Secretary of State Sam Reed is leaving his Office in January, but he won’t be leaving the Washington State Library.  Washington State Library’s online catalog will continue to preserve Sam’s career in public service as an author, co-author, and through subject headings.

Sam Reed is listed as an author or co-author in 17 entries in the online catalog.  The authority heading as an author is Reed, Sam, 1941-.  There is a “See” reference for Reed, Sam Sumner, 1941 which points to Reed, Sam 1941.  The 17 entries include Washington State Publications in both print and electronic formats.

The oldest title listed was published in 1968:

An analysis of the factional power struggle in the Republican Party of Washington State from 1962 to 1967  [Pullman] Dept. of Political Science, Washington State University, c1968

Perhaps this was the beginning of Sam’s interest in civility in government?

Sam Reed’s new book, A Survival Guide for Life in the Public Arena,  shares his views and experiences on leadership and how to succeed in government service.  This book will soon be available through the Washington State Library’ s catalog.

Searching for Sam Reed as a title brings up two entries.  One is a work in which Sam is featured in a case study.  The other is an electronic publication of the Office of the Secretary of State.

As a subject, Sam has two subject headings:  Reed, Sam, 1941- and Reed, Sam, 1941- — Correspondence.  There are two entries for Reed, Sam, 1941 and one entry for Reed, Sam –Correspondence.  Recently, a book detailing Sam Reed’s political history and accomplishments as Secretary of State was published.  The book, Sam Reed Secretary of State:  A Dozen Years of Service & Civility, will also soon be available in the Washington State Library catalog.

Sam can also be found in the Washington State Library’s Select Index to The Olympian and other regional publications.  This online index contains citations to articles in The Olympian and other newspapers throughout Washington.  Dates covered are 1993-2009, inclusive.  Searching for Sam Reed will bring up 515 results which include citations to articles when Sam was Thurston County Auditor and during his tenure as Secretary of State.

As long as there is a Washington State Library, Sam will remain in its stacks and catalog.

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

The town of Sidney, Washington once had a newspaper with the unusual title of People’s Broadax. The first issue, dated Oct. 27, 1889,  was published just before statehood, and the final issue appears to be June 6, 1891. The Washington State Library has a complete run on microfilm.

It was in the very last issue I found this interesting bit of news we can add to Washington State cat lore. It took place in Chico, which is north of Bremerton. Those of you who live with and love felines might say the term “strange freak” is redundant when used with “cat,” but this story does stand out a bit from most other kitty tales.

Strange Freak of a Cat

“G.C. Sutherland of Chico was in Sidney last Thursday and gave the Broadax a call. While here he related a strange freak of his black cat, which for novelty eclipses anything of the kind we have heard for a long time. He stated that she had kittens in a duck’s nest, and about the time the kittens were born three young ducks appeared. Soon afterward the old cat, to avoid the annoyance of the children, removed the kittens and ducks to a spare chamber up stairs. She regards the ducks with the same paternal care and solicitude that she does her own offspring, licking them all over at times and carrying them around the same as she does her kittens, and even stealing food for them. Mr. Sutherland says if you don’t believe it, call at his house and be convinced.”

Now if you are scrambling to try and find Sidney on a modern map, don’t bother. Today the town is called Port Orchard. According to James W. Phillips in Washington State Place Names, “The town was platted as Sidney by developer Sidney Stephens, but in 1903, at the request of residents, the state legislature renamed it and shortly afterward made it the county seat.”

A map of Sidney was published in the same issue of People’s Broadax as the cat story.

As for Mr. Sutherland, who apparently built the first hotel in Chico, the book Kitsap County History (1981) gives a brief biography: “Captain George C. and Christina Sutherland arrived from Port Arthur, Canada, in 1889 with their children Horatio, Elizabeth (Donovan), John and Jessie (Green). He operated a salmon saltery on the beach and was the area’s first photographer, calling his firm Sutherland Brothers or Olympic View Company.” I wonder if he ever took a picture of that cat with the ducks?

The Toledo *

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

This week I grabbed a reel of microfilm at random and found myself drawn to an article on the very first frame. I was reading the June 3, 1887 issue of Cowlitz’s Advocate, a newspaper from Kalama.

The newspaper was less than a year old when the presumed writer of the article below, William D. Close (1845-1914), purchased the paper in May 1887. A Union vet from the Civil War who had been wounded in action, Mr. Close had moved to Washington Territory in 1880. He had a varied career and at different  times had been employed as a farmer, fisherman, postmaster, county treasurer, deputy sheriff, mercantile operator, hotel manager, and from May 1887 to October 1888, newspaperman. A more detailed biography of Close can be found in the 1893 edition of An Illustrated History of the State of Washington.

  ACCIDENTS TO THE TOLEDO

 The Steamer Collide with a Ferry — Steampipe Bursts — Frightened Passengers

 “Last Saturday, as the steamer Toledo was rounding too to make a landing at Castle Rock, and just above Whittle’s ferry, Mr. Chas. F. Atkins, who manages the ferry boat, thinking the steamer would pick up and get out of his way, but, the current being very swift, the boat did not pick up but dropped down stream. Seeing a collision was unavoidable the captain of the Toledo stopped the wheel, when the ferry-boat struck the steamer about three feet forward of the wheel– the steamer being slightly quartering in the current, drifted against the ferry, and the ferry which is propelled by the current upon a wire cable, raised high enough to allow the steamer to pass under it, being set so that the current pressed the ferry against the steamer so strong that they could not be separated– the pressure of the current against the steamer, and the pressure of both against the ferry, something had to give away. First the pins which holds the roller by which the cable down upon the pilot house and became connected with the cord attached to the whistle, causing a mournful sound to issue therefrom, as though the steamer was in terrible distress. Captain Orrin Kellogg quickly detached the cable from the cord and stifled the sound, when the pressure becoming so great it was evident something must give away, when to the great relief of all the ropes running from the cable to the ferry parted, and the steamer drifted down stream free with but slight damage to her pilot house and the bending of the whistle-pipe. The ferry was quickly tied to the steamer which towed it back to the landing, where it was tied up with but slight damage. The steamer then landed on the Castle Rock side and took on some passengers.”

1887 Map of the Castle Rock Area **

 ANOTHER ACCIDENT

“The reporter reluctantly went aboard, thinking it a day of accidents, and the steamer proceeded on her way. When about one mile down the river all at once a hissing sound of escaping steam came from the lower deck, soon enveloping the steamer in steam, which caused a terrible commotion among the passengers. Women screamed and fainted; men threw down their cards and rushed out on deck, vowing, if saved, they would do better in the future. An old lady would have jumped overboard had she not been catched and held by Mr. Willard Johnson. Mr. and Mrs. Zeller, of Portland, came rushing out of the cabin, and in the excitement Mr. Zeller’s hat was knocked off and overboard, when the writer quietly but firmly got a hold them and endeavored to quiet them.”

“At this moment Captain Orrin Kellogg appeared and assured the passengers they were in no danger, as the escaping steam was from a small pipe which had been injured by the cable. The steamer was landed and tied up, and the steam allowed to escape, when it took but a few minutes to repair the damage, and we were soon again [on] our way. A lady fainted the second time before quiet was restored. A man, with a cut foot, sat quiet and as cool as a cucumber, waiting for some one to bring his crutches. It is reported, with what degree of truth we cannot say, that the ‘devil’ of the Advocate office, who was on board, quietly, but very swiftly, made his way to a stateroom and tucked himself under the bed. We know he was not to be found for some time. He says he does not know how many points he had in a game of whist, but he knows he made it to a point to get away from there as soon as possible.”

The Toledo was a sternwheeler and was such a major part of Cowlitz River life the settlement at the northernmost point of the ship’s circuit was named after the craft. Toledo, Washington is still there today. The ship was built in 1878, rebuilt in 1885, and was sold to another company in 1891. The Toledo was wrecked in 1896 on the Yamhill River.

The advent of the automobile and subsequent improved roads brought the age of steamboats on the Cowlitz to an end in 1918.

Some materials containing information on the Toledo in WSL’s collection include:

The Toledo Community Story 1800-2008

A Century of Paddlewheelers in the Pacific Northwest, the Yukon and Alaska

Cowlitz River Navigation with Respect to the Development of the Town of Toledo, Washington

*  Photo of sternwheeler Toledo taken from Cowlitz Corridor (1953)

** Map of Castle Rock and Cowlitz River from Anderson’s Map of Cowlitz County, Washington (1897) which is also available in digital form online

Alfred M. Hubbard

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

The Hubbard Coil sounded too good to be true. As it turned out there was a little secret component the inventor neglected to share with the press.

This week’s random article about the seemingly magical energy-producing device demonstrated by Alfred M. Hubbard was found in The Monroe Monitor, Sept. 17, 1920:

 MYSTERIOUS COIL PROVES SUCCESS

RUNS AUTOMOBILE ON EVERETT STREETS AND BOAT IN SEATTLE LAKE.

May Reach the Farm to Run Labor-Saving Machinery and Solve Ever-Present Labor Problem.

 “In consideration of the telephone, wireless, airplanes and other inventions the man who said ‘there ain’t no such animal,’ when he saw a giraffe should have passed on, but in the face of the claims of a new invention by Alfred M. Hubbard, a Seattle boy, engineers and scientists are reviving the ancient phrase and people generally are waiting to be convinced although willing, so willing, to have the invention develop into a fact.”

“What Hubbard claims to have is a coil that takes its power from the air and turns out an electric current that will run lights, motors, automobiles, stoves, anything where power is needed without money and without price once the coil is installed.”

“An ‘atmospheric power generator’ he calls it for want of a better name.”

No Light Bills

 “A coil it is, or a series of coils, a central coil surrounded by smaller coils and all wound to form a big coil. No moving parts, no noise, no battery, a little affair about eight or ten inches long. Hubbard connected it up to an ordinary electric light which immediately began to glow and continued to glow and would continue to glow indefinitely– Hubbard claimed.”

“The light demonstration was given last December in the office of one of the Seattle newspapers. Later Hubbard went to Washington, D.C., to arrange for getting a patent. Then he came back and retired into his laboratory to work out a larger coil and the problems of connecting it up to an automobile or a boat.”

“With no particular training for his work except that which every boy who has an inherent curiosity for mechanical things possesses, Hubbard has taken to the study of electricity and the hours that most boys spend in the swimming pool or at other kinds of pool he puts in working with batteries, motors, wireless and his coil. He says he felt that there was a great deal of electric power free in the atmosphere and set out to harness it. He does not think that he has discovered perpetual motion, he makes no such claim, but thinks he has succeeded in transforming the earth’s lines of magnetic force into electrical energy available for use.”
“One thing is certain, he has stumped all of the electrical engineers and scientists, none of whom have been able to offer any possible explanation for what he has done.”

Drives a Launch

 “A short time ago Hubbard invited some Seattle people out to the yacht club and took them for a ride in a launch. There was no engine in the launch, only a small motor. With him Hubbard took a coil, larger than the one he used for the light, but not so large that he couldn’t carry it with him. The coil was connected to the motor and the boat started out from the dock. Around the lake it went and then back to the club house. The people with him lifted the coil and looked at it. Then they started on a still hunt around the boat for storage batteries. Then they sat down and stared at each other.”

“Then Hubbard connected the coil to the motor again and the boat made another trip around the lake. The motor was evidently too small for the coil for the wires connecting the two got hot and to be disconnected occasionally and allowed to cool off.”

Hubbard with Coil

“After this Hubbard went up to Everett and put one of his coils in an automobile. The auto was a standard car with the engine left out and a motor, ordinary electric motor, in its place. The coil was small enough to go under the hood of the engine. The auto started off up a steep grade on a dirt road. It ran around the Everett streets. People stared and wondered. They are still wondering.”

“These things have been seen and done. What of the future? Will there be no more transmission lines running up and down the streets and country roads? Will all this legislation about power plant sites be for naught? Will each house have its own coil turning out its heat and light, running the sewing machine and vacuum cleaner and coffee percolator and churn and so on? Will large manufacturing establishments have large coils and no bills for coal or oil fuel and no pall of smoke coming in from their chimneys to burden the atmosphere?”

“Those are questions that are bothering the brains of those who have seen the coil work. What will be the price of copper if every one is trying to buy a coil at once? What about gasoline? Will John D. have a world organization on his hands for which he has no use? Will the coil bring cheap power to the farmer with running water pumped from the well to the barn and the house and for irrigation? Will it be cheaper to pump the rivers here and there than to build long irrigation ditches?”

Years later Hubbard confessed the true source of the energy for his coil. When another inventor produced a similar coil, the young scientist stepped forward and talked to The Seattle Post-Intelligencer. This is quoted from the Feb. 26, 1928 issue:

“In 1919 Hubbard represented the apparatus as being capable of extracting electrical energy directly from the air, but he admitted yesterday that this had been merely a subterfuge to protect his patent rights, and that, as a matter of fact, it had been a device for extracting electrical energy from radium, by means of a series of transformers which stepped up the rays. “

“He declined to go into detail in regard to the exact manner in which he managed to extract power from radium …”

Basically, he produced a sort of nuclear power battery. To this day the exact material he used is not known.

Hubbard’s subsequent career was one wild ride through the shadows. He sold most of the patent rights of his coil to the Radium Chemical Company. In 1929 he took out a patent for radioactive spark plugs, which were actually available on the market from Firestone in the early 1940s.

Hubbard’s path led to running booze in Seattle, which landed him an 18-month prison term. His scientific skills caught the eye of the Office of Strategic Services, and he became a government agent. He somehow became involved with gun-running which attracted the attention of Congress. In order to escape prosecution, he cooled off in Vancouver, B.C. for a few years.

In Canada he created a charter boat service and was a director for a uranium corporation. He became a millionaire but grew bored. In 1951 he discovered LSD and then dubbed himself “The Johnny Appleseed of Acid.” As would be expected, Hubbard’s exact role with any U.S. or Canadian government project is difficult to verify after 1951. When the crazy spiral stopped he was broke and living in a trailer park in Casa Grande, Arizona, definitely not a situation for him that was too good to be true. He died there Aug. 31, 1982.

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

The irony of hermits is that the more they desire to be alone, the more attention they garner. The hermit becomes an object of curiosity. For example, a character by the name of “Buckskin Joe” certainly got my interest when I randomly found the following short article on the front page of The Concrete Herald, Feb. 21, 1914:

HERMIT OF UPPER SKAGIT IS FOUND DEAD IN CABIN

“Quincy A. Eaton, a recluse who has lived alone in a small cabin on Bacon creek, above Marblemount, for the past fifteen years, was found dead in his cabin by a neighbor last week. Indications were that he had been dead for several days before he was discovered. Burial was made near the cabin he had occupied for so many years.”

“Nothing definite is known of Eaton prior to his coming to Skagit valley. He was apparently well educated and was said to have relatives prominent in public life. He lived a primitive life in his little cabin and refused to have any intercourse with travelers or neighbors, never speaking when it was possible to avoid it. He was generally known as ‘Buckskin Joe’ because of the garb he adopted after his arrival.”

Thanks to the Chronicling America project, I was able to locate one article about Buckskin Joe during his lifetime. It came from the June 30, 1897 issue of the San Francisco Call. It was headlined: WILD MAN OF SKAGIT COUNTY.

Identified simply as Buckskin Joe, farmers and miners in the area testified in the article that this wild hermit had set up a couple primitive structures on Bacon Creek. One of them was a strange convoluted tree house, from which Joe watched any visitor. “He absolutely refuses to associate with any one and always carries a rifle, a revolver, and a big knife. His cartridge belt holds an immense amount of ammunition and is always around his neck. He is nearly asleep until some one comes within hearing distance, when his frightful-looking head appears and the visitor looks into the barrel of his rifle.”

The nearest big city newspaper to cover Joe’s demise was the Bellingham Herald. The headline read HERMIT LEAVES NO TRACE OF IDENTITY IN DEATH in the Feb. 18, 1914 issue.

This article included: “For nine years the government has permitted him to live within the forest under sufferance. He had been dead in his bed for probably two weeks when his cabin was entered last week. A traveler’s dog howling at the door of the cabin attracted attention to the place and a resident investigated when he received no response to his calls for the hermit. The body was interred in the rear yard of the cabin, under the potato patch which the hermit cared for studiously during past years.”

“Despite several attempts to make him sociable, the hermit remained ‘the silent man of the mountain.’ He would pass wayfarers with his head down, refusing to acknowledge salutation or greeting. Where he came from or what his connections were is not known further than at one time he tersely informed residents that his brother was a United States senator.”

Except for a brief mention in JoAnn Roe’s 1997 book North Cascades Highway : Washington’s Popular and Scenic Pass, a superficial survey of Skagit County historical material didn’t turn up any information on Buckskin Joe.

However, there is one document that serves as a stepping stone in uncovering Buckskin Joe’s past: The U.S. Census. He is in there for 1910. It is so strange a hermit like Buckskin Joe would be so cooperative in providing information, but perhaps the Feds told him that if he wanted them to continue turning a blind eye to his presence on public property, he better play along.

With the help of our online genealogical resources at WSL I was able to locate more documents and eventually came into contact with Cheryl Eaton, one of the historians for that family. She was able to fill in several gaps.

Quincy Adams Eaton was born Oct. 5, 1849 in Lanawee County, Mich. He was the 7th of the 11 children of Christopher Columbus Eaton (1810-1877) and Eleanor (Lamberson) Eaton (1817-1893). Quincy was apparently known as “Tuney.”

According to Cheryl, Christopher Columbus Eaton “was a forward thinking man and most of his children graduated from the State Normal School in Ypsilanti, MI or the Michigan Agricultural College.” By the early 1870s, many members of the Eaton family had migrated to Colorado Territory to join the Union Colony at Greeley.

For some reason Quincy’s application for a deed at Union Colony was refused, Mar. 21, 1871. He migrated to the area of present-day Merino, Colo., where he taught school, ran a stagecoach line and mail route (soon made obsolete when the railroad arrived), and possibly raised cattle. He apparently never married. After 1882 he vanishes from the record until he shows up as “Buckskin Joe” in Skagit County, Wash. over a dozen years later.

By the time he was discovered up here, most of his family had passed on. One brother had been killed in the Civil War, and another, George Washington Eaton, was killed by Ute Indians in the Meeker Massacre, Sept. 1879. Although Quincy was not related to any U.S. Senators, his brother Oscar Eaton (1847-1895) was a banker and prominent Ohio Republican, having attended the 1892 National Convention as a delegate.

So where was Buckskin Joe 1882-1896? What drove him into the woods to lead a life of militant solitude? If you have any additional information on this intriguing character in Washington State history, we would love to hear from you.

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

This item was found in The Chesaw News, July 5, 1912:

  A FREAK EGG

 An Egg Within An Egg, Both Perfect, At Baker Ranch.

 “Mrs. Stanton Baker is among the many who have turned their attention to poultry raising on a little larger scale than usual this season, having invested in blooded stock from a well known outside breeder of leghorns. While the season is yet too young for anyone to come forward with a claim for honors in producing something unusual or phenomenal in the bird line, Mrs. Baker is entitled to the ‘bun’ as the possessor of the greatest freak of an egg this country has produced, and one which would hardly be found in a decade anywhere, although one such specimen was reported found.”

“The egg measured 8 inches around the long way, 7 1/2 inches the shortest place, and weighed very little less than a half pound. Had there been any geese around the farm it would have been credited up to them, but it was laid by a hen and handled with care as its importance was fully realized. After a few days curiosity prompted the breaking of the egg and here the real surprise was sprung. It contained the full ingredients that customarily accompany a slice of ham to the farm table, but it also contained another perfectly formed and normal sized egg with hard shell. The inner egg was also broken and was found to be perfect as a normal product.”

As it turns out, finding an egg within an egg is highly unusual, but more common than you might think. In fact, as I was compiling this random news piece, WSL’s National Digital Newspaper Program Coordinator Shawn Schollmeyer pointed out a new egg within an egg story in the news out of Abilene, Texas on June 5, 2012.

It is the town of Chesaw itself that is just as unusual as the egg within the egg.

Although you can still see a very small place called Chesaw on a map in the highlands of Okanogan County, most of the information to be found on this settlement are in books about ghost towns and former boom towns in Washington State. Norman D. Weis provides an unflattering and unvarnished summary of the history of the place in his Ghost Towns of the Northwest (1971):

“Chesaw was named after ‘Chee-Saw,’ early Chinese settler who took an Indian wife and settled near a commonly traveled ford on Meyer’s Creek. In the 1800’s visitors to Chee-Saw’s Ford spotted some traces of gold in the creek. Word of the gold spread, but since the area was in the Colville Indian Reservation, no prospecting was allowed. In 1896, with morals adjusted to fit the pocketbook, the white man opened half the reservation to mineral claims. Promptly, most of the good pastures and fields were taken by whites as placer claims. The townsite of Chesaw was laid out on land obtained by filing a half-dozen false claims side by side. Some honest mineral claims were made, however, on outcrops that looked promising … By 1900 Chesaw was a sizeable log community of two hundred population. It grew rapidly into a full-blown town with two three-story frame hotels, and a population (on a Saturday night, and counting dogs) that neared the one-thousand mark.”

Maybe the egg within an egg was an omen. By 1920 the town was declining rapidly. The Greenwood Saloon, one of many such establishments in Chesaw, added a steeple and bell on the roof, converting  the structure’s use to serving as local Methodist Church– perhaps as a sign of belatedly making up for the method of founding the settlement.  But apparently the effort was too little too late.

For further reading see Okanogan Highland Album (1987) and Okanogan Highland Echoes (1962 and 1986 editions)

Washington State Library continues to celebrate Native American Heritage month by focusing on the history of Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce.

The Nimi’ipuu (meaning “The Real People”) founded their villages in a 17 million acre swath of land that extended from the Bitteroot to the Blue mountains, especially along the banks of the Clearwater, Salmon, and Snake River drainages.  Their language is a part of the Sahaptian sub division of the Penutian linguistic family found  in the Western Plateau of North America. They had a wealth of resources in their mountainous home region but often migrated outside of ancestral lands to gather and hunt during certain seasonal cycles.

The Nimi’ipuu were dubbed Nez Perce (“pierced nose”) by French Candaian Fur Traders in the late 18th Century.  The Nez Perce witnessed the explosion of European settlement that occurred in the very brief half century since their interactions with traders and explorers such as Lewis and Clark.  With the Nez Perce Treaty of June 11, 1855, a portion of the Nez Perce leadership gathered at the Walla Walla Council signed away roughly 9.5 million acres of traditional lands (the treaty was ratified by the federal government March 8th and proclaimed on April 29th 1959), that relegated the tribes to the remaining 7.5 million acre reservation that spanned portions of the Idaho, Oregon and Washington Territories.

When gold was discovered in the region now known as Lewiston, ID, in 1860, the United States failed to maintain the terms of the treaty, leading to an influx of white settlers into Nez Perce Treaty lands.  Three years later, a splinter group of the Nez Perce leadership signed away all but 75,000 acres of their ancestral lands.  A large portion of the Nez Perce did not accept the validity of the treaty and refused to relocate to the acreage, located in Idaho, that was set aside.  These non-treaty Indians included Chief Joseph, who stayed near his ancestral lands in Oregon’s Wallowa Valley.  Tensions and violence between non-treaty Nez Perce and European settlers arose from the refusal of treaty demands for relocation.  In June of 1877 Chief Joseph and other non-treaty leaders agreed to relocate to Fort Lapwai, ID, but a group of tribal members, outraged at past wrongs, attacked Idaho settlers in the Camas Prairie region.  When Joseph arrived to the encampment and saw the devestation, he understood it as a declaration of war, realized an appeal for peace was futile, and began a fighting retreat across Idaho, Wyoming and Montana that ultimately deposited the fighting Nez Perce in Bear’s Paw Mountains of Montana, a short distance from the Canadian border.

On September 30, 1877, the United States Army’s Seventh Calvary, led by Gen, Nelson A. Miles, intercepted Joseph and the Nez Perce at Snake Creek in a surprise attack.  The two forces fiercely fought throughout the three day stand-off until General Oliver Howard and his soldiers arrived, throwing the balance of forces off.  On October 5, 1877 Chief Joseph surrendered, and in doing so, delivered a speech that, through interpretation by C.E.S. Wood, immortalized him.  Instead of being sent to the Idaho reservation as promised by Gen. Miles, the non-treaty Nez Perce were sent to Fort Buford, KS under orders from commanding Army General William Tecumseh Sherman.  Later they were transferred to live in a swampy section of Fort Leavenworth, KS and many tribe members contracted and perished from malaria.  In 1879 Chief Joseph petitioned the President Rutherford B. Hayes and the Congress for relocation to Idaho or Indian Territory in present day Oklahoma.  Due to rejection by Idahoans the band moved to Tonkawa, OK, where they remained until 1885 when they finally returned to the Pacific Northwest to join the Colville Reservation in Washington Territory.  It is in the Collville lands that Chief Joseph passed away September 21, 1904.

The story of Chief Joseph : from where the sun now stands / by Bruce A. Wilson. Okanogan, WA : Okanogan County Historical Society, [2006], c1960. R OVERSIZ 979.5004 WILSON 2006. In Library use only.

From the desk of Sean Lanksbury. PNW & Special Collections Librarian

Washington State Library Pacific Northwest and Special Collections compiled a selection of resources on the language, culture and intercultural connections of the first peoples of the Pacific Northwest, as part of the Washington State Heritage Center’s exhibit “We’re Still Here: The Survival of Washington Indians.”  In honor of the federally recognized Native American Heritage Month 2012, the State Library is highlighting this list in hopes that it will stoke your interest in the diversity of native peoples hailing from the State of Washington.

“We’re Still Here” is display at the lobby of the Office of the Secretary of State, inside the Washington State Legislative Building, until April of 2013.  Supported and vetted by many Washington Indians, this exhibit displays colorful artifacts to tell compelling and personal stories. Artifacts include rare baskets, tools, feather hats, ceremonial colorful clothing and drums.

View/Download the resource list: Washington State Library, First Peoples of Washington State: Selected Resources*

Read more on the exhibit: We’re Still Here: The Survival of Washington Indians

* The resource list has been published using Adobe’s Portable Document Format (PDF); you will need the free Adobe reader in order to read it, available for download at get.adobe.com/reader.

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

The reel grabbed at random this week contained The Big Bend Empire, the first newspaper established in Waterville, Washington. The issue for May 13, 1920 included this intriguing article:

 EPHRATA TO TRY OUT RAINMAKER

 “The people around the Grant county seat want rain, and in fact they are willing to try any old scheme to get it, even to employing a professional rainmaker.”

 “The Ephrata Commercial Club has entered into negotiations with Chas. M. Hatfield of Los Angeles, who claims to have had success in rainmaking in other sections.”

“The fact that the commercial club of Ephrata became interested in Mr. Hatfield’s proposition made it possible to guarantee $6,000 to Mr. Hatfield. Under the contract with the Commercial club he is to receive for first inch nothing; for second inch $3,000; third, $3,000 additional with a time limit of June 10. We understand that Mr. Hatfield is now on the ground and busy with his experiments.”

Charles Mallory Hatfield was already a famous figure throughout the West by 1920. The dapper 45 year-old sewing machine salesman had a strong resume, he claimed, of creating conditions which would result in rain for the parched corners of the world. His method included mixing a concoction of 23 chemicals (to this day the ingredients remain a secret) and setting this stew in vats atop 20-ft. high towers near bodies of water. Hatfield’s place in the history of “pluviculture” earned him an entire chapter in Clark C. Spence’s The Rainmakers (1980). One editor is quoted in this work on the odoriferous impact of Hatfield’s towers, writing they smelled like “a limberger cheese factory has broken loose … These gases smell so bad that it rains in self defense.” Electricity was also used in the process.

The rainmaker had set up his operation at the east side of Moses Lake and became an instant regional media sensation. He erected a tower constructed of 4 x 4s about 16 ft. square and over 20 ft. high, with vats containing his 23 top secret ingredients.

Sure enough, the area was rained on, but less than an inch. Weathermen pointed out that the distribution of the wet stuff was too vast to give any Hatfield any credit. They said the rainmaker took a long chance and won. But it was still far short of what the inventor promised. The Wenatchee World seemed to take a special interest in covering this story. After Hatfield’s June 10 deadline passed without reaching the desired goal, legendary World publisher Rufus Woods paid a visit to Moses Lake to conduct an interview.
Some of the rainmaker’s observations made during the interview concerning the Ephrata-Moses Lake area included:

“The conditions in this country are the hardest to make a showing in of any place I have been. When I get my forces at work, so often the wind comes up and blows them all away.”

“I have operated from Dawson to Mexico and Texas but this is the dryest atmosphere I have ever had to deal with.”

“It is harder to produce one inch here than it is five in California. I gave these people a better contract than I should have had I known the conditions in this locality.”

Hatfield also made a political prediction: “It is only a matter of time till the government will come to me … I know all these weather men poke fun at this. But they always tell what can’t be done when I am starting. It’s the same old hash, they go for me at the start. But results are what count. I have never failed to produce the record rainfall in every place I have operated.”

But fail he did at Moses Lake, and he quietly dismantled his tower, collected no fee, and set out for the next customer. His pluvicultural career was over by the 1930s. He died in 1958.

The U.S. government apparently never used his services. In fact the U.S. Weather Bureau made a point of highlighting Hatfield’s failures. During the Dust Bowl years Hatfield supporters could not convince the government to employ his methods.

But Hatfield did live long enough to see rain-making develop into a high-tech science both in cloud seeding and in warfare. If you look up the subject heading “Rain-making” in the WSL catalog, you will find many reports in state and federal publications.

The Big Bend Empire, which started in 1888, is an ancestor of the current Douglas County Empire Press. The entire run is available on microfilm, yes even via interlibrary loan, through the Washington State Library.