Portland's Lost Waterfront

Where it all took place, the little dot to the left is the first house of Jackson In the early evening of twilight of a dank November in 1869 the activity along the "city's front" consisted of the usual howling drunks and raucous laughter. It was a region that had been San Francisco's no-man's land for decades. Not long before it had worn the name "Sydney Town" in honor of the Irish criminals drawn to California from Australia at the news of gold. Instead of "digging in the harmless earth" themselves, these boys had found it easier, and more profitable, to relieve the heavy burden of gold from those miners who wandered the streets of the city in search of pleasure. "Sydney ducks," was the derisive name the Americans gave them, but they set about beating the Americans at their own game. Democracy was made for such as they. It was simple enough to elect their own sheriffs and judges by stuffing ballot boxes and using threats and vio

I enjoy hanging out with J.D. Chandler for a number of reasons, but mainly because he knows more about Portland history than anyone else I know, and he does not hesitate to correct me if my assumptions about some historical event are unfounded. I especially enjoy a pleasant walk with J.D. in Lone Fir looking for the final resting place of some denizen from Portland's sordid past. We met through our association with History Press, so I have been anxiously waiting for the day his book, "Murder and Mayhem in Portland, Oregon" goes to press. That day is here, and even though I haven't yet gotten the book into my hands, I can point others that direction with a hearty recommendation—knowing intuitively that it is sure to become a Portland classic. J.D. Chandler, "Murder and Mayhem in Portland, Oregon" The book can be seen and purchased here, at History Press:  https://historypress.net/catalogue/bookstore/books/Murder-&-Mayhem-in-Portland,-Oregon/9

I must remind anyone who is interested that I will be speaking tonight at the Capital Hill branch of the Multnomah County Library, 7 pm, in the meeting room. I was a little worried last week when I did the first of this series of talks. "Why would anyone bother to come hear me?" I wondered. Then the little room filled up with about 30, very nice, people; and it was enjoyable. I only got through a portion of my prepared material, but I think I got a few ideas across. Principal anchorage points, from a 1919 Pacific Marine Review Someone labeled these talks "Salty Dogs and Shanghai Tunnels," and maybe that was a good idea, judging by the turnout for the first one. I don't feel that I can talk about shanghaiing without laying some ground work about the port itself. In my mind, the biggest "porky" (fib) told about the waterfront is that it was some magical "head of navigation" destined to become a leading port because of its serendipito

Accused of shanghaiing 53 years after his death At 10 minutes before 8 o' clock on the evening of April 24, 1903 a meteor, much like the recent one in Russia, burst across the skies of Portland. The headlines in the Oregonian the next morning read: Fire in the Sky Brilliant Meteor Bursts over Portland With Loud Detonation Dazzles the Eyes of Many Startled Spectators Moves Rapidly to the West Heavenly visitor is the size of a moon. Sheds a dazzling radiance and leaves a trail of bluish white light. The report included the testimony of many eyewitnesses. One of these was a prominent citizen whose address was given as "Thurman Street in Willamette Heights." This was John P. Betts (known as J.P.), a mild mannered and well liked gentleman, who lived quietly with his wife enjoying such bourgeois comforts as the city could provide. John P. Betts, from his obituary in the Oregonian, May 12, 1908 Betts was born in 1850 in Nova Scotia.

At some point during my 33+ years on the waterfront I took to calling my fellow workers by the honorific title of "brother," preceding their Christian name, making it seem as though I were a Baptist elder at a camp meeting. Today I had the pleasure of visiting some of my "brothers" at the USDA/GIPSA/FGIS Portland field office located in the lovely, historic Albers Mill which abuts the north side of the Broadway Bridge. They all seemed glad to see old fatso (or "Brother Barn" as they call me, with what I trust is affection). In fact Brother Cleve had some remarkable old photographs he was waiting to show me, images from the early days of grain inspection that he had been given recently by his mother. Brother Cleve has grain inspection in his blood. His father was a field office manager and inventor of the famous "Ellis scoop," a device still in use to this day as a method of testing the accuracy of automatic grain samplers. I intend to put

The Portland Waterfront History website has been remodeled two or three times over the years, but last night I uploaded an entirely new version. This one is intended to be easy to use, mobile friendly, and captivating. It has new image galleries with over 240 large images, a timeline designed for easy additions and corrections, and a section for video. The images are from my personal collection. I admit that lot of these image are from postcards, not the highest definition, but I think even the hand colored ones have a certain nostalgic charm, and oftentimes they are the only images available from the time period. I hope you enjoy the new site, and please, don't hesitate to send me suggestions or additions. My whole existence is a work in progress, so I don't mind having errors pointed out, or new ideas suggested to me in a helpful manner. A Note to my North Portland and Saint Johns friends:  The Multnomah County Library has asked me to give a series of talks on the subjec

From: Money Matters All Things: OR, Satyrical Poems, SHEWING The Power and Influence of MONEY over all Men,  of what Profession or Trade soever they be. William Coward, et al. 1698

What is now the rather desolate reaches (except for the Alexis) lower West Burnside was once the wonder of the world. If you chanced to meet an English sailor on the streets of, say, Singapore or Alexandria, and you mentioned you were from Portland, Oregon, he would most likely break into a broad smile and begin to tell you of the grand time he had on B street. It was a magnet for other classes than seafarers as well. The streets were jammed with all sorts and conditions of men, loggers, mill workers, longshoremen, vagrants of various kinds, hobos, and cowboys from the ranges of Oregon and Washington. All sorts of men frequented the area, but only one sort of woman. The spirit of the West survives to this day. A spirit of belligerence, pig-headed intransigence, self adulation, orneriness, and plain, unadulterated wickedness the like of which Sam Peckinpah was as accurate chronicler. I read a news report in a Oregonian from February 1900 telling the tale of five cowboys w