Objects in the Mirror…

As I explored the towns along Highway 99, I was quick to recognize that we traveled up this same route between San Jose and Seattle in 1954. How tedious it must have been to drive through McMinnville, and Lafayette, and Dundee, and Newberg and all the similar towns back to back along the highway. Today it is fun to explore those communities because the freeway has taken much of the load away. Okay, it’s still no fun to drive through Dundee, but you get the idea.

I was planning on driving out along the Columbia again, maybe this time to see some of those road signs that teased me last time from the side of the highway. Roads with names like “Old Hwy 30.” The current Highway 30 really hasn’t changed that much since it was built. U.S. Highway 30 runs from Atlantic City, New Jersey to Astoria. “It is one of the original routes commissioned in 1926, and was the first route to be paved coast to coast, which was accomplished in 1935. It follows the route of the old Lincoln Highway to a large degree, and also follows much of the Oregon Trail” (courtesy of www.untraveledroad.com). What that means is that I could experience some of my parent's view of travel in the 1950’s. As they surely must have, I sometimes saw towns along this highway as impediments in my rush to somewhere else.

St. Helens, Oregon is about 35 miles north of Portland. I’ve driven through the town a couple of dozen times and only saw the town from the arterial through it. The four lanes of Highway 30 are interrupted by a half dozen traffic lights. Along the west side of the highway are a variety of small stores, strip malls, and gas stations. McDonald’s. Taco Bell. Blockbuster Video. You get the drift. To the east, the railroad tracks parallel the highway and other businesses are off in the distance. As I passed through one of the intersections I saw a sign for “Old Town” and the Marina. I’ve seen the sign before and never bothered to act on it. Today was different. Why don’t I just forget the long drive and see something of St. Helens besides the frightful gash that is the highway? At the next available spot I hung a u-turn and headed back towards the road to historic St. Helens.

There are a couple of different ways to go, one from Gable Road to Old Portland Road. That’s on the south side of town but the sign I saw was on Columbia Boulevard. Columbia intersects with the highway where the old train depot (now camouflaged as the Chamber of Commerce) sits. From there it’s a little more than a mile from the highway down into old town.

St. Helens is a city that certainly took its time to establish its identity. When it was founded in the late 1840’s it was named Plymouth Rock. Whatever it was about these pioneers, I just don’t know. So many cities and towns in Oregon are named after some place where the founder came from or have a really dumb name that, if they are lucky, fades with time. An embarrassing example is Sherwood. It was originally named after its founder, James Smock. Smockville. I’m sorry, that just sucks and apparently the citizens thought so too and they changed it two years later. Where was I? Oh yeah, back to Plymouth Rock. Nathaniel Wyeth changed it to Wyeth Rock, which begat New Plymouth, which begat Kaseneau, which begat Plymouth, which begat St. Helens. This could rival any seminary test for Old Testament bloodlines. In a final insult, the Feds left off the “s” and the town was, for a time, St. Helen. Eventually they got their “s” in gear (sorry, couldn’t resist) and it has been St. Helens ever since.

The keystone in Old Town is the Columbia County courthouse. This imposing looking three-story structure was put together with stone mined from a local quarry. On the east side it overlooks Columbia View Park, the marina and the Columbia River. On the west side, facing old town, it sits in front of a nice little park (photo, left) with older commercial buildings on both sides. I left the 914 at the park and walked to the courthouse. It does look a little better from across the street than in does close up, but then, who doesn’t? There was a sign indicating a museum inside. Museum? Meh. It was five shadow boxes with area artifacts, a movie projector, and a poster. The inside of building was a sight to behold. Go back and look at the Museum photo again. This is on the second floor. All of the doors have that 1920’s opaque pebble glass in them and the lettering on the door was probably done by a sign painter about the same time. That state map on the wall dates from the same era. Lordy, I’d love to have that for my garage.

Back outside again I walked around the old commercial buildings and was delighted to see a robust business district interspersed with some fine older homes. This home was one of the nicer examples, although certainly not the only one. There is a plaque on the porch that identifies it as the Amy George House. The plaque was placed by the “Columbia River Heritage Trail,” but when I looked them up on the internet, they have information only on sites up the gorge near Umatilla.

St. Helens is alive with restaurants. There are pizza places (Geppetto’s) and steak houses (Dock Side). I chose to eat at the recently re-opened Klondike Restaurant and Bar. This three story, wood frame construction building was built in 1910 and served as a hotel (and likely a bar) for the river traffic. St. Helens was a major deep water port for much of the early part of the 20th Century. The décor inside the Klondike is period trendy. Older photos of the town are on the walls and some doors, complete with room numbers and presumably from the original building, make nifty wall decorations. The prices were a little spendy ($20+ for my lunch) but the menu was superb. I’m no gourmand but I had one of the best tasting meals I’ve had in many moons. It is called the Halibut Supreme. It was a grilled halibut fillet in a white wine crème sauce that contained mushrooms and bay shrimp. It was topped with crab meat and accompanied by rice pilaf. It was served with a green salad on the side. I was intrigued by the half dozen or so “chips” that were served as a garnish. I thought they might be thinly sliced and fried cucumbers but was amazed to find that they were homemade sweet potato chips. Outstanding. After this satisfying meal and a quiet belch, I left to continue my walkabout.

The building immediately east of the Klondike, and overlooking the river, is a three story brick that is under renovation. It looks like it will be “trendy commercial” (think Starbucks) on the ground floor and eight condos on the second and third floors. The roof will feature a nice patio with landscaping and a gas BBQ. I headed back towards the courthouse and decided I would walk into the courtroom to see a little justice in action. Hizzhonor Ted E. Grove was presiding. No robes for this old boy. He was wearing a nice shirt and tie and had a black two-button jacket on. He looked for all the world like Robert E. Lee with his neatly trimmed gray beard. The poor sap on trial when I got there was sitting with his lawyer at the only table on the business side of the Bar. No defense and prosecution tables here. Not enough room. The prosecuting attorney was sitting at the left side of the table and the defendant, in jeans, a button-down collar shirt and tennis shoes, was sitting with his attorney at the right. There was complete silence as I entered. The only other persons in the courtroom were the clerk and what had to be the wife and her mother on my side of the Bar. The jury box was empty which allowed me to see the layout; seven wooden straight-backed chairs in the front row and five in the rear. These were the style of chair you might find in an antique store for use around a large dining room table. They were, of course, heftier in scale and mercifully had cushions attached to the seats for those long trials and bony asses. There was complete silence for about fifteen minutes as the judge went over and over different file folders, sifting paper from one pile to another. Finally he said to the defense, “Mr. Caldwell, we have reached a tipping point. In reviewing your recent behavior I have to tell you that any other actions will result in me having no choice but to remove you from the community and send you to the state penitentiary.” He then proceeded to list his more recent transgressions including such as this gem, “When you are at someone else’s home, you cannot help yourself to items that do not belong to you.” He then itemized the fines connected to each of the charges, in the end totaling about twenty-five hundred dollars, and told him that he must pay thirty dollars a month. It had to be at the courthouse by a certain date each month, not mailed by then but AT THE COURTHOUSE, otherwise he’d get sent to the pen. It was great theater.

I left the courtroom after 45 minutes or so and continued my exploration of the old town area. I walked down First Street, past Jilly’s corner antique shop and Gippetto’s. If you walk back towards Columbia Boulevard you’ll pass the Columbia Theater (photo, right) which is a fine looking building with the smell of buttered popcorn wafting out onto the sidewalk. Back down towards the river I walked, heading to the car. What’s nice is that there are people on the sidewalks and they smile and say hello. This part of the town could be a set for a movie, similar in a way to Brownsville, where “Stand by Me” was filmed.

I realized that the very things which I seek out on my drives were closer than I had imagined. Certainly I can identify with the frustration that towns astride the highway can hold for someone who is impatient to get somewhere else. Sometimes, however, you just need to slow down to see the forest through the trees. Except for one. I still hate to drive through Dundee.