MARTIN-THOMPSON--At the residence of Alex. Thompson, on Rogue River, February 15, 1877, by Rev. C. H. Hoxie, Joseph G. Martin to Miss Mary Thompson.
Democratic Times, Jacksonville, February 24, 1877, page 3


    The aged father of Jos. G. Martin of Table Rock precinct, who has been very sick for some time, is reported in a critical condition.
"Here and There," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, May 8, 1891, page 3

    Editor Mail:--In presenting this common but, I think, useful subject for a brief consideration in the columns of your wide-awake and fearless journal, the Medford Mail, I do this simply in behalf of the community I live in and do not expect to revolutionize the whole road system from ancient times down to the present, nor have I any pet theory or particular system to offer the public on the subject of roadmaking, but more in particular to call the attention of our honorable county court once more and cause them to more fully understand and realize the sad and deplorable condition of this piece of public highway in our midst, and of which they are the direct custodians. This piece of road I call your kind attention to is the gray, sticky or adobe land that the road is made of, if made at all, and stretches a distance of two miles around the base of the upper Table Rock, and is a portion of the Fort Klamath road leading up Rogue River, and from appearances of this piece of road as regards travel, anyone would conclude this was the boundary line between this section and the interior of the valley, for the guideboard says, most emphatically, thus far shalt thou travel and no farther, during the months of November, December, January and February. And now, Mr. Editor, just think of this being our only direct thoroughfare to our county seat and different trading points, and to be so completely shut off and isolated, possibly for four months, and quite frequently longer, naturally causes us, as law-abiding citizens, to speak out boldly for reform. You may possibly ask what our road supervisor is doing that he does not put this piece of road in a condition for winter travel. It is simply this: because the territory or jurisdiction that he controls is too great for one man, and he devotes his time and labor principally to the mountains and foothills, and by the time he gets to where the labor should be directed or used, it is about all exhausted. He then fills up the old wagon ruts, throws out a few loose rock and broken rails that have been used as the last resort in removing this terra firma from the wheels of the wagon so they can revolve, and possibly the first band of sheep or cattle that comes along will roll all these things back down into their old accustomed places. This done, he pronounces this piece of road in good condition for summer travel, admitting it is thus does not ensure us a winter road, which is beyond question the most interesting and important part of the season for the farmer and merchant. Now, while I claim to mingle with and represent a portion of this prosperous community on the north side of Rogue River, I can see no particular reason why we should not have our share of public assistance, judiciously applied, to make this piece of road what it should be--a passable winter-traveled public highway, and should bedding this piece of road with rock and then gravel be found to be too expensive, then why not cause a new survey and change the roadbed to the river bottom, on different land, which is owned by Mr. Thomas Curry and William Bybee, which gentlemen are too well known for public-spiritedness and generosity to not willingly favor all public improvements. We further suggest to our honorable county court that a limit of one year be the length of time for each road supervisor to hold office, instead of the three-year system as at present adopted, as the ideas of men on roadmaking are very great, and in one year's time a man can bring to the surface about all the ideas he has, and if not good it causes retrograde instead of progression.
Medford Mail, February 4, 1892, page 3


    Adoption of Frank Hall, a minor. It was ordered that his name be changed to Frank Martin, he having been adopted by J. G. Martin of Table Rock precinct.
"Probate Court," Valley Record, Ashland, September 30, 1897, page 1

    The following address was delivered by J. G. Martin, of Beagle, at the Soldiers' and Sailors' Reunion:
Comrades, Ladies of the Relief Corps, Ladies and Gentlemen:--
    I am truly glad that I have the honor of standing in the presence of a remnant of our nation's defenders. I do not appear before you today to act in the role of that honored profession as a public speaker, orator or lecturer--this many of you know--but only to contribute my mite in assisting to enliven the routine hours of camp life of the old Grand Army boys who have assembled here in Gold Hill for a few days of pleasure, pastime and recreation.
    A few days ago as I was sitting in the shade at noontime, the thought occurred to me that the word "soldier" might be a very appropriate and interesting subject for an occasion of this kind. Now, I do not claim a place in the ranks of the Grand Army of the Republic, but I do courteously ask a place in the gatherings and exercises as a brother comrade, as an ex-soldier in the Indian wars of 1870 to 1875. This word "soldier" is a small word of only two syllables, but it is well and favorably known to us all in history, and I question whether there is a word in all the English language that is clothed with brighter and more interesting history than the word "soldier," for the meaning of this small word applies to a great man that wears the blue, the honored and respected uniform of the United States army. The veteran soldier's life is by no means a life of ease, comfort and idleness, as some might suppose, but on the contrary, his is a life of hardship, danger, disappointment, anxiety and submissiveness, and this great man never knows what minute or hour the bugle may sound him to horse, perhaps for the last time, but he stands as firm as the mighty oak of the forest, that never shirks or quivers from duty, and is always ready and willing to obey that old familiar command, "Forward, march!" His daily duty in camp life in time of peace is rather dull and a trifle monotonous, especially the infantry branch, but he is expected to answer promptly to all drill calls, take his turn at camp life, eat his regular three meals of hardtack, bacon and beans, drink his coffee and familiar bean soup, and growl. But all these things make him the great man he is. Yes, he is the greatest man on the earth for the short space of two hours that he walks his lonely, dangerous beat, for no President, emperor, king or commanding general has greater power than this private soldier. He controls the post and all of its surroundings, and when he commands you to halt and give him the countersign, it would probably be well for you to act wisely and obey the summons at once. This soldier man is as the great meteor that flashes across the continent, for he comes and goes when and where we know not; for he is the man that is ordered to the front to fight our battles on land and sea, put down riot and quiet disturbances in the civilized and uncivilized parts of our great country, battling with the heat and unhealthfulness of some tropical climate, or maybe exposing himself to the cold, bleak storms of the north. Little do we in civil life realize this great man's mission and his dangerous calling. While we are comfortably situated in our pleasant homes around the warm, cheerful fires of winter, or perhaps rusticating in the cool, shady resorts of summer, this man soldier stands as a sentinel and protector to our homes by day and night. These aged, careworn, decrepit, veteran soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic, the few that remain of that gallant and honored band, are the men that brought our nation out of darkness, shame and disgrace, and caused the bright sunlight of prosperity, happiness and contentment to spread her wings all over this great America and brought our beloved, tattered flag, the "red, white and blue," the emblem of our country's greatness, with all of its bright and shining colors, without the loss of a single star, where she floats today with honor and respect on land and sea.
    Who shall be credited with these great achievements of the past? The echo from these great mountains that look down upon us answers, "The veteran soldiers of the past and present." There is a remnant of that gallant band whose great, noble commander foresaw that the old ship of state would soon need a new platform. The hull of the old ship was sound to the core and this great general inserted a historical clause in that old, familiar platform, which reads, "Nothing but an unconditional surrender, or I will fight it out on these lines if it takes all summer." These were the grandest, noblest words that were ever spoken by any general of ancient or modern times; these few words sealed and cemented our grand old Union forever. I can imagine the joy that swelled the bosom of that grand army of defenders.
    Now, fathers and mothers that are assembled here today, I would admonish you to teach your children from infancy to honor and respect the veteran soldier of the Grand Army of the Republic, and when our national memorial day makes its annual visit, to never forget the duty you justly owe as citizens to these grand old veterans by placing a little flag or flower on his lonely grave, although hidden in the most obscure and deserted cemetery in our country. And as I look over this audience of intelligent faces and look upon those careworn, decrepit Grand Army veterans that are assembled here, I make my most humble bow to them for the gallant, heroic deeds that they have accomplished in the past, and left to us such a grand and glorious heritage for the present and future generations to protect and enjoy. The shadow of these grand old protectors is growing shorter, their ranks are growing thin, their step is no longer quick and elastic, and perhaps ere another encampment makes its annual visit we may not all be able to answer another roll call and hear the bugle sound "Taps" again.
    In conclusion, allow me to thank you kindly for honoring me with your presence and attention.
Medford Mail, September 26, 1902, page 2


    We are glad to state that our old friend, J. G. Martin of Beagle, has had an increase of pension from $14 to $24.
"Additional Local," Medford Mail, May 15, 1903, page 6


    Contractor E. W. Starr has sold his residence property on North C Street to J. G. Martin, of Beagle. The consideration was $1050 and the deal was made through the Palm-York real estate agency. Mr. Starr will, in all probability, put up another residence for his own occupancy. Mr. Martin expects to occupy his new purchase, but will not do this before a year from this fall.
"City Happenings," Medford Mail, November 6, 1903, page 5

Our Mother.
BY J. G. MARTIN.

    A joint anniversary birthday dinner was given Tuesday at the home of Mr. and Mrs. J. G. Martin, on North C Street, in honor of Mrs. Susan Whitney and J. G. Martin, the former's birthday coming on the 15th and the latter's on the 14th. Mrs. Whitney has reached the eighty-seventh milepost hearty and progressive, an aged pioneer lady of our prosperous city, to which she is wholly devoted. It is your humble writer's sixty-first anniversary and fifty-two years in the state of Oregon.
Medford Mail, August 18, 1905, page 5


    Have just returned home from an afternoon's stroll over a portion of the western part of our beautiful city. I made my maiden visit to Medford's green, cool, shady city park, a sweet, pure place of cleanliness, refinement, beauty and loveliness. Show me a place among our older sister cities in Rogue River Valley, unless made by nature, that can compare in the least with the few acres that have so recently been encircled and transformed into a place of so much loveliness and beauty. I gazed about until my eyes leaked and my neck became stiff and refusing to turn on its pivot, counting the foundations of new houses to be built, those partly built and those completed in the brief space of time of two months. I became so much interested in our city's growth I just sat down and said, Medford forever. She is forcing herself to the front in every capacity. She is asserting herself in superiority and knocking the persimmon. They cannot shut Medford off. Gold and silver, fruit and stock; the captivating location of the valley, the men of brains, vigor and originality; self-reliance and she is irrepressible. All eyes are turned upon her. Millions of hopes are staked upon her resources, her sunshine, and we venture they will all be realized. The rich man comes here to grow richer, the poor man to better his circumstances, the sick come for health and strength, and those that are discouraged and disconsolate come for the cheer and comfort and to enjoy the hospitable society our city is known to offer.
Medford Mail, September 15, 1905, page 1

    I have been promising myself a grand treat from time to time by paying the popular public schools of our growing city a brief visit, but unforeseen circumstances would apparently arise about the time I was ready to go and prevent me from availing myself of that visit I so much coveted, until Wednesday of last week, when I made my start and as I strolled along the street I asked myself the question, How is an entire stranger going to get admission to this beautiful, strong institution of learning, where six or seven hundred pupils of all ages and sizes are gathered for their mental, moral and physical culture? I looked upon buildings a model of beauty and loveliness, surrounded by clean, well-kept walks and outbuildings with a cool, green, shady playground. I took notice as I entered all the doors and windows were thrown open and so many sentries were walking to and fro apparently on the alert, but I put on a bold front and not receiving any challenge I soon reached the top of the winding stairway and knocking at the door of the fifth grade room, I politely made my business known and the teacher, Miss Talbert, kindly invited me to a seat. Right here, Mr. Editor, I must confess I felt not a little abashed on coming in so very suddenly and meeting and looking over this little sea of clean, bright, promising, fidgety faces of fifty-two boys and girls; but after listening to a number of the exercises, which were both interesting and instructive to me, my fright gradually wore off and I became reconciled and grew easy and comfortable, and wished I was young again, for my thoughts began to wander back into the dim past and the pleasant memories of my boyhood school days began to return to me when I surveyed the old blackboard and heard that familiar whisper from boys and girls. The same antics and spirit of restlessness pervades the school room among the children of the present day as of the past, no improvement along these lines as I could see from the old method, but not for a moment do I wish my readers to imagine I would have the world, our world, set back to the old days, for the present as a whole is always better than the past. I found the school room of Miss Talbert's clean, bright, cheerful and comfortable and the teacher, I should judge, to be an industrious, painstaking instructor and her method of conveying her ideas to others simple, plain and practical, and her order and discipline excellent. At recess I was much interested in the pupils marching into their respective rooms with so much military precision, order and quietness, which reflects much credit upon teacher and children. I met Prof. Signs by accident as I was about leaving the school room. An introduction to this well-known educator I considered quite an honor, but from his warm handshake and the bright, cheerful welcome he gave me, persuades me to believe he is a gentleman and worthy of the high and honored position he is entrusted with, and if there can be any advancement and improvement along the educational lines of Medford's popular schools they will, as in the past, continue to advance with the assistance of his able corps of teachers keeping the progress, popularity and high standard it now enjoys, both in moral and educational training, always in the lead.
    In conclusion permit me to say since vacation time is over and the new school year has begun in earnest, Hurrah for Work should be the motto and watchword from each grade, and I hope sometime in the near future to be permitted to visit each grade of our city school and get acquainted, which I think is an individual duty required and should be more generally practiced by both patrons and friends, for without their assistance and encouragement and the industrious, punctual perseverance of the pupils of each grade there can be but little harmony or noticeable improvement and advancement with your children.

    Many changes undreamed of by us in 1876 have come about. Jacksonville and Ashland were the two principal trading points in the valley, and our exports and imports were freighted [by] teams to and from Roseburg and Crescent City, giving to our county a long and discouraging drawback to immigration and the development of her many diversified industries. In 1876 trade and exchange of produce for your many wants was the prevailing custom. Today everything is done on a cash basis. It has just taken thirty years to change our complete county. Politically it has changed from Democratic to Republican, for in 1876, a man's nomination was equivalent to an election. My first taxes were paid to Sheriff Manning of this county in 1878. James Birdseye was the first Republican sheriff elected in the county. I can recall but few of the business men of Jacksonville in 1876, but we gladly recall a few of the names whose forms are bent and are grey and grizzled with time. Among them we note J. Nunan, P. Donegan, P. J. Ryan, Mr. DeRoboam, J. R. Neil, Judge Prim, Judge Colvig, Judge Hanna, Adam Smith. There may be others that we have overlooked, but not intentionally. Time and space will not permit us to enumerate the names of the many prominent public men that have passed over the divide since 1876. It is hard for us to realize in these days how great a part they played in the settlement and civilization of our county.
Medford Daily Tribune, October 3, 1906, page 2. The October 2 issue, with the first installment of this article, is lost.


    MR. EDITOR:--Since coming to Medford I had been promising myself from time to time a short tour to the summit of our venerable peak, Roxy Ann, which faces our city about four miles northeast, with her hills and lowlands dotted with prosperous homes, graceful curves, and towering so lofty and gracefully above the valley. I have frequently, in passing, admired her, wondering how, when and where she came in possession of her historical name, Roxy Ann, but careful inquiry seems to say that the origin is conjectural, but appearances would indicate she had been scooped up out of our beautiful valley in the dim past by nature's mighty hand, but who cares, as long as she is carefully and everlastingly anchored and productive of an extensive rich coal mine. At this point, Mr. Editor, my promised visit to Roxy's summit occurred to me, and the annual outing season was coming to a close and I became seriously interested, nervous and fidgety about my day of sightseeing and recreation, and at once became a little alarmed for fear all the summer folks would return home and I would not be counted in the swim of fashionable life, so I resolved to go at once somewhere, if only for a day. Considering the late date, my situation and surroundings would not permit of my making a trip to any of the leading fashionable resorts and [I] would have to content myself with a day's outing in the vicinity of home, and as I have said I was some interested in our home, Roxy. I thought I would spend the day climbing her rolling, graceful curves, that look so near and yet so far from the city, and see what lay on the other side of her towering summit. So last Monday morning was the day appointed for me to start on my day's outing. My first thought was to break the news gently to Mrs. M., because I had been keeping this jaunt a profound secret to the family, but in the meantime had been unusually thoughtful, kind and courteous to her and getting everything in apple-pie order for my day's absence, Well, at the evening meal the bomb exploded, revealing my intentions and arrangements for my day's outing, and to my surprise and disappointment came a positive remonstrance from Mrs. M,, saying my advice to you is to cancel this long, lonely, adventuresome day's journey and stay at home, keep company with the bucksaw and wood pile, and you will find recreation plenty, for a while. Everything except suicide was thought of, and my manly patience and forbearance was taxed almost beyond control, and I do believe old pioneer Job would have lost his reputation for patience under such trying circumstances, but I did not, for I'm an angel when it comes to patience and forbearance. I just simply replied: "I thank you, Mrs. M., for your seasonable advice, but I cannot consider it for a moment at this late date nor would I listen to Dr. Keene, William Bryan, nor would the presence of a furious Iowa cyclone interfere with my plans." For I was determined to absent myself from the city's hustle, bustle, dust and heat, and escape for a day the smoke from her mills and factories, the life of our city. So I set out as early as possible after a hasty breakfast with two hard-shell biscuits, a half section of the tourist's favorite, the old, reliable, indigestible bologna sausage, as a noonday lunch and two bottles, one for colic, sunstroke, snakebite or any emergency that might suddenly or unexpectedly arise, and the other just half filled with just common Medford water, kind of a ballast for the other hip pocket, which was the cause of my losing so much valuable time and patience in getting hold of the right bottle, when only imaginary emergencies existed. Well, I walked out into the road minus coat, tie and socks, determined to keep cool for one day and resemble a genuine tourist if possible. How natural it is for a lazy fellow starting out afoot for an outing to look for a ride, but not a sign of a wagon could I see going or coming my way, but as I had been told before leaving the city that the distance was only about nine miles, I could easily make the trip in the specified time of one day and I resolved to walk one way at least. So I continued on my way as rapidly as possible in the cool freshness of the morning over the red-hot, dusty roads and through long, winding lanes, but all these marks of civilization were soon passed and I was left to the mercy of a rough, pathless course; but like all Missourians had to keep up a great deal of whistling to keep up courage and I have not the least doubt that many a bear, deer, skunk and lizard received a severe fright at my thundering noise or slipping and flailing about. Occasionally I would halt for a short rest and view Medford, the beautiful, green oasis of the valley below, feel of the tonic bottle, examine the cork, for I was on the alert, as I expected to meet sudden and unexpected emergencies, which was about every fifteen minutes or oftener. It was not long before I reached the tall firs and pines, which rose so high into the air on all sides, telling me I was nearing my coveted destination, the summit. About four hundred yards farther on I caught the first glimpse of the green carpet of the intervening summit--at 11:30 a.m., four hours and a half walk, scaling the ancient peak from her base to the summit. We shall always consider this schedule time for a Missouri tenderfoot, invalid tourist. But for being an indefatigable walker I would never have accomplished so marvelous a task. My next thought was lunch and rest for one hour under the cool, broad, shady branches of one of our dear old Roxy's stately firs. For on reaching my destination I was tired, worn, hollow-stomached, weary-headed and felt as though I was homeless, friendless and a lone wanderer among the tall firs, pines and the expectation of meeting a ghost of old Indian Chief Sam, or of some of his braves, who still stand guard over his once happy hunting grounds on the summit of this princely peak. The day was ideal--clear and smokeless-- and I had an excellent view of our county, her beauty and fertility, when her summer and golden-hued autumn loveliness is at her zenith. I had an elegant, uneventful climb and I consider my trip worth a lifetime, but if I should go again I should prefer a ride home, at least, in a cushion chair. There may be invalid tourists hunting for other worlds to conquer, but I am not longing for other peaks to climb.
Medford Mail, October 5, 1906, page 3


    MR. EDITOR:--Since I last wrote you of my distressed condition due to my short experience in picking up plums, I feel very grateful on this bright, cheerful, autumn morning of informing my friends and the many readers of the favorite, newsy, family week, the Mail, of being fully recovered. The XXX liniment worked like a charm, removing as the orchardists will say all imaginary pains and aches, and straightening my bent back, and my knee cap or knee pan has worked back to its natural position. All these welcome, pleasant, unexpected changes in so short a time is certainly a miraculous freak of nature and I feel as though I was credited with a new lease of life, for my physical condition seems to be in a strong, vigorous stage of life, so much I at once reconsidered my future course and resumed plum picking again in Mr. Lozier's orchard or what is known as the Thomas fruit orchard, three miles west of Medford, with my wages raised, a pleasant, three-mile walk and the kind, thoughtful promise from Mr. L. of a future position for 1907. This I will take under advisement, read and reflect over during the long winter evenings. Such tokens of esteem, dear me, and to be pleasantly remembered to such lucrative positions away in the dim future is certainly very encouraging to new beginners, and now with everything as bright and promising about me it does seem so strange to me when a fellow seems to be getting along fairly well in life there will some confounded, unforeseen trouble arise to cross his pathway, cloud his mind, checker his everyday industrious, orderly life, causing him to almost believe he was born under an unlucky star, Well, I had no sooner received instructions from Mr. L. on a bright, crisp, autumn morning of last week and got deeply interested and absorbed in my pleasant calling, when the sound of footsteps nearby attracted my attention. Looking up I saw a good-looking, well-dressed gentleman approaching me very leisurely, sampling the plums and looking at things generally. I presume my position as a picker also attracted his attention, for I was flattened out on the ground like a government postage stamp and his first remark was, after exchanging compliments of the day, the future weather outlook, fruit prospects, etc. If there is any real, solid comfort in picking up plums you will certainly get your share as a Missourian. I accepted this as a compliment from this pleasant stranger, whose mission and destination was still a clouded mystery to me, and I was quite at a loss to know how to approach him, for I wanted his name, calling and his business in the plum orchard. We neither said anything for awhile. Finally I broke the silence, after getting nervous and fidgety trying to suppress my inquisitive questions. When I said to him, I think the man that set out this vast acreage of valuable land to these small, insignificant, worthless plums certainly made a financial mistake at least, which I presume the gentleman can now see without glasses. I continued to give him pointers on fruit, stock, hay and grain raising, and finally wound up by saying I thought the owner, whoever he may be, rather careless and indifferent in allowing his pretty farm to look so run-down and unattractive. This appeared to be enough "taffy," for the stranger got up, stretched himself and said: "I have never realized any great revenue from my plum orchard, but will in the near future make some changes by setting out different varieties of fruit in it." In a few moments this stranger who had been listening so attentively to my unsolicited suggestions was soon lost sight of in the screen foliage of his own orchard. My memory at once called up my boyhood days when my father's old ram sheep would come up unexpectedly and butt me down and keep butting me after I was down. So I wanted this capitalist and owner, Mr. Thomas as I have since learned his name to be, to kick me and keep on kicking, for I felt so indescribably small. A thought occurred to me that I would get permission of Judge Purdin, of Medford, to canvass his library for a printed form that I might clothe it with suitable language as an apology, which is certainly due from me, but could find nothing. I have since 'phoned to the gentleman. I am ready to fold my hands and am prepared to die. Now, Mr. Editor, this is the second snap that has crossed my path in life. First when we got married and our mother-in-law came to live with us, and my last was unsolicited suggestions to a capitalist in a plum orchard.
Medford Mail, November 16, 1906, page 2


    J. G. Martin:--"I had a letter this week from my aunt, in Clay County, Missouri, in which she stated that the snow was six inches deep and the 'beautiful' was still falling. Those fellows who are complaining of the few frosty mornings we have been having here ought to have a sample of the Middle West weather fired at them."
"Things Told on the Street," Medford Mail, November 30, 1906, page 1


    We started from Seventh Street at 8 p.m., and with a short ride of sightseeing in the city before leaving, I pointed out to him the three beautiful bank buildings, the Lawton and Hubbard bricks, the Moore brick block in West Medford, the new brick post office and telegraph building, and the pretty, attractive, eight-room North School building, in the distance, with countless new residences, clean streets, cement and plank sidewalks, telegraph and telephone lines, and the whiz of the automobile, which has become one of the fixed attractions of Medford in the past three years. Medford's progress and development has increased her population and valuation of property one half since your humble writer became a resident three years ago. We then started north and were soon clear of the city limits, but our team was brought to a sudden halt by the shrill whistle from the P.&E. train which came thundering along for Medford, with a full coach of passengers. This is another new enterprise and one of the most gigantic, far-reaching enterprise that has ever actually developed in the Rogue River Valley, and now traverses our valley for twelve miles. Well might we, of our city and county, rejoice and doff our hats in humble appreciation for the energy and go-aheadiveness of this new railroad company's great financial undertaking, for the building of this road we think will be the key that will unlock the great storehouse of Jackson County's wealth, and that we may not only hear but use the long-felt want of this great development, not alone to our city, but the bright and promising future of all Southern Oregon.
J. G. Martin, "Progress of a Few Years," Medford Mail, July 26, 1907, page 3


    Being a brief account of my pleasant experience for a couple of hours' walk in company with two of Medford's popular grandmothers.
    Last Monday morning I stepped out on the sidewalk in front of our place on North C Street for a couple of hours' stroll, which my calm patient nature is so fond of enjoying, and to note the rapid changes that are taking place from day to day in our restless city, and give my impaired health the benefit of these balmy, sunshiny autumn days, which Rogue River Valley somehow is so favorably adapted to. I had no sooner set my No. 9 shoes on the walk when two attractive, neatly dressed ladies came walking leisurely along talking and laughing, and apparently enjoying the sunny side of life in the late autumn sunshine. I at once recognized them as two of our most estimable grandmothers, whose acquaintance we are delighted to enjoy. I at once saluted them with one of my most humble and polished bows, that but few Missourians are gifted with. They stopped and returned the compliment by inviting me to accompany them on their walk. I hesitated, for I felt so measly small and unworthy of this honor, but after recovering from the sudden shock, I says to myself if the age of 61 years doesn't entitle [a] fellow of my fashionable cloth to accompany two of Medford's modest and most estimable grandmas around a few blocks of our city, what amount of grey hair will. Well, we walked and talked and talked and walked and we became very enthusiastic in our recollections over the old days of the dim and trying past when they, as mothers, toiled late and early to raise their children properly and battled the dangerous
side of pioneer life, and the grandmas of today find it a pretty difficult task to accustom themselves to the present rapid changes of dress, fashions and customs. But we suppose we must be content and patiently abide by the changes, for we have reached the summit and are now traveling on the down grade on the shady side of life. And then I looked at their bent forms, feeble footsteps and frosted hair and into those cheerful but wrinkled faces and dim eyes, where still traces of the beauty and charming smiles of other days still linger.
    I could not suppress the manly tear for one of their number that has preceded them, and that was so near and dear to the writer and my memory at once carried me back to the few brief years when these were the gay, attractive, innocent school girls, when life was full of hope, but time has changed them to the venerable grandmas and [they] are now as the withered summer rose of the past, but the sweet fragrance of their womanly character and worth clings to them as ever, and are indelibly impressed in our hearts as priceless mementos of the past. Then patient reader let us bear and forbear with our dear grandmothers in their short span of life, for it is to them we owe our existence, and that we should teach our children to honor, love and respect their dear affectionate grandma, for we can't think a home is complete without one, and I can't call to memory the hours that have passed so pleasantly as those passed in company with these two estimable grandmothers of our city, on that beautiful autumn day.
Medford Mail, November 22, 1907, page 3




    I felt pretty despondent, sick, blue and lonesome Tuesday of last week so I hiked away for new scenery and a brief visit with Mrs. Logan, the popular teacher, and her forty clean, bright, promising, industrious pupils of the 6th grade of our North School, but I must confess on the start I have neither space nor language at command to express the pleasure and satisfaction enjoyed in that brief space of time. I was surprised at the magnificent order kept by this teacher with so little effort and friction, and I became much interested while there listening to the methods of teaching many class exercises and would briefly suggest to the parents and guardians of the training and educational development of their children's future to pause for a moment in their busy lives and say I will give a couple of hours to mingle socially and inquiringly with the departments and learn the progress of my children in their various studies in this bright, clean, cheerful place of learning, and should you have any of the many symptoms your humble writer was afflicted with Tuesday they will quickly be dispelled and should. you be so fortunate as to be in a healthy, happy mood you will still be made happy by your presence and a kind cheerful word of encouragement to teachers and pupils which we think is a plain duty we justly owe to our city schools.
Medford Mail, February 7, 1908, page 1


    J. G. Martin has a badly sprained ankle, caused from stepping off the narrow sidewalk into a thick patch of weeds that grows so luxuriously from each side of the streets. This is what a fellow generally gets in his pioneer days by being polite and modest to the ladies in giving them all the walk. In the future he will be a middle-of-the-road man if a collision is inevitable.
"Local and Personal," Medford Mail, July 31, 1908, page 5

    By J. G. Martin.
EDITOR POST, JACKSONVILLE, ORE.
    I was made the recipient of a most delightful surprise Friday morning in the nature of a kind thoughtful invitation from my unexpected friend, visitor to the city, Mr. A. D. Wilde of Pasadena, Calif., to accompany him for a few days' ride to the Antioch country, where he has land interests that he wished to investigate. We left the busy city of Medford at 5 a.m. wrapped in its morning nap, and in order to get all the pleasure of sightseeing and enjoyment possible from our limited time our route led us out on the smooth Jacksonville road that we might make a circuit of the Rogue River Valley proper, and give my California friend an early morning glimpse of our earthly paradise, dotted on the right and left by cities whose church steeples could be seen in the distance glistening in the early sunrise, with modern city and farm residences nestling among groves of ornamental trees and clean fruit orchards, surrounded by alfalfa and grain fields, with the valley checkered with endless lanes and newly improved county roads, which my California friend acknowledged, though with some reluctance, surpassed Southern California for pure air cleanliness and thorough cultivation.
    We had a remarkable fine clear view of Jacksonville, our beautiful historical county seat, from the Hanley Butte nestled among the shady groves of the foothills 5 miles west in the distance whose place and name will always hold the key to Southern Oregon's pioneer history.
    Our next place of importance was suburban city of Central Point, which from the many newly painted business and residential buildings, cement walks, new steel water tank and a general development of the surroundings the traveler would be led to believe he was passing through a new city of a few years building, which my friend remarked was the most centrally located place for a big city he had seen in the valley. This remark caused a little coolness between us, for I at once thought of my home in swift Medford, 5 miles in the distance.
    But the most attractive fascinating sight to be seen by us and one that caused us to halt was the big, clean, thrifty, heavily loaded apple and pear orchards on Bear Creek, one mile north of Central Point, whose surface seemed to be as clean smooth as a fashionable house carpet, for there was a perfect sameness as far as the eye would carry you. We noted many new houses being carved out of the chaparral and oak grub thickets, by some ambitious Missourian, we supposed. We halted in the middle of the Bybee bridge that spans the beautiful Rogue, that my friend might see her clear crystal water and get a glimpse of her speckled trout. We found the Modoc Orchard and Development Company of the north side of Rogue River making many permanent improvements and changes on their newly acquired property by planting out 50-acre pear orchard, removing old landmarks of plum and brier thickets, dilapidated worm fences, grading and encircling their entire tract with a post-and-wire rabbit-proof fence, with a new farm residence, barn outbuildings under construction, and with the extinction of those old familiar scenes in our absence of 3 months makes us feel as a stranger in a strange country. We found the stretch of adobe county road leading around the base of north Table Rock, once noted for its many cuss words and breakdowns, is in a fine smooth condition for travel.
    In our many brief calls during the day at the pleasant farm residences in upper Sams Valley, where cheer, comfort and productiveness appears to abound, we never saw nor heard of any fruit-blight, but the little red-cheeked apple, purple plums, pear, promising fields of grain, corn and hay were much in evidence of our country's prosperity.
    We reached Medford at 6 p.m., tired and travel-stained, but felt well repaid for our strenuous day's trip of sightseeing, with my California friend completely infatuated with what he saw of the famous Rogue River Valley.
Jacksonville Post, June 11, 1910, page 4

Editor Medford Sun:
    Sir--I have just returned home from spending two days very pleasantly visiting the hospitable Missouri farmers of the fertile, green, breezy sections known as the Antioch, Chaparral and Mountain districts, about sixteen miles north of Medford, my former home of twenty-five years' continuous residence. I found black mud, red mud, gray mud, but the deepest mud I found on the road between the swift city of Medford and the town of Central Point, and its present muddy condition pleasantly reminds me of the old mossback town of McMinnville away back in the 'sixties. The balance of long stretch of county road was sloppy and rough, but not mirey. Thanks to our ex-county commissioner, Joshua Patterson, and his able assistance for the noticeable improvements on the county roads generally, and more especially are we thankful to the honorable county court for the building of a fine, smooth, graded road of the most improved method on the long stretch of adobe country leading around the base of the upper Table Rock, an indescribable improvement so long and patiently waited for by the traveling public, that serves the the entire valley.
    I was much surprised to see so much stir and activity among the farmers at this season of year. Nothing sleepy, dormant nor mossback among those patient, progressive citizens. I found their barns with plenty of feed, stock looking well and their tables covered with the many good, toothsome things to eat, a warm, cheerful fire and the Evening Tribune-Apologist [the Medford Mail Tribune] much in evidence to welcome the weary traveler. We cannot but think this speaks volumes for the productiveness and hospitality of a country. I noticed many preparing their ground to enlarge their orchards with commercial varieties of fruit, principally pears and apples, for this seems to be their natural home, soil, climate and protected from the north winds, the whole valley being surrounded by low foothills.
    There are many small fruit orchards in this vicinity that were planted away back in the 'fifties that are still thrifty and bear annually, many being of commercial varieties. Strange to say, among the prominent farmers who have borne their share of disappointment and hot-air promises for the upbuilding and betterment of this fertile valley and rolling hills for the past third of a century, we append the following names: Mrs. Morris Case, Rodgers brothers, M. A. Houston, Waler Chapman, Glass brothers, H. Richardson, William Jones, John Gregerson, O. Vincent, William Davis, Mrs. Jane Ragsdale, Roe Gordon, postmaster; Robert Dearman, E. D. Wilhite and sons, G. W. Stacey, Mrs. James Rodgers, Benjamin Haymond. But I note in my six years' absence and now traveling over the country that it is changing quite rapidly from an isolated chaparral, jackrabbit-infested section of our county to a prosperous farming, stock and fruit-raising district.
    The long-anticipated wishes of those good citizens are about realized with good winter roads, telephone and rural free delivery service, but one more very important request these ambitious citizens demand, and we think should be granted by the honorable county court, is the building of a free bridge across the Rogue at the old Jackson place, about ten miles above the Bybee bridge. This would give the people connection with the Pacific and Eastern railroad at Eagle Point, a distance once across of about six miles east of the north Table Rock, and would serve a big country for the transportation of their varied farm products and the development of the hidden mineral wealth that has been barely touched in this favored district.
Medford, February 9, 1911.
Medford Sun, February 10, 1911, page 5

J. G. MARTIN.

Story of Rogue Valley Pioneer
by J. G. Martin, Sage of North Medford

DIED.

TOO MUCH SMOKE IN COUNCIL

    Medford, Or., Aug. 19.--J. G. Martin, a resident of Jackson County 50 years, surprised his many friends by returning to this city with a bride from Berkeley, Cal., whom he met through the agency of a Los Angeles matrimonial bureau. Mr. Martin was sent a picture of Mrs. Alice Sedgewick, 66 years old, of Berkeley, Cal., and was so taken with her appearance that he left for that city immediately, and, after a courtship of three days, the two were married.
    Mr. Martin, who is 66 years old, came to Medford in the early '60s, homesteaded a large tract of land, which he recently sold at a generous figure. Mrs. Sedgewick had lived in Berkeley with Mr. and Mrs. E. L. Berg for several years. They were welcomed to their new home by a large number of old pioneer friends.
    "We both decided," said Mr. Martin, "that we were tired of living alone and would go hand in hand through the remainder of our lives."
Eugene Guard, August 19, 1913, page 6

    Medford, Or., Sept. 20.--The funeral of Joseph G. Martin, who passed away Thursday evening, aged 72, was held in this city Sunday afternoon. Mr. Martin came to Oregon with his parents in 1852 by ox team from Ohio, locating near McMinnville. After an extended experience in the mining regions of other states Mr. Martin returned to McMinnville in 1864, just in time to vote for Abraham Lincoln for President.
Oregon Journal, Portland, September 20, 1916, page 13


    Old settlers in this vicinity were very sorry to hear of the passing of J. G. Martin in Medford a few days ago. "Uncle Joe," as he was familiarly known in these parts, resided among us for several years, during which time he won the high esteem of all who met him.
"Table Rock Tablets," Medford Mail Tribune, September 23, 1916, page 5