Portland's Lost Waterfront

I needed to get this done so I could spend more time on my newest book (due in March). I still don't feel like publicizing the topic, since it is a little weird for me to show interest in such goings on. So, I wanted a string band, or a jug band, or a skiffle band to help me along, but instead it did it myself. I didn't practice, I just did it, and recorded it--in spite of having shattered my wrist some time back, and severing my left rotator cuff a few months ago, and having not sung since my early forties. Now I will stop making excuses and cough up the details. The new video: How the Flying Prince Got its Crew, has been uploaded and can now be viewed here:  For those wishing to sing along, here are the lyrics: The Ballad of the Flying Prince Come gather round you Portland boys And I will sing to you, How that low down Bunko Kelly Got the Flying Prince her crew. The ship was moored at Ainsworth Dock For six long weeks and more, Loading sacks of golden

In the days when the telegraph was the primary medium of information exchange there would be, in certain cities, saloons with names like, "The Turf Exchange" where bets could be placed on far off horse races. The sportsmen would then sit around smoking cigars and drinking until the results arrived via Western Union. As I was researching details on my latest book, my eyes happened to light on the following news item in the Morning Oregonian from October 16, 1883, which has to be one of the earliest instances of hacking for profit that I have seen: STILL A MYSTERY New York, Oct. 14. --The tapping of the wires of the Western Union Saturday, by means of which bogus dispatches were sent all over the country, announcing false results of the Jerome park races, and through which nearly $100,000 was lost by pool sellers throughout the United States, remains as much of a mystery as ever.