or Pe Ell. In 1879, the Wallace Campbell family homesteaded Elk Prairie, south of the future Frances townsite (Frances continued on next page). |
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With the completion of the railroad in 1893, the line immediately began to ship timber and agricultural goods out of the Willapa Valley. New sawmills were built, and locally, three Habersetzer sons (Joe, Cornelius, and Pete) established timber claims and did considerable logging. The older Custer mill was sold to the Handy brothers (Charley, Fred, and Archie), who changed the name of the business to the Fern Creek Lumber Company. The Handys also bought out the Habersetzer brothers, but when the mill burned a second time in 1912, they moved to Portland. During these early years the Handy brothers and Louis Christen and sons had dominated the town’s development. The Handys operated the general store and sawmills, while the Christen family operated nearly everything else, including a carpentry shop, saloon, bowling alley, theatre, creamery, electrical plant, shingle mill, and logging camps. Frances also had a post office, barber shop, a meat market, blacksmith, jewelry and optometrist shop, hotel, and a town hall. Along with a scattering of small mills, Frances also had, for a short time, a newspaper called the Frances News. Published by David Heath, the News printed legal documents concerning land claims. The community maintained its own school system until 1946, when it consolidated with the Lebam school district. Considering the politics surrounding the issue of consolidation in the past few decades, it might be surprising to read this line from a September, 1918 newspaper: “Frances, Globe, and Walville are highly gratified at the legal victory over Lebam in regard to saving the territory of their school district for their own schools.”The Holy Family Catholic Church, and its adjacent cemetery, remains a proud institution of the area. The church was established in 1893, the same year the railroad was completed. Farmers benefited from the railroad, and around the year 1909 the train picked up approximately 500 gallons of milk each day, bound for the Chehalis creamery. Each year the valley’s Swiss/German descendants hold a variety of ethnic celebrations at the Swiss Picnic Grounds on Elk Prairie Road. The Frances post office was established on May 26, 1894, and was closed on November 23, 1973. |
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“L. J. Meserve of the Globe Lumber Company, whose address has been Frances until now, received news Tuesday of his appointment as postmaster of the new post office of Globe, which has been established at the mill. The application was at first turned down by the U. S. Post Office Department because it was but a little over a mile from Frances. Then U. S. Congressman Cushman was appealed to and the attention of the predicament was called to the fact that there were post offices much closer together than Frances and Globe, Reynolds and Walville, for instance, which are but a half-mile apart…”In 1908 following Meserve’s four years as postmaster, mill foreman Oren Armstrong took over the job, serving until 1928 when the office was closed. |
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With its productive mills and the railroad, Lebam grew rapidly, with businesses established to cater to the needs of the increasing population. During its heyday the town had livery stables, a hotel, grocery and general stores, a meat market, a bank, barber shops, two saloons and an ice cream parlor. In 1914 Lebam suffered the first of two fires that would sink the economy, and after a modest comeback, a second fire ravaged the little town in 1922. From that time forward, Lebam has struggled. The people who have remained in the area are resolute and self-determined. One colorful story found is 70 years old, but reveals Lebam’s strong character. Frederick Kirsch, Jr., who was raised at Forks Prairie, was interviewed in 1935 for a Federal Writers Project, which was a part of the Depression-era Works Progress Administration. One of Kirsh’s memories was of a skirmish with a pack of wolves. “It was one day just before Christmas. Father and I went to South Bend to get a little candy and things for the children and on our way back home timber wolves chased us up a tree. It was a very large pack and they closed in on us so quickly that we had no chance to shoot. There were so many of them that all we could do was climb a tree and we dropped our guns in the rush. I counted 21 of them and we were perched up in that tree for two hours before they left. That same night the same pack came down to old man Soule’s place and killed 75 sheep.”During the 1930s and 1940s Lebam’s postmaster and store owner was Wash Adams. Son Neal recalls the post office and train depot: “The depot had two rooms, a freight section and a passenger section, and a telegraph office in the front part of the building. There was also a pot bellied stove and I can still see the sign “Lebam” on the outside. Dad used to go up to the Walville mill to pick up the cut ends for firewood. I also remember picking up the mail with him; he had this small pushcart with two big wheels that helped to carry the mailbags. When Dad sold the store in 1950, Jim Wise bought it, and he also became the new postmaster.”(Lebam continued on next page)
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“Lebam had several businesses, including Hamilton’s Busy Store, Ward’s Garage, Herschel’s Drug Store, the Odd Fellows Hall, a show house, a barber shop, a butcher shop, probably two or three other businesses, and the Methodist Church. And, of course, there was my dad’s grocery store and post office. There were also sawmills and stores at Frances, Walville, and Globe. On the way to Raymond there was Nalpee, Holcomb, and of course Menlo, which was then little more than their cheese factories, which produced the greatest yellow cheese made in round blocks, with a rubberlike texture that you could ever imagine. As an adult I’ve never been able to find anything like it. And there was a Swiss cheese factory located on the south side of the road operated by the Dobler family. The required milk came from the local farmers’ dairy cows. In those days there didn’t seem to any such thing as beef cows. The resultant whey produced within the cheese-making process was then taken back by the farmers to feed to their hogs.”
During the 1920s and early 1930s, there was a popular dance hall at Nalpee called the Dreamboat. Many of Pacific County’s most elderly senior citizens might recall dancing the night away to a variety of local and out-of-town bands, including Astoria’s “Al Thompson and his Tune Tappers.” The popular dance hall burned down in the 1930s. Nalpee had a NP station house and a post office, which was opened on August 15, 1918. The post office was closed on June 30, 1934. |
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The Bullard brothers arrived in the area in 1853, and filed Donation Land claims. Two years later, numerous members of the Kiel colony also filed Donation Land claims. In 1893, during the final year of railroad construction, a Menlo depot was erected. It was during this time that Von Marion Bullard and John Brophy subdivided their properties into lots and blocks. Bullard was the son of pioneer Job Bullard, while Brophy owned a farm near the Lilly Bridge. Menlo was platted much like Lebam. Lester Bullard wrote about the platting of the community in 1974: “My father Von Marion had Raymond mayor A. C. Little help him survey Menlo and lay it out in lots. Some of the land was donated to the railroad, and some was set aside for the store, church, and school. The railroad had originally intended to call the station “Preston,” but the Post Office Department rejected the name because it was already taken by a small community situated between Bellevue and Issaquah. The name Menlo was taken from a sign John Brophy had erected to advertise his own real estate development. Brophy was from Menlo Park, California.”Menlo’s history is closely tied to the production and processing of dairy products, as well as the railroad. The local train was known as a milk train, stopping at every station and whistle stop, to load the full milk cans and leave the empty ones. It is said that the common practice for train crews was to lift a can cover and ladle out a little cream, which was considered a treat for the railroad boys, and something rarely noticed by the dairymen. A farmhand would take the better part of a day to haul milk cans over muddy roads to a creamery or cheese factory, or to the railroad pick-up points. According to Lester Bullard, Menlo’s first business was a creamery that opened for business in April 1900. The company officers were Von Marion Bullard, Ray Wheaton, R. V. McCash, C. P. Dobler, and several others. Dobler started another cheese factory in the grist mill building on his own property where he made cheese sold under the trade name “Halvasia.” In 1914, the Willapa Valley Cheese Company built a new cheese factory. The company’s officers were J. A. Burkhalter, president, and Fred Eichner, secretary-treasurer. Orville Gracy and John Speicher were the first cheese makers. The building burned down in 1917, but a year later the company was reincorporated and rebuilt. Throughout the following years, the cheesemakers included John Speicher, Joe Crawford, Palmer Gann, Casper Kuehne, Leon Parcell, and Louie Hodel. In 1921, the company joined the Lewis Dairymen’s Association of Chehalis to form the Lewis-Pacific Dairymen’s Association, with E. M. Sorensen as manager. Von Marion Bullard was the first director from Pacific County, and Leon Parsell was the first plant manager, from 1928 to 1952. In 1947, the plant was set up, at great expense, to make only blue cheese. Jack Burkhalter, who graduated from Valley High in 1943, remembers that Raymond Falk was brought from Wisconsin to be the new cheesemaker. The venture succeeded for a time, but high costs forced the plant to close in 1952. In 1968, the late Anne Richardson, a former Menlo resident, recalled her old home town and the NP railroad: “During the Depression years of the 1930s, a train came through Menlo about 2 pm, and back outward bound at 4 pm. At these times a few people would gather at the Red & White Store, operated by Mr. and Mrs. E. W. Brigham, and assisted by Mrs. Alice Herger. Here the Menlo Post Office was located. On rainy winter days, farmers would gather around the old wood heater, hoping to get something ordered from the ‘Wish Book.’ But the busiest time of the week was Thursday afternoon, from about 15 minutes before the train was due going outbound. No matter the season or weather, some of the women of Menlo would ‘just happen to remember’ they needed some item, and walk over to the store in their aprons. Or, perhaps, they would give no excuse at all, and just say they came for the weekly newspaper…”The Menlo “depot” was a small, open structure that stood across the highway, situated next to the Dobler farm. Gordon Gillespie, who bought the store from the Brighams in ca. 1946, recalls when the mail would have to go out twice a day. In order to get the mail, the postmaster (Gordon’s wife Janet was the postmaster at that time) would be waiting when the train made its stop. Later, the mail deliveries were made by a mail truck from Aberdeen.
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The depot was built near the old site of the Dan Louderback property, where he built a boat shop in the 1880s, on what became known as Louderback Slough. Louderback constructed small crafts, including plungers (sloops), rowboats, dinghies, and became the most prolific boat builder in the 200 year history of Shoalwater/Willapa Bay. The railroad company chose to bypass Willapa City because of the costs that the local businessmen, led by S. S. Ewing, requested for their property. The NP’s decision ended the town’s viable future as a center for commerce and travel. The station site was more than a mile from the Willapa City business center. At first, John Dolan drove a horse-drawn hack to and from Willapa City to the depot, carrying mail and passengers. Within a few years several businesses permanently closed or moved to South Bend or nearer to the depot. Willapa’s old Heath & Cearns Store was one of the buildings floated downriver to its new location at South Bend. Anita Adams remembers that the Willapa depot was larger than the one at Menlo, and was across the present day SR 6 highway from the Kraus Hill store. |
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During the same period as the Northern Pacific Railway blocked further expansion along South Bend’s riverfront, the area of Riverside and Johnson’s Island offered industrial sites for reasonable prices. Property owners, such as Captain Riddell, Welsh, and L. V. and Stella Raymond seized the opportunity, and joining them was A. C. Little, a former Aberdeen mayor and state fisheries’ commissioner. Taking advantage of the excellent railroad and water transportation, Jacob Siler and Winfield built Raymond’s first sawmill, which opened for business in April 1903. There was little in the way of infrastructure at the time, but the river and railroad offered reasonable transportation routes. Before the town’s first depot was built, trains to and from South Bend momentarily paused before crossing the South Fork railroad bridge. The stop gave the agile and young a moment to hop on or off the train. As workers continued to arrive to fill available jobs, boxcars were set up to serve as passenger and freight depots, but it was not until 1908 that the permanent depot was in place. In 1912, NP officer W. C. Albee reported that Raymond’s 14 sawmills and various other wood working plants received about 50 railcars each day, and that outbound shipments averaged about 20 railcars a day. Albee suggested that it would be necessary to have additional siding tracks for meeting and passing trains, and that at least two thousand feet of passing track, with cross-overs, be constructed. Author Stewart Holbrook, in his The Far Corner (1952), wrote of Raymond during the 1930s and 1940s: “Where the branch railroad came to tidewater at Raymond was a city of five thousand, all of it built either on pilings or on dredged-in land…Its business district contained several new concrete buildings, but also block on block structures straight out of Western or Yukon fiction; false-front establishments, many with fearsome architectural embellishments, called poolrooms, cardrooms, tobacco stores, clothing stores, hotels, rooming houses, sports centers, restaurants, and what not. A big business on Front (First) Street was the retailing of moonshine and homemade beers and wines, all illegal in the days of Prohibition. The upstairs of many of these places were made into rooms for transients, and there was generally believed to be a chambermaid for every room.
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The work began with the filling of the tideflats, the grading of streets, and roadbuilding. On Alta Vista Hill, at the corner of Jackson and Broadway, the Hotel Willapa was under construction. This expansion of South Bend can be compared, on a much smaller scale, to the development of Tacoma’s industrial area. However, there is one big difference. Tacoma grew by leaps and bounds, where South Bend’s growth was barely started before it succumbed to economic failure. Much of the town’s east end development was later victimized by arson and neglect. Today, one look at the width of Broadway Avenue might give a visitor a hint of the great plan of the 1890 builders. (For additional information on James Ashton, see End Notes, Introduction: The Building of the Railroad Line, 1890.) Work on the new Hotel Willapa dragged on for three years, resulting in rising costs and the length of construction time. Regardless of these problems, the building’s appearance was glorious. The hotel was three stories high, and in addition, had living and work spaces in its attic and basement. The roof was a graycolored mansard design, with several gables and one octagon-shaped, and two round towers. The main tower rose 85 feet from the ground, and most rooms commanded a regal view of the Willapa River. There were 87 guest rooms, some described as elegant, and many with fireplaces. A celebration was held on the night of July 28, 1893 for the officers of the visiting coastal defense warship USS Monterey, and local and visiting dignitaries, many arriving via the NP railroad. From the depot and downtown locations, the more prestigious guests were brought to the hotel in horse-drawn carriages. The less fortunate guests walked or brought their own wagons. (South Bend continued on next page). |
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“There were barrels of lemonade for the ladies, spiked for the men. A live orchestra played, but the hotel had no rugs in the anterooms, so the ladies from town had strewn ferns and evergreen boughs in small pieces to cover the floor. The Monterey’s officers looked very handsome.”The grand party was a festive occasion, but the hotel would never open for business—not one day. If ever there was a symbol of the failure of the South Bend boom years, it was the Hotel Willapa. After sitting empty for more than 25 years, the building was torn down for salvage in 1919. From its opening in 1893, South Bend’s station performed double-duty as both a freight and passenger depot. The company had initially promised to build a passenger depot, but never did. By 1914, the city issued a protest that the 20-year old terminal had had few improvements, with muddy grounds and being called a “dilapidated disgrace.” In a December 18, 1914 issue of the Willapa Harbor Pilot, reporter Charley Gant wrote a biting poem, entitled “The Old Depot.” Following are two of the five verses: It isn’t fit for anything – not even housing swine; It stands a mile away from town, a monument of gall, The place would be far better off with no depot at all. The city here grows year by year in goodly enterprise,
We have a handsome city here, improving day by day;
But there’s one seed wart on the face of this fair
domain
Gant’s scolding was ignored by the NP, and the promise was never kept. Instead, the old depot was destroyed by fire after the passenger service was terminated in 1954. |
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THE COMPETITION: THE PUGET SOUND & WILLAPA HARBOR RAILWAY
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| In 1913, the Chicago, Milwaukee,
& St. Paul Railway announced that the company had purchased the Pacific
& Eastern Railroad. More commonly called the P. & E., the
small Pacific County logging railroad had been built up Mill Creek in 1906,
and was connected with the Northern Pacific Railway tracks at its Willapa
depot. Under the ownership of the Milwaukee, the P. & E. line
was extended 30 miles to the Chehalis River divide, where it opened up
to a very large stand of timber.
For many years the P. & E. dumped logs into the Willapa River a quarter mile west of the West Union Grange, where they were then boomed and rafted at Old Willapa. With the purchase of the P. & E., the Milwaukee connected the line to other small logging rails to extend the line to Chehalis, Centralia, and then to Maytown. From the Maytown terminal were connections to Grays Harbor, Puget Sound and beyond. (Maytown is in south Thurston County, south of Tumwater, and near Littlerock and Millersville State Park.) The work on the Willapa Harbor line began about January 1, 1914, which allowed crews to labor throughout the winter. The first part of the southbound route came in close contact with an old grade made in 1890 by the Union Pacific Railroad. The Milwaukee crews successfully utilized the old UP grade and embankments from a few miles north of Centralia, to about three miles south of Chehalis. By May 1, 1914, the terminal yard and a few miles of main line track had been laid. In mid-May the first engine arrived and was relettered as P. S. & W. H. Ry. No. 3. The pioneer crew included engineer R. G. Webb, fireman Frank Ziel, brakemen C. H. Lewis and J. C. Tisher, and conductor T. J. Earley. Soon afterwards, a track-laying crew was organized, a second locomotive arrived, a ballast pit was opened, and a 70-ton Bucyrus steam shovel was brought in. By the first of December the line had progressed as far as Doty, 37 miles west of Maytown, where the work was temporarily halted. In spite of the uncompleted work, freight service was begun between Puget Sound cities and Doty, which created an active outbound business. |
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| The final route construction,
led by W. E. Brown, was accelerated in July 1915, with the tracks reaching
Raymond in August, where station buildings, engine house, and terminal
yards had been completed. Following a number of freight arrivals
and departures, the first passenger service was begun on November 8, with
a train of yellow cars marking the jubilant occasion of the new 66-mile
line from Maytown to Raymond.
Engine No. 3 and its crew arrived in Raymond with baggage and day coaches, three sleepers, plus a diner and a parlor car. Many of the crewmen, including engineers, would make their permanent homes in Raymond and the surrounding area. The train, classified as a “Special,” with its business cars, carried company officers who came at the invitation of the mayors of Raymond and South Bend. The large crowd, which lined the tracks and filled the station platform, cheered, whistled, and blew on tin horns, and raised a ruckus similar to a New Years’ celebration. The reception committee made speeches, gave out plaques, and expounded on the grand occasion. In the evening there was a banquet and more speeches.
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| The Milwaukee railroad operated
the Maytown-Raymond passenger service without interruption until 1930,
when the steady increase of automobiles and roads helped diminish the company’s
business. At that time the regular steam railroad service was stopped
and replaced with a rail gas car service (similar to a trolley).
A year later, on May 3, 1931, continuing declines led the company to terminate
the gas car. After that, the logging camps along the line were provided
passenger service on the regular freight trains. What had begun with
great promise in 1915 had been put aside by the automobile and the poor
economy of the Great Depression.
In 1971, James Adair, of Seattle, wrote to Ruth Dixon about his memories of Raymond and the Milwaukee. “My father, Eugene Adair, was brakeman on the Milwaukee from about 1919 to 1930, running from Raymond to Maytown. When I was five and older I used to ride the caboose up and back. Never will I forget the excitement, the smells, and the men who worked with my Dad. Also, the roundhouse was a fascinating place for a young boy. (The roundhouse actually had a squared shape.) Some of the men I remember are Dan Verheek, Frank Ziel, Ed Speigleberg, and a fellow named Sam… |
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Although the rail terminal did not reach to South Bend, Weyerhaeuser’s Mill L (formerly South Bend’s old Lewis Mill) shipped lumber by river barge to its Raymond mill, which was then sent out via the Milwaukee rail line. This practice lasted from 1931 to early World War II, when the South Bend mill was closed. Willapa
Moose 1929. (see a photo of the Camp "FOUR" of the Sunset Timer Co., near Firdale, Wash on page 55). Sutico “…Sutico, named for the Sunset Timber Company, was a logging camp with steamheated bunkhouses, in 1923, and for many years more, surely the only steam-heated bunkhouses on earth.”The Firdale Post Office was moved to Sutico on December 6, 1929. Loggers and their families lived in the camp year-round. School was open when the number of children warranted it.
MacPhail Bedford |
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Elk Creek Davis Swem Hilda Doty-Dryad-Mays-Meskill
Maytown |
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John Ashford is a retired college librarian, who lives in West Seattle. When John was a young boy, he visited Raymond where his grandparents, John C. and E. Marie Ashford lived. The elder Ashford of the same name was a railroad engineer who worked 26 years for the Milwaukee Railway. His son, Paul Ashford, and the younger John’s father, was a 1924 graduate of Raymond High School. (1877-1942) In 1901, after his service in the Spanish-American War, Grandfather was discharged from the army and began his railroad career as a roustabout for the Santa Fe Railroad. He was promoted to locomotive fireman in 1902 and by 1906 became an engineer working out of Bakersfield, then Salt Lake, before transferring to Washington state. I know nothing of my grandparents' politics, except they did vote for the Prohibition Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, and as far as I know, alcohol never touched their lips. Even as a child, however, I noticed their abstinent habits on my visits, because my father was their rebellious son who had learned to make bath tub gin during the dry years that amendment was law. At our home in Seattle, there was always the pungent aroma of a batch of homemade beer fermenting under the kitchen sink. My parents told a story at my grandmother's expense, of how she, a staunch member of the Women's Christian Temperance Union, had been turned in to the Federal officials in the time of Prohibition. She was reported by a neighbor who spotted her as she disposed of mash after distilling a batch of homeproduced vinegar. A thoroughly embarrassing experience for her. At the time I knew them Grandfather drove a 1937 Ford with a brass emblem of the Veterans of Foreign Wars clipped to the grill; my father inherited that car and, years later I learned to drive in it. Grandfather bought it new and kept it in immaculate condition. Everything on the car was standard, except for a bit of rewiring trickery, which he had added to foil potential thieves. The starter button, located in a prominent position on the dash, did not start the car, instead it honked the horn. A dimmer switch on the floor of the car was the actual start button. |
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Grandfather must have been very
conscientious as an engineer. I have a letter dated 1909, a commendation
from his superintendent for an emergency repair of an engine in the Mojave,
"…putting the engine into service at a time when it was needed and many hours before it would have been available."He was the same way with his cars. My father told about grandfather on the six-hour drive from Raymond to Seattle in his first automobile, stopping every hour to polish the hood and oil the wheels. ********** My grandfather died about two weeks after my seventh birthday, but he had become my hero while he was alive. Part of it, of course, was that he was the only person in my small world with the same name as me. Another reason—a circular reason – was that he lived in Raymond, a magic place due to the fact that my grandfather lived there. The clincher was that he was a railroad engineer, a job which seemed to me, right up there with firemen and policemen in the category of heroic work. He had red hair that was turning gray and thinning by the time I knew him and, reading the paper, wore thick glasses. When I stayed in his house I heard him leave for work before dawn, punctually, I'm sure. Often, I wouldn't see him for several days. At work he wore the railroad man's overalls and billed cap. But when we were together he always seemed to be dressed in a threepiece suit with a gray fedora. A gold chain across his vest displayed a large silver ornament with the Masonic emblem in mother-of-pearl. In a small pocket, at one end of the chain, he kept his gold railroad watch which he checked with a flourish that made the gesture of telling time seem like a sacred act. I spent summers in Raymond with my grandparents. At least twice, grandfather let me ride in the steam engine around the rail yard in Raymond. In the cab I got to pull the handle that made a shrill whistle. I knew when I did it that my friends across town could hear me. I asked him once if I could climb onto the catwalk, the narrow steel scaffold along either side of the boiler, but he became upset at the suggestion. It was the only time I remember him becoming emotional.
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| John C. was a photographer.
His interest was railroad history and his hobby always involved taking
pictures of railroad subjects. In the upper floor of his house, a
narrow hallway ran just under the peak of the roof. To one side of
the hall, he had his darkroom, an even narrower closet with a wall that
sloped sharply. The room smelled of chemicals and a clothesline hung
with drying photographic prints ran the length of the space. His
equipment, pans, dry chemicals, and the rest, were neatly laid out on a
tall table.
I often sat on a stool, under the red glow of the darkroom light, watching him process negatives or develop his prints. I felt awe looking into the solution, seeing an image appear on a sheet of paper that had been blank a few seconds before. On his days off, Grandfather liked to drive the narrow roads into the countryside and he sometimes took me along for the ride. Destinations were never clear, but his motive was often to take a picture of a train or an incident on the tracks. We drove in his gray Ford sedan and more than once we had to stop when a herd of elk wandered across the highway. It was a chance for him to entertain me. He opened the driver's side window to let an antlered bull elk stick his face into the car. John C. pulled a cigarette out of his jacket and shredded the paper to put the tobacco between the big lips. The animal seemed to smile an appreciation for the handout. On one such trip we drove until we came to an embankment where a railroad track ran close to the road. He stopped and we both got out. At the bottom of the slope, a car sat at a weird angle across the track. It looked to me like an act of violence had taken place. Inside the car a jug of wine spilled across the floor and made a puddle. "Is that blood?"I asked. When he was ready to photograph the scene, he set his large camera on a wooden surveyor's tripod, then hunched behind the lens under a black hood. Sixty years later I saw that photograph. With my friend, Doug Allen, I visited an old-time railroad man named Dee Morton. Mr. Morton lived near Raymond and had worked around the rail yards at the time when my grandfather was a senior engineer and a recognized railroad photographer. He spread some of his old pictures across a table to show us and, immediately, I saw the photo of the car on the tracks. Mr. Morton told us that John Ashford often had multiple copies of his photos to distribute to coworkers. The picture of the '35 or '36 Ford sitting astraddle the railroad tracks had been taken when I was about five. On the back of the glossy photo was a note, typed by my grandfather for the entertainment or edification of his peers: "He tried to prove he could drive a car and drink from a jug…and proved he could drink from a jug." |
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THE GOOD OLD DAYS 1893-1954
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| How important was the railroad
(passenger and freight) to the people of western Lewis County and
Willapa Harbor? Very important, a critical lifeline for the region!
People back then had few choices where they could shop, or how they could
get to where they wanted to go. Until the railroad era began, transportation
was by water, sail, foot, horse, or steam.
Early 20th century cars and airplanes were no challenge to rail travel. I smile when I listen to Dorwin Fosse’s story of his family’s aborted auto trip to Aberdeen, circa 1931. The old car could not get past the Riverdale bridge approach to get to the new graveled road to Cosmopolis and Aberdeen. It was too steep, and the car lacked the power to get up the incline. Just a year before that failed attempt, a person could have taken a small ferry from South Bend to Tokeland, and then on to Aberdeen over bad road and wood-decked bridges (no pavement). For the remaining local roads, you would have felt gratitude if they were graveled. Worse, it would have been muddy in rainy weather. It was commonplace to see a horse pulling a car out of a ditch. The year 1931 was key to the transportation changes, however, as the railroads curtailed passenger service as cars gained more popularity. |
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| Decades before, throughout the
1870s and 1880s, scheduled steamer traffic connected Woodard’s Landing
(Old Willapa), South Bend, Bruceport, and Oysterville. The
early wagon roads were difficult to traverse, and virtually impossible
during the winter months. Some of Pacific County’s hardy folks traveled
over the trail to Lewis County, where rail connections to Tacoma or Portland
could be made at Chehalis. From Elk Prairie (Frances) to Willapa,
before bridges were built, the Willapa River had to be forded six times.
Paved roadways did not become the norm until the late 1930s or the 1940s.
For example, the section of SR 6 between Frances and Pe Ell is a leftover
of the 1920s, a road that practically makes a driver stop in order to navigate
the narrow bridges and 90-degree turns.
Once the railroad was constructed, people could travel between South Bend and Chehalis in every kind of weather. For a few brief years the NP’s passenger service ran two round trips daily, while the Milwaukee Road ran one. Imagine, three passenger trains in either direction, every day! On the freight side of the ledger, farmers were able to market their goods, railroad spurs were built, and new timber holdings were opened up for logging. The long isolation of the Willapa Valley had come to an end, and by the beginning of World War I the 58-mile line had more than two dozen stops. It was said that there was a sawmill for every mile of track, which was an exaggeration, but not by much. Farmers utilized the line to pick up and deliver milk. Years before there were automobiles and roads, the rail line served as the main highway for the valley and harbor. In 1953, the late Carl Staeger, writing in the Centralia Daily Chronicle, recalled the line’s early years: “…Two passenger trains were run every day, including Sunday, and then for some time two freight trains were busy daily on the line. That did not take in the consideration the ‘specials’ put on to take care of the crowds going to the circuses, baseball games, presidential visits. “When those heavily loaded trains left Chehalis, there was one serious difficulty that the conductor encountered. He could not get through the large number of coaches, taking up tickets before the train entered the first towns. To overcome the problem, the train was halted along the right-of-way long enough for him to make his collection. That worked pretty well until it was discovered many of the passengers would leave one end of a coach not yet visited by the conductor, and go to the end that he had completed. It was an easy matter to drop off the train, walk along the track and enter the train at another place, as all coaches had open entrances. It didn’t take the conductor long to overcome the problem. All he had to do was to stop the train on the long trestle near Claquato, where it was impossible for anyone to get off.” (The trestle was over water and swamp.) |
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“The school year of 1913-1914 I taught in the Salmon Creek District near Deep River in southwestern Washington. It was an exciting new world for a young teacher from Nebraska. What a contrast the Columbia River and the hillsides of the logging country was to the broad, shallow Platte River and the plains back home. I lived among Finnish people who had recently come to America and farmed the loggedover land. I taught their children in a oneroom school. It was a wonderful year of adventure and unusual events—tall, virgin trees, dense woods, wild animals, logging trains, new friendships, and Old Country ways…”In her brief chapter “Out Of The Woods,” McLean’s story tells of a teachers’ conference in South Bend. Note that she refers to an “interurban streetcar.” “During the first part of every school year a teachers institute was held in the county seat, and every teacher in the county was expected to attend. Six of us met at the dock in Astoria to take the ferry across the Columbia to Megler. The others were Lela and Lillian Cook who taught in fishing villages between the Landing and Astoria and Lois Martin, who taught in a district about three miles below my school. Alma Bergren joined us at Megler. It was good to see her again. She and I did not have a chance to spend much time together but enough to tell of our experiences and have a good laugh at some of our blunders. The six of us from Astoria way chummed together during the few days we were in South Bend and really had a good time. We must have learned something or gotten a few new ideas while we were there. One little incident I do recall was a certain roll call. We were to answer when our name was called with a quotation from Shakespeare. One seemingly dignified instructor rose to his feet and quoted, ‘Oh Hell! What have we here?’ He certainly put life into a somewhat monotonous procedure. |
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There was creative success. For example in 1902 the Menlo Creamery cheese was awarded a 1st prize at the Washington State Fair, while an exhibit of the local Helvetia cheese won another award. It should also be noted that cheesemaker Von Rotz had also been awarded a 1st prize at the 1900 State Fair. On the business end, a 1905 report reflected concern about the Willapa Valley’s direct rail communication with the large markets on the Pacific Coast. Cream was shipped to Portland and whole milk to the Chehalis condenser. A local news item in 1909 revealed that the NP picked up about 500 gallons of milk each day at Frances, and at Lebam about 1200 gallons, all taken to the Chehalis creamery. Well, not quite all of it. Nina Wolfenbarger wrote of the “milk train” in The Willapa Country (1965): “The train stopped at every station and whistle stop to load milk and leave empty cans. It took the better part of a day for a farmhand to haul the milk over the muddy roads to a pick up point…and it was common practice for the train crew to carry some kind of container and easy-to -lift can cover to dip out a ladle of cream—a treat for the crew and hardly noticed by the dairymen.” |
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“About 1926 my mother and we children (sister Mary was a babe in arms) came home to Pluvius on the night train, which was running late, and the conductor forgot to stop. By the time mother found the conductor up in the smoking car and made him stop the train, it was quite a ways down the hill towards Frances. He offered to put us up in a hotel and return us on the next morning train. Someone came back from the engine to see what was wrong. “One night, in the wee hours, Essie Richmond was going home from seeing his girlfriend when he saw two men in the process of robbing my Dad’s store and post office. Essie was walking down the railroad tracks and he saw the flashlight activity inside the store. He then went over to our house and got Dad and together, with two Browning automatic shotguns, the two of them went in to get the robbers. The skirmish started with Dad shooting at them, but by getting behind the gas pumps in the front, the robbers got away. In their rush they abandoned their car in the front of the store, so Dad reasoned that they must have started walking toward Pluvius. He had one of the guys there in Lebam drive him up to the Pluvius bridge where he sat and waited. Sure enough, one of the robbers came walking up the long hill. Dad walked right up to him, gun in hand, and told him to put his hands up. When the robber tried to get his gun out, Dad told him to drop to the ground, which he did. Dad then marched him, with his hands held high, back toward Lebam. It wasn’t too long before someone came in a car and picked up both the robber and Dad and took them down to Lebam. I remember that I got a look at the robber and he smiled at me… |
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“…Wearily I made the change at Chehalis for the spur of the Northern Pacific that should carry me down to the coast to the speck on the map designated as Raymond. I might have known that it would be disappointing. Hadn’t the ticket agent back home superciliously informed me that Raymond was not named on his books? But I had purchased my ticket for the nearest town with something of that faith in Providence which animated my far-away Puritan ancestors when they set forth on a certain memorable journey westward. And here I was on the last fifty miles. I fought homesickness every inch of the way through those strange, dark forests on the ranges. Each ugly little clearing with its group of shacks around a dingy station seemed more hateful that the last. These stopping places of Bret Harte crudity grew smaller and ruder as we climbed the range, and still smaller and ruder as we descended the other side. The strange names reminded me of Greek mythology, and now of Chinese pagodas. Had I come three thousand miles to be buried in Ceres or Pe Ell among strange gods! Most of the bakers’ supplies would arrive in a Northern Pacific freight car, and arrival day was usually predetermined. Glenn would often be at the NP terminal with his delivery van, and sometimes under the eyes of the local police. With him would be an agent of the moonshiner, who would be ready to make a strictly illegal exchange. Glenn interrupted his story to say that he believed the cops knew about the trades, but might have been paid off. His claim may have been true, because in those days, Raymond was a well known town for its prostitution and illegal booze. |
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A few years later the larger Al G. Barnes Three Ring Circus visited South Bend, led by its flamboyant owner, a legend in his own time for his showmanship. The Barnes show featured one of America’s great wild animal acts, a large number of elephants, and countless other exotic creatures. The last year the Barnes circus included South Bend in its circuit was probably 1915, as the show cut down on its visits to smaller venues. The late Elizabeth Gillies fondly recalled attending the show when she was a little girl of six. Elizabeth, who saw the show with her parents, talked of the elephants and lions, and the brightly painted railroad cars, which were on a siding near the depot. |
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THE SUCCESSOR OF THE TRAIN: THE EARLY TRAILS AND THE ROAD BETWEEN PACIFIC AND WESTERN LEWIS COUNTIES
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| Pacific County’s golden age
of railroad passenger travel came to an end in the early 1930s with the
advent of the automobile and the building of better roads. Together
with the crush of the Great Depression, the automobile (cars, trucks, buses)
quickly eroded the popularity of the railroad.
The history of the local automobile age can be traced from the construction of wagon roads in the last quarter of the 19th century. In those days, road construction followed “the line of least resistance.” The era did not get underway until 1887, when James Brown built a truss bridge near the home of Job Bullard. Until then the Willapa River had to be forded six times. In those early days the valley road began at Main Street in Willapa, where Sam Stratton, Job Bullard, E. A. Soule, Sebastian Giesy, and Taylor Rue held their annual horse races on the Fourth of July. From there the road went to Whitcomb Hill, then crossed the property of William Cushing, where the West Union Grange Hall stands. From the Grange Hall the road led to the farm of Solomon Soule, at the head of tidewater where the river was forded to the Giesy farm. This crossing was known as the Soule or Giesy Ford. After the Giesy crossing the road went by the John Stephens home, near the old grist mill built in 1855 by the Kiel colony. Next came the L. M. Preston property, which later became the Dobler farm. From here the road crossed the property of Mark Bullard to the home of Mike Moran, where the river was forded to the W. W. Lilly home. This crossing was known as the Moran or Lilly Ford. From the Lilly Ford the road passed the Hiram Towner home and crossed the river above the John Stauffer farm. Stauffer was another member of the Keil colony. This crossing was known as the Stauffer Ford, and was located a short distance upstream from the present highway bridge. Approximately one mile above the Stauffer Ford, the road crossed the river again at the farm of Sam Stratton, at Holcomb. This crossing was called the Stratton Ford. The next crossing was called Rocky Ford. Well named, Rocky Ford was near the mouth of Forks Creek, and near the home of Frederick Kirsch, where the fish hatchery is located. The last crossing of the Willapa was known as the Half Moon Ford, which was named for the creek and Half Moon Prairie. When the railroad was built the area was named Lebam. At Half Moon Creek, a fork of the road went to the home of W. W. Campbell at Elk Prairie. From here the road connected with the old Indian trail, which went up the hill to Rock Creek summit (later called Pluvius) and on to Pe Ell and the Boistfort Prairie. |
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| In the years from 1850 to 1890,
the various roads and trails in the Willapa Valley were gradually connected.
When the Northern Pacific began to survey the Chehalis to South Bend railroad
route, a stage road was constructed, first to Willapa City, and then to
South Bend. Supported by the NP, the Lewis County Board of Trade,
and the South Bend Land Company, essential work was done on the eight mile
stretch from Elk Prairie (Frances) to Mauermann Prairie (Pe Ell).
The first stage from Chehalis arrived in Willapa City on May 9, 1890.
Early cars arrived in Raymond and South Bend before there were roads to effectively drive any distance. Raymond banker, J. J. Haggerty, claimed to have the town’s first automobile, a Stanley Steamer. In 1917, when the Raymond and Chehalis road was opened, it was known as the National Parks Highway, “the road that could take travelers from the Pacific Ocean to Mount Rainier National Park.”Actually, when the road opened it took an entire day of hard driving over a very rough surface to reach Seattle or Portland. Improvements came slowly, and at first the dirt and rock roadway was improved with a half-lane (one way) macadam surfacing. Eventually, two lanes were fully paved, except for the graveled stretch between Frances and Pe Ell. Even at that, with tire changes and all, it was a hard drive with steep grades and sharp curves. Oftentimes it took a draft horse to pull a car out of the mud. To this day, SR 6 has old, narrow concrete bridges, and near 90-degree bends in the highway. The key bridges on the route were last designed in the 1930s. |
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Northern Pacific Railway: Midwest to the Pacific Northwest, 1871-1883. In 1870, five years after the end of the Civil War, the Northern Pacific Railroad Company announced the construction of a transcontinental line across the northern United States. (The NP later changed the name Railroad to Railway.) In the west, work was begun in March 1871 at Kalama, Washington Territory, and in July from the east at Duluth, Minnesota. Saddled by economic problems, the company’s major financier, Jay Cooke & Company, closed its doors on September 18, 1873. The failure triggered the Panic of 1873, causing a severe national depression lasting for several years. During the following decade, the Northern Pacific experienced several financial challenges, which held back completion of the line until 1883, when the linking finally took place at Gold Creek, Montana Territory. The bank failures and the collapse of various railroad ventures led to much bitterness toward the government and both political parties, but particularly against the Republicans, who held the presidency (Grant administration), and a majority of the state offices. In the Pacific Northwest, the halt in the construction of the NP in North Dakota caused lost jobs and had a direct effect on failed business activities. Construction on the transcontinental line eventually had resumed in the early 1880s, but prices rose more quickly than did incomes. Also, Washington Territory residents resented the fact that the U. S. Congress had given huge land grants to the railroads, in particular, to the Northern Pacific, which altogether received 47 million acres. The eventual rushed completion of the NP line was a result of the government insisting that if the company failed to complete the job by 1884, the land would have been returned to the public domain. Concerned about western land resources, Congress voted to establish 13 federal forest reserves in 1891. After Theodore Roosevelt succeeded to the presidency in 1901, there was a dramatic increase in the total amount of federal lands administered by the Department of Agriculture and Gifford Pinchot, Roosevelt’s “Chief Forester.” Although the popular perception was one of conservation, both Roosevelt and Pinchot strongly believed that federal forest lands were designed to be harvested, and the government did allow significant mining and logging operations. In 1909, after Roosevelt left office, Pinchot’s position was challenged by President Taft’s administration, and his Secretary of the Interior, Richard Ballinger. (Ballinger had been a former Seattle mayor.) In short, Taft and Ballinger’s intent was to transfer considerable amount of land to private ownership, while Pinchot insisted that the federal government should remain in control. The battle turned into one that pitted private interests against those who championed the concept of conservation controlled by the federal government. Pinchot eventually resigned his office.
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The company was operated by the following:
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2007 marks the 100th anniversary of the city government of Raymond, but the town was founded in 1903. During late 1903 and all of 1904 the Raymond Land and Development Company was well established, as was the name of the town, and its leadership. |
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Mildred Evans McLean, Recollections of Deep River, Portland: Guthrie Printing, 1979. pp. 29-30, “Out In The Woods.” Note that McLean referred to the train as the “interurban streetcar.” If you’re interested in the book, try various libraries, or possibly Powell’s in Portland. Life On The Frontier This story is from “In The Land Of The Future,” and was written by Ronald Smith, a nephew of Lillian Smith. Ronald Smith is from Metamore, Michigan. The story appeared in The Sou’wester, Spring 1997. The Circus Comes To Town Alpheus George Barnes Stonehouse, a.k.a. Al G. Barnes, had a spectacular career in the circus/show business, ca. 1880s-1929. Born in Ontario, Canada in 1862, he died at his ranch in Indio, California in 1929. Having built up his show to as many as 30 railroad cars, he mostly operated in the west (including Canada and Mexico), but for ten years he also took it into eastern states. Barnes usually opened every show himself, with his biggest attraction, the elephant Tusko.
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 Above is just one example of Bob’s work that he did for the Pacific County Historical Society over the years. Note that we have left the erasure marks in this original drawing as a tribute to Bob’s gifts to the Society. Look for more examples of Bob’s art at the museum and on our web page in the near future. According to his friend, author Doug Allen, Bob had a great love of trains and the trappings of railroad history. It’s fitting that this railroad issue was written and designed in Bob and Ruth’s honor. He is missed. 
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Sou’wester Pacific County Historical Society PO Box P South Bend, WA 98586 Support your Pacific County Historical Society |
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