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The Infamous Black Bird Southern Oregon History, Revised


Southern Oregon Newspapers
Especially the Mail Tribune.

FIRST NEWSPAPERS OF SOUTHERN OREGON
AND THEIR EDITORS

By GEORGE H. HIMES
    The first paper in Oregon south of Salem was the Umpqua Weekly Gazette,* a five-column folio, the printed page being 11⅞x18 inches, issued at Scottsburg,
Umpqua County, Oregon Territory, April 28, 1854--devoted to literature, agriculture, mining news, general intelligence, etc. The printing office was in Harris's new building, corner of Main and Yoncalla streets. Price, $5.00 a year; $3.00 for six months. Advertisements on reasonable terms; one square, 10 lines or less, first insertion, $2.00. Great reductions on yearly contracts. The first editor was Daniel Jackson Lyons; publisher, William J. Beggs. Politically the paper was Democratic. There was a sprinkling of Whigs in Umpqua County, but they were in a hopeless minority. The Republican Party was just emerging from its shell in some of the states east of the Mississippi River, but as yet not a member of that
party had strayed far enough away from home to get into Oregon Territory, so far as known. According to the custom of those days, job printing was solicited.
    The body type in the printer's language of that day was bourgeois, or nine-point of the present day; and the smallest type--that used in advertising, poetry, extracts, etc.--was minion, or seven-point of the present time.
    Mr. Lyons was born in Cork, Ireland, March 28, 1813, and came to the United States with his parents in 1826, who settled in Louisville, Kentucky. As a lad in Ireland he was being educated for the priesthood in the Roman Catholic Church; but having one eye destroyed by a stone thrown by a playmate, his plans for life were changed and he learned the trade of brush and broom maker. He followed that pursuit for a number of years in Louisville and other cities, and at length made his home in Lexington, Ky. Possessing a studious disposition, he put in all his spare moments in reading and studying music. On June 20, 1849, he was married to Miss Virginia Fayette Putnam, a sister of Charles F. Putnam, a printer, who came to Oregon in 1846. Mr. Lyons crossed the plains to Oregon in 1853 and settled in the vicinity of what is now the town of Drain. In the spring of 1854 he went to Scottsburg. His eyesight having become seriously impaired, a change of occupation became necessary. Then he acquired an interest in a hotel owned by Captain Levi Scott, the founder of the town, and with the aid of his wife managed that business successfully.
    About this time Captain Scott, being very anxious to exploit his embryo city, bought a second-hand newspaper plant in San Francisco which had been used about two years, and caused it to be shipped to Scottsburg, with William J. Beggs in charge as printer. Beggs brought a few exchanges with him from San Francisco and these were read to Lyons by his wife, and selections were thus made. Lyons dictated editorial notes and his wife wrote them out. On the first page, in the first column, was a poem entitled "Now-a-days," which I copy in full in order that those who hanker after the "good old times" to which our seniors are so fond of alluding, may see something of the changes which have taken place in the past sixty years:
   

"Alas, how everything has changed
    Since I was sweet sixteen,
When all the girls wore homespun frocks
    And aprons nice and clean;
With bonnets made of braided straw
    That tied beneath the chin--
The shawls laid neatly on the neck,
    And fastened with a pin.
   

"I recollect the time when I
    Rode Father's horse to mill
Across the meadow, rock and field,
    And up and down the hill;
And when the folks were out at work,
    As sure as I'm a sinner,
I jumped upon a bare-backed horse,
    And carried them their dinner.
   

"Dear me, young ladies now-a-days
    Would almost faint away
To think of riding all alone
    In wagon, chaise or sleigh;
And as for giving 'Pa' his meals
    Or helping 'Ma' to bake,
Oh, saints! 'twould spoil their lily hands,
    Though sometimes they make cake.
   

"When winter came the maiden's heart
    Began to beat and flutter;
Each beau would take his sweetheart out
    Sleigh-riding in a cutter.
Or, if the storm was bleak and cold,
    The girls and beaux together
Would meet, and have most glorious fun
    Regardless of the weather.
   

"But now, indeed, it grieves me much,
    The circumstance to mention.
However kind the young man's heart
    And honest his intention,
He never asks the girls to ride,
    But such a war is waged,
And if he sees her once a week--
    Why, surely 'they are engaged."'
   
    Mrs. Lyons is supposed to have been the author of this poem.
    The following was Mr. Lyons' first editorial:
"To our Subscribers and to the Men of Southern Oregon:
    "In launching forth our little bark on the waves of public opinion, and unfurling our sheet to the breeze, we trust that one and all will come forward, and extend to us, not only kindness and lenity, but the necessary support requisite to keep our boat afloat and in proper trim. The prospectus of the Umpqua Weekly Gazette has already been extensively circulated, and all know the grounds we intend to occupy. Liberality and justice is our motto, and our columns shall remain free from the stain of political acrimony, or sectional abuse.
    "We call particularly on the farmers to put their shoulders to the wheel, as the men who, in all civilized nations, make up the bone and sinew of society, and by their products furnish the nucleus, not only to the manufacturer, but to the commercial interests, of all lands.
    "We will wind up this article, not with a promise of things we never intend to perform, but with the assurance to all of doing everything in our power to render our sheet both useful and agreeable."
    A report of the Umpqua County Democratic Convention on April 22, 1854, is given, and in it is mentioned the nomination of S. F. Chadwick as county judge. This gentleman years later became very widely known in Masonic circles, and in 1870 was elected Secretary of State on the Democratic ticket, re-elected in 1874, and became the fifth Governor of the State of Oregon from February 1, 1877, to September 11, 1878, as a result of the election of Governor L. F. Grover to the United States Senate. He was also the first postmaster of Scottsburg. In referring to exchanges, Mr. Lyons says: "We must crave the indulgence of our readers for a few weeks until we get our exchange list properly established. Arrangements will be made, if possible, to get our exchanges by way of Port Orford, which will place us in possession of San Francisco dates some three or four dates in advance of any other paper in the Territory."
    An interesting clipping from the New York Herald appears as follows:
    "Our Relations with Japan.--What's to be Done Now?--According to the late news, the Emperor of Japan is dead, and it seems that the established law of respect to his memory requires that no official intercourse should be held with any foreign power for the space of two years; not even a foreign ambassador being allowed a reception until the expiration of that time.
    "This places our relations with Japan in a very awkward position. On the 14th of July last, Commodore Perry had an interview with the nobles of Japan, at Gorehama, a town near Uragua, on which occasion he presented his credential in a great state, and a letter from President Fillmore to the Emperor in a gold box; and on the 17th of July (1853) Commodore Perry sailed, promising to call for the Emperor's answer in the spring.
    "Now, what's to be done? The spring is at hand, and no foreign ambassador can be received for two years to come. And are the great objects of Commodore Perry's mission thus to be staved off? The opening of a mighty trade with Japan, a commercial treaty, and the conversion of all those heathens--are these great objects to be postponed for two whole years, on account of the death of a half savage, gouty old Emperor? Is Commodore Perry to be kept beating about in Japanese waters for two years, waiting for an answer to the President's letter?
    "Let President Pierce write a new letter, put it in a new gold box for the new Emperor, to be carried up to him, if necessary, at the point of the bayonet; and if the Emperor resists, let Commodore Perry be instructed to annex him and all his islands to the United States. Let the new Emperor understand, in three words, that he must trade or fight; and let Marcy prescribe his costume without delay."
    Look upon that picture, and then consider the conditions of the present day, and the relations of Japan and the United States.
    Parenthetically, perhaps, it may be of general interest to note that the English language was first introduced into Japan by a native son of Oregon, Ranald McDonald, who was born at Astoria in 1824. His father, Archibald McDonald, was a Factor in the Hudson's Bay Company, and his mother was an Indian woman, the daughter of Chief Cob-a-way, of the Clatsop tribe. He received the rudiments of an education through John Ball, a graduate of Dartmouth College, who came to Oregon in 1832, and taught a school at Fort Vancouver beginning in November of that year. He received additional education in Manitoba, and soon after he was out of his teens went to New York, took passage on a whaling vessel named the Plymouth, Capt. L. B. Edwards.** In shipping with this officer he made it distinctly understood that when he arrived at a point in the ocean where he wished to leave the ship he was to have that privilege. The place selected was in the sea of Japan, a few miles from the shore. Captain Edwards allowed him to take his best boat and supplied him with food and instruments to navigate with. He drifted at length to the beach, was captured by the Japanese and imprisoned. He soon made friends, however, and taught them the English language. Pupils of McDonald were among the interpreters on behalf of Japan when Commodore Perry first reached that country in 1852.
    In Mr. Lyons' opinion a wagon road from Scottsburg to Winchester was very important to the Umpqua Valley, as it not only would open a market to the farmer for his produce, but would enable the merchant to send out his goods at trifling expense, compared with the hitherto heavy rates of packing. At that time between seven and eight thousand dollars had been subscribed.
    A note is made of the arrival of a grampus between 50 and 60 feet long in the mouth of the Umpqua River. From his haggard appearance it is supposed that he ran out of provisions in doubling Cape Horn. An attempt was made to catch the monster, but without success. It was reported by some travelers from Coos County that a large whale had been cast ashore a few miles below the mouth of the Umpqua. This enabled the Indians there to fare sumptuously, as they devour whale blubber with the gusto of ravenous wolves.
    The advertisers in the first issue were as follows:
    George Haynes & Co., general merchandise, 575 Main Street; Isaac N. Hall, groceries, etc.; Merritt, Oppenheimer & Co., wholesale dealers in dry goods, groceries, provisions, hardware, boots and shoes, clothing, liquors, cigars, etc.; Scottsburg House was a hotel kept by Joseph Putnam, the father of Charles F. Putnam, who married Roselle, the oldest daughter of Jesse Applegate; Allan, Lowe & Co., commission merchants, San Francisco; Samuel S. Mann had a lot of groceries and kindred stuff which he assures the public is entirely new and was purchased on terms so favorable that he "cannot fail to suit purchasers."
    "Crosby's Hotel" was personally superintended by the proprietor, F. S. Crosby, who declared that the table was always to be supplied with the best that the market affords, and that "choice liquors and cigars were always available at the bar." In 1865 Mr. Crosby became an ardent temperance worker. His daughter was married to Rev. Myron Eells, a Congregational minister, at Boise City, Idaho, January 18, 1875. She is a widow now and lives at Union City, Mason County, Washington. Her oldest son is a graduate of Whitman College, and for a number of years has been the superintendent of the fine dairy farm of the late General Hazard Stevens, the son of General Isaac I. Stevens, who was the first governor of Washington Territory. This farm is located between Olympia and Tumwater, and no dairy farm in Oregon or Washington is more up-to-date in all respects.
    Hinsdale & Co., wholesale dealers in general merchandise, corner Main and Nelson streets, Scottsburg.
    The fast sailing schooner Frances Helen, Joseph B. Leeds, master, is announced to sail the first of May. The sloop Muckshaw, Capt. John Walker, will sail for the Coquille May 15th.
    Allan, McKinlay & Co. announce that the steamer Washington will make tri-weekly trips between Lower Scottsburg and the mouth of the Umpqua River. A good scow always in readiness for the transportation of cattle. This was a branch house of the firm of that name at Oregon City, which succeeded the Hudson's Bay Company at that place, established about 1836.
    William E. Lewis, boat builder and spar maker, on Mill Creek, Umpqua River.
    W. N. Wells, house carpenter and ship joiner, Main Street.
    B. F. Johnson, blacksmith and gunsmith; also horseshoeing.
    Local news very scanty. Paper, however, was well filled with a variety of miscellaneous items of interest.
    From the column headed "All Sorts of Paragraphs" the following items are selected:
    Cost of census of United States for 1790, $44,377; for 1850, $1,316,027.
    The world was to have been destroyed on May 10, 1854, the date fixed by the Millerites, of Boston.
    The mayor of a town in England sent a circular to all bakers in the corporation urging them, during the high cost of flour, to leave out the yeast, as he had reason to believe that it was the yeast which made the bread rise. That is not the cause now.
    A Democratic paper in Ohio, after grave deliberation over the question of reducing the accidents in connection with railroad travel, concludes that the only way to do so is to abandon the use of steam and run the cars by oxen.
    There are 13 individual banking houses on one street in San Francisco, all charging 3 percent per month for money, and often more.
    The American car is being admitted into England, it being regarded as superior to the English type.
    In the second number of the Gazette the advertisement of Addison C. Gibbs, attorney at law, appears. He was elected governor of Oregon in June, 1862.
    In No. 3 the names of those to whom contracts were given by the county commissioners for building the bridges on the Scottsburg-Winchester road appear as as follows:
    Elk Creek, Mr. Winchester, $1,500; Anyheim's, Capt. Hathaway, $150.00; foot of the Big Hill, John Frere, $75.00; No. 2, Sawyer's, and No. 2, Chadwick's, Casey & Frere, $150.00 each; Hudson's, Clark Hudson, $150.00; Burgess', Burgess, $150.00; Golding's, Golding, $150.00.
    In No. 4, the question of whether the Territory should become a state was being discussed.
    A large number of Indians were congregating on the Coquille. It was feared that this boded evil for the whites.
    Gold claims on the beach were reported as paying well, $12.00 to $40.00 per day being frequently made.
    Market prices: Flour, Chile, per pound 7 cents; bacon, 22¢; butter, 37½¢; sugar, China, 12½¢; crushed, 17¢; coffee, 17-20¢; tea, 60-65¢; dried apples, 15¢; brown soap, 14¢; soda, 50¢; saleratus, 15¢; raisins, per box, $5.50-$6.00.
    In No. 5 the marriage notice of Legrand H. Hill to Miss Bethenia Owens, May 4, 1854, appears. This lady, now known as Dr. Owens-Adair, living near Astoria, was present at the fiftieth Annual Reunion of the Oregon Pioneer Association on June 15, 1922.
    At the end of the first volume Mr. Lyons' connection with the Gazette ceased. Notwithstanding his almost total loss of sight, he continued in his hotel and brush-making business, assisted by his wife, until 1880, when he became totally blind. Then he turned his musical education to account, and in order to aid in making a living, frequently gave "walking concerts" on the pack trail between Scottsburg and the point now known as Drain, and also to Empire, being led along the way by a boy he had taken from an almshouse to raise. It must be remembered that hundreds of pack animals passed along these trails in early days; sometimes as many as 300 left Scottsburg for the interior in a single day.
    Mr. Lyons died in Marshfield, August 12, 1895, at the age of 69. His wife was a most efficient helpmeet in many ways. In addition to household duties and teaching her own seven children, she taught school for others from time to time, being among the earliest teachers in Coos County. She died on May 10, 1907, aged 78.
    The second editor of the Gazette was G. D. R. Boyd, Mr. Beggs continuing as publisher and printer. The new arrangement did not continue long, it being evident that the newspaper business under the conditions existing in what was then Umpqua County, now included in Douglas County, was not profitable, and therefore the paper was suspended in September, 1855. A few weeks later the plant was bought by Col. William G. T'Vault, in company with two men named Taylor and Blakely. Then it was shipped to Crescent City and packed to Jacksonville, where the Table Rock Sentinel, with T'Vault as editor, was issued on November 24, 1855.
    Soon after the paper was started Editor T'Vault was charged with being "tainted with abolitionism." This was too much for the stout-hearted old Democrat--a native of Tennessee, too. Hence he wrote a personal article over his own signature and printed it on the editorial page, denying the allegation in the most positive manner, and challenged his accusers to meet him "on the field of honor," so common in the southland from whence he came. Being known as a good shot, his challenge was declined. Among other things he said: "If I thought there was one drop of abolition blood in my veins I would cut it out." That declaration was wholly satisfactory, and thereafter until the end of his life there was never any question regarding his political faith. His connection with this paper ceased in 1859, after the name was changed to The Oregon Sentinel. His next editorial experience was in 1863 with a paper called the Intelligencer, in Jacksonville, on a plant in that place first used by parties who started a paper called The Civilian, which died after a brief and fitful career--in fact, was a campaign sheet, as far as can be learned, issued in the interest of the National Democratic Party in 1859, in opposition to the regular Democratic Party. This enterprise failed in a few months, and was his last effort in connection with journalism.
    Colonel T'Vault was a notable character in Southern Oregon for many years, beginning in 1852, and had a varied experience as editor, lawyer, Indian fighter, explorer and miner. Moreover, before leaving Tennessee for Oregon he had some newspaper experience, and soon after his arrival at Oregon City in the fall of 1845, he was employed as the editor of the Oregon Spectator, the first issue of which was on February 5, 1846, at a salary of $300.00 a year. He only held the job, however, two months, as it was the policy of the Printing Association which owned the plant to eschew politics, and the uncompromising Democracy of T'Vault made that very difficult. He was also postmaster general of the provisional government of Oregon with a salary of $50.00 a year. The rate at that time between any Oregon post office and Weston, Mo., was 50 cents for a single sheet. At the end of nine months he resigned, saying that the receipts for that time had not been enough to pay the expense of transportation for one quarter.
    William Green T'Vault was of Scotch, Irish and French ancestry, and was born on March 23, 1806. He was married to Miss Rhoda Boone Burns, a native of Kentucky and a granddaughter of Daniel Boone, the famous Kentucky pioneer, in 1832. He and his wife and one daughter crossed the plains in 1845, and arrived at Fort Vancouver November 20th of that year. This family, as well as a number of other families, when in camp on the Malheur River where Vale now stands, were made to believe by Stephen H. Meek that a shorter route to the Columbia River at The Dalles ought to be taken than the one usually followed. In this these immigrants were misled and suffered a great deal in consequence. The route then followed has since then been called "Meek's Cut-off." Col. T'Vault died at Jacksonville, Oregon, February 4, 1869, as the result of an attack of smallpox.
    *The Gazette was the seventh newspaper in Oregon Territory, those preceding it being in the following order: Oregon Spectator, Oregon City, February 5, 1846; Oregon Free Press, April, 1848, Oregon City; The Oregon American and Evangelical Unionist, at a farm house, near present-day Hillsboro, June 7, 1848; The Western Star, November 21, 1850, Milwaukie, changed to Oregon Weekly Times June 5, 1851, after removed to Portland; Oregonian, December 4, 1850, Portland; The Oregon Statesman, March 28, 1851. The Spectator was the first newspaper upon the Pacific Coast as well as the first in Oregon, as it antedates the first paper in California by six months and ten days.
    **The Friend, Honolulu, Hawaii, December, 1848.
Oregon Historical Quarterly, March, 1923, pages 56-67


TRIBUNE WINNER PULITZER PRIZE
RECOGNITION FOR PUBLIC SERVICE DURING TURMOIL
Columbia University Trustees Announce Award of $500 Medal,
Coveted by All Newspapers of America
    NEW YORK, May 8.--(AP)--Differences of opinion in selecting the 1933 Pulitzer prize winners in history, as well as in drama and the novel, were disclosed today with the formal announcement of the full list of awards.
    In journalism, award for the most disinterested and meritorious public service rendered by an American newspaper during 1933 went to the Medford (Ore.) Mail Tribune for its campaign against unscrupulous politicians in Jackson County, Oregon. The prize is a $500 gold medal.
    The advisory board of the Columbia School of Journalism named "The People's Choice," by Herbert Agar, for the history prize; "Lamb in His Bosom," by Caroline Miller of Baxley, Ga., for the novel prize, and "Men in White," by Sidney Kingsley as the best American play.
Two Novels Named.
    At the same time it was officially announced that the drama and history jurors had recommended other works to the advisory board.
    The differences over the selection of "Lamb in His Bosom" were explained by the jury with the assertion that it had submitted two titles: Mrs. Miller's book and "A Watch in the Night," by Helen C. White.
    Taking cognizance of a controversy stirred up by premature publication of the drama award, Columbia University made known that two of the three history jurors had voted for "Over Here," the fifth volume in the "Our Time" series by Mark Sullivan, while a third juror recommended no award be made. Likewise, it was revealed that the three drama jurors had unanimously recommended "Mary of Scotland," by Maxwell Anderson, as the best American play.
Right Not Questioned.
    The Columbia statements said that the drama and history jurors "have always understood that they were retained in an advisory capacity, and consequently they do not question the right of the advisory board to exercise its own judgment in making the award," but that in fairness to themselves they desired the public to know the recommendations made to the board.
    Awards of the Pulitzer prizes and traveling scholarships at commencement of 1934, as made by the trustees of Columbia University on the recommendation of the advisory board of the School of Journalism, May 7, were as follows:
A. Prizes in Journalism:
    1. For the most disinterested and meritorious public service rendered by an American newspaper during the year, a gold medal costing $500.
    Awarded to the Medford (Oregon) Mail Tribune for its campaign against unscrupulous politicians in Jackson County, Oregon.
    2. For distinguished service as a foreign or Washington correspondent during the year, the test being clearness and terseness of style, preference being given to fair, judicious, well-balanced and well-informed interpretative writing, which shall make clear the significance of the subject covered in the correspondence or which shall promote international understanding and appreciation, five hundred dollars ($500).
    Awarded to Frederick T. Birchall of the New York Times for his correspondence from Europe.
    Honorable mention:
    To John E. Elliott of the New York Herald-Tribune for his correspondence from Germany.
    To Harry Carr of the Los Angeles Times for his series of dispatches from Australia, Japan, China, and Philippines and Europe.
    3. For distinguished editorial writing during the year, limited to the editorial page, the test of excellence being clearness of style, moral purpose, sound reasoning and power to influence public opinion in what the writer conceives to be the right direction, due, account being taken of the whole volume of the writer's editorial work during the year, five hundred dollars ($500).
    Awarded to "Where Is Our Money?" by E. P. Chase, published in the Atlantic (Iowa) News Telegraph on December 2, 1933.
    Honorable mention:
    To "Why We Still Have Lynchings in the South," by Osborn Zuber, published in the Birmingham News on September 13, 1933.
    To "Strategic Gains" by Geoffrey Parsons, published in the New York Herald-Tribune on April 21, 1933.
    To "The Governor Sends Troops to Gallup" by E. H. Shaffer, published in the Albuquerque Tribune on August 31, 1933.
    To "The Freedom of the Press" by Casper S. Yost, published in the St. Louis Globe Democrat on November 2, 1933.
    To "Newspapers and the Code" by Douglas W. Swiggett, published in the Milwaukee Journal on July 25, 1933.
    To "Freedom of the Press" by an unknown writer, published in the New York American on October 9, 1933.
    To "Iowa's Disgrace" by James E. Lawrence, published in the Lincoln (Nebraska) Star on April 28, 1933.
    To "Some Aspects in the Administration's Program" by William R. Mathews, published in the Arizona Daily Star (Tucson, Arizona) on July 16, 1933.
    4. For distinguished example of a reporter's work during the year, the test being strict accuracy, terseness, the preference being given to articles that achieve the accomplishment of some public good commanding public attention and respect, one thousand dollars ($1,000).
    Awarded to Royce Brier of the San Francisco Chronicle for his account of the lynching of the kidnappers, John M. Holmes and Thomas H. Thurmond, published November 27, 1933.
    Honorable mention:
    To Eben A. Ayers, Andrew J. Clarke and Edward J. Kelley of the Boston bureau of the Associated Press, for their vigilance and accuracy in covering the kidnapping of Margaret McMath at Harwichport, Mass.
    To Edward J. Donohoe of the Times Leader (Wilkes-Barre, Pa.) for his able and convincing work in setting forth corruption in office on the part of members of the public school boards in Luzerne County.
    To H. Ellwood Douglass of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch for his accounts of the epidemic of encephalitis in St. Louis.
    To Meigs O. Frost of the New Orleans Times-Picayune for his reporting of the case of Pearl Ledet, accused of causing a death in an automobile accident case.
    To Charles J. Truitt, correspondent of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, in covering the district of Ocean City and Salisbury, Maryland, after the severest storm in the history of the eastern shore had severed all communications.
    To Frederick Woltman of the New York World-Telegram for clear, exact and understanding writing in reporting the status of various closed banks in suburban areas of New York after the national bank holiday.
    5. For a distinguished example of a cartoonist's work during the year, the determining qualities being that the cartoon shall embody an idea made clearly apparent, shall show good drawing and striking pictorial effect, and shall be intended to be helpful to some commendable cause of public importance, due account being taken to the whole volume of the artist's newspaper work during the year, five hundred dollars ($500).
    Awarded to Edmund Duffy of the Baltimore Sun for the cartoon "California Points with Pride--!" published November 25, 1933.
B. Prizes in Letters:
    1. For the best novel published during the year by an American author, $1,000.
    Awarded to "Lamb in His Bosom," by Caroline Miller, published by Harper and Brothers, New York, 1933.
    2. For the original American play, performed in New York, which shall best represent the educational value and power of the stage, $1,000.
    Awarded to "Men in White," by Sidney Kingsley, produced at the Broadhurst Theater during the season 1933-34, published by Covici-Friede, Inc., New York, 1933
    3. For the best book of the year upon the history of the United States, $2,000.
    Awarded to "The People's Choice," by Herbert Agar, published by Houghton-Mifflin Company, Boston, 1933.
    4. For the best American biography teaching patriotic and unselfish services to the people, illustrated by an eminent example, excluding, as too obvious, the names of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, $1,000.
    Awarded to "John Hay," by Tyler Dennett, published by Dodd, Mead and Company, New York, 1933.
    5. For the best volume of verse published during the year by an American author, $1,000.
    Awarded to "Collected Verse," by Robert Hillyer, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, 1933.
C. Traveling Scholarships:
    1. Three traveling scholarships, having the value of $1,500 each, to graduates of the School of Journalism, who shall have passed their examinations with the highest honor and are otherwise most deserving, to enable each of them to spend a year in Europe, to study the social, political and moral conditions of the people, and the character and principles of the European press.
    On the nomination of the teaching staff of the School of Journalism, the following were appointed:
    1. Fred Gruin of North Bergen, N.J.
    2. Harold A. Bezazian of Chicago, Illinois.
    3. Betty Turner of Oakland, Cal.
    Alternates:
    1. Mark J. Ginsbourg of Shanghai, China.
    2. Jerome I. Meyerberg of Newton, Mass.
    3. Mary Joanna Durham of Greencastle, Indiana.
    2. An annual scholarship, having the value of $1,500, to the student of music in America who may be deemed the most talented and deserving, in order that he may continue his studies with the advantage of European instruction, on the nomination of a jury composed of members of the teaching staff of the department of music in Columbia University and of the teaching staff of the Institute of Musical Art.
    Awarded to Percival Price of Ottawa, Canada.
    3. An annual scholarship, having the value of $1,500, to an art student in America, who shall be certified as the most promising and deserving by the National Academy of Design, with which the Society of American Artists has been merged.
    Awarded to Cathal O'Toole of Long Island City.
Medford Mail Tribune, May 8, 1934, page 1


The Pulitzer Award
    Yes, the Mail Tribune is still rather dizzy! This may be because its hat band is too tight. But we prefer to think it is because the old M.T. isn't accustomed to HONORS. (Look over our mail for the past year, and you will understand!)
    Many hours have passed since the award of the Pulitzer prize to this paper was released, but the shock still lingers. It's a pleasant shock--and how. But frankly it is difficult for the M.T. to realize that a committee of newspaper men, in far-off New York City, after making a survey for the entire country, actually picked out this "small town'' daily in Southern Oregon for stellar honors.
    It's hard to grasp. It does something to the blood pressure. One starts pinching oneself to see if it is really true. This isn't normal behavior. The Pulitzer newspaper prizes are awarded every year, and newspapers are supposed to take them in their stride. Our inability to do so, we repeat, we charge to the fact that during recent times, honors of any kind have been so rare. We weren't--and aren't--in proper training to receive any.
    HOWEVER--sufficient unto the day are the good tidings thereof. So without further ado the Mail Tribune announces it is tickled pink!
    It, undoubtedly, takes a newspaper to get the maximum bang out of a Pulitzer award. For it was established by one of the greatest newspaper men this country ever produced--FOR newspaper men, to be awarded BY newspaper men. That makes it almost exclusively a newspaper affair.
    Add to this fact that it is awarded for the "most meritorious and disinterested public service in the country" during a given year, and from a newspaper standpoint the thing is about PERFECT.
    For the aim of this newspaper--as well as every other newspaper worthy of the name--is to BE of real public service. To know that in the opinion of others competent to judge, it has rendered such service, is quite sufficient reward, without any gold medal attached.
    But the gold medal too will be welcome. For it will serve as a more pleasant reminder of those "dark days'' in the early part of 1933, than the records in this paper's archives. For those records deal with rather painful things--such as canceled subscriptions (when subscription money was sorely needed); with an advertising boycott (when advertising was skimpy enough already); with mob insurance, and armed guards in the composing room and at an average of at least one threatening letter in every eight hours.
    It was no joke for the M.T., or for this community, in those days. However the last thing we desire is to revive any of the gruesome details, which we, and we believe the people of Southern Oregon, wish to forget. Everyone in this neck of the woods knows all they want to know about them anyway, so we will spare our readers any further recapitulation at this time.
    Judging by the local reactions to date, everyone wants to know HOW it happened. We are told it is the first time a newspaper in a city of less than 35,000 people has ever received the Pulitzer prize. How come?
    Well, the Pulitzer committee made the award, we didn't. It is something for them to explain--if explanation is necessary--not for us. All this paper had to do with it, was to comply with a request from New York that we forward a collection of news and editorial clippings which would give a true picture of the strife and turmoil in Jackson County, during 1933. Perhaps between then and now someone sent the committee a box of extra fancy pears--or a gold-plated invitation to the Diamond Jubilee. We don't know. We don't even know who the members of the committee are, or where they came from.
    We merely know THIS: we are deeply grateful to them, and take this opportunity to assure them that the honor they have conferred will be a source of pride and inspiration to this newspaper, as long as it endures!
    We hope we haven't given the impression there is anything PERSONAL in this award. There isn't. The prize goes to no individual, or group of individuals, but to the paper itself. It is not what any one person did, but what the paper did, and that service was the contribution of EVERYONE on the payroll.
    So we think it only fitting that this column should thank them all at this time, for their hard work, courage, and loyalty during a most trying time, and assure them that while the gold medal will be received by Ye Editor--as medals are usually received by those who happen to be in command--it would never have been awarded had it not been for the privates in the ranks.
    And finally it would have never been awarded if this community, at the height of the crisis, had not given this paper such valiant support.
    We could fill this column with the names of citizens--lawyers, doctors, business men, preachers, rural editors (the Jacksonville Miner PARTICULARLY) and just plain volunteers, both men and women--without whose aid the job could never have been done.
    In the MASS they did more than we did, for in the last analysis, such affairs are settled and settled right--only by the forces of an aroused public opinion.
    But we repeat this isn't a state police prize, or a bar association prize, or a committee of safety prize, or a community prize, it is EXCLUSIVELY a newspaper prize.
    And it is as a NEWSPAPER that the Mail Tribune gets it. So--to the Pulitzer committee--to its loyal staff--to the splendid citizenship which is so justly Medford's pride--the Mail Tribune bows its somewhat battered head in--
    HEARTFELT THANKS!
Medford Mail Tribune, May 8, 1934, page 6


Medford Man's Paper Wins '34 Pulitzer Prize
    Robert W. Ruhl, editor of the Medford, Ore., Mail Tribune, which has been announced winner of the $500 Pulitzer award "for the most disinterested and meritorious public service rendered by an American newspaper during 1933." Ruhl's series of editorials were printed during a fight against Jackson County politicians. His newspaper fought a political group known as the Good Government Congress, thirty-three officers and members of which were arrested for crimes alleged to have been committed during the political feud. Llewellyn A. Banks, then editor of the Medford Daily News, was found guilty of second degree murder for slaying a constable who attempted to arrest him on a ballot theft warrant. This is the first time this award has been made to a Pacific Coast newspaper or to a daily not printed in a metropolitan city.
Calexico Chronicle, Calexico, California, May 8, 1934, page 1


Campaign for Cleaner Politics Gives Pulitzer Award to Editor
By LESLIE J. SMITH
    MEDFORD, Ore., May 10 (AP)--A straight-thinking newspaperman, who pitted clear editorial persuasion against the forces of political insurrection, directed the campaign which won for his paper the Pulitzer Prize for "the most distinguished and meritorious public service rendered by an American newspaper" in 1933.
    He is Robert W. Ruhl, 54-year-old editor of the Medford Mail Tribune and once a schoolmate of President Roosevelt at Harvard. He helped smash an upheaval in Jackson County which threatened guerrilla warfare in the first six months of 1933.
    Ruhl's fight began when Llewellyn A. Banks, 70, an orchardist, developed political ambition and bought a newspaper plant to aid his desires.
    Stirred into a violent temper by what he thought were gross wrongs perpetrated by city and county officials and fellow residents of the Rogue River Valley, Banks organized his "Good Government Congress."
    Through his paper, the Daily News, he harangued the citizens and pleaded for support. "Ropes and nooses" for some county officials were demanded.
    The first bombshell burst when 10,000 general election ballets were stolen from the county courthouse on the eve of a recount on charges of fraud.
    In addition to the ballot theft charge, Banks was the defendant at that time in two criminal libel cases, one criminal syndicalism charge, and 18 or 20 lawsuits. Banks published an extra edition of his paper declaring he would resist arrest.
    "We have now come to that great showdown," his paper asserted, "where blood is likely to be spilled."
    Members of the "Good Government Congress" threatened to "take over Jackson County."
    Banks' prediction of bloodshed materialized on the morning of March 16, 1933. Constable George Prescott of Medford walked up the steps of Banks' residence with a warrant for the man's arrest. A rifle bullet blew off the top of his head.
    "I shot Prescott," Banks shouted as he stepped over the prostrate body. "He was trying to force his way into my house as any burglar would!"
    Banks was sentenced to life imprisonment.
    "Militant journalism," so called, had no place in editor Ruhl's program. He won his case with expressions of calm, deliberate judgment.
Niagara Falls Gazette, May 10, 1934, page 7



Half a Century
with the Mail Tribune
A Memoir
   

By Cleve Twitchell
   
FOREWORD
    "Hey, you ought to write some of this stuff down," people would say. Do it while you're still here and able to remember.
    Well, I suppose somebody should. So, I decided to take a stab at it.
    This is a history of my years on the staff of the Mail Tribune newspaper of Medford, OR. I went to work there on Dec. 11, 1961, and retired on May 31, 2002. Another decade of freelance contributions followed. I published much of this material in 2005 under the title "Four Decades at the Mail Tribune." What follows has been updated and embellished with a new name, "Half a Century with the Mail Tribune."
Cleve Twitchell
September 2012
   
CHAPTER ONE--THE EARLY YEARS
    I came to Medford as a 24-year-old because there was a job open. I was hired via letter, telegram and telephone communication. I'd never seen Medford but was interested in a change of pace from my roots in New York and California. One thing led to another and I stayed for 40-plus years.
    I went to work for the Mail Tribune on Dec. 11, 1961. Company records would later show my anniversary date as Dec. 8, apparently because I arrived in town that day and filled out tax forms.
    I was hired as regional editor, in charge of about 30 country correspondents, mostly women. They sent in news from the smaller towns of the region, from Prospect to Yreka, from Gold Hill to Cave Junction. We even had one in Happy Camp, CA. They were paid about 15 cents a column inch for what material we used. I put out a regional page in the paper three days a week and wrote a column called "Regional Roundup." If a hard news story broke, I usually covered it myself. I traveled a lot, visited all the writers from time to time, attended city council and school board meetings. On one occasion I went to Butte Falls to cover its city council. They apparently had rarely seen a journalist before. After a while, the mayor announced he was turning the meeting over to me, figuring I must have something to say.
    Occasionally, a big story occurred on my beat. Part of the side of a mountain slid down a few feet near Tiller, uprooting some trees and rearranging the landscape. [Rock and Roll Mountain, February 1962.] The affected area was forest land, largely unpopulated. Later, there was a big controversy in Butte Falls involving the schools. The board declined to renew the grade school principal's contract. His friends raised a stink, voted down the budget, etc. Eventually, the district superintendent agreed to leave town. Peace was restored.
    The news staff of that era (1961-63) consisted of Eric W. Allen Jr., managing editor; Earl Adams, city editor; Harry Chipman, wire editor; Dick Jewett, sports editor; Olive Starcher, society editor; George Bell, Medford city hall reporter; Joe Cowley, Jackson County courthouse reporter; Peggyann Hutchinson, reporter and church news editor, and Bob Vroman, photographer (succeeded a year later by Larry Holman). Many of us filled in for others on their day off. I acted as sports editor on Tuesday, and as a reporter and proof reader on Saturday nights, working with Bell, who filled in for Chipman that day. Bell would leave the paper after a couple of years, and I took over the job of laying out the Sunday front page. Page 1A was one of the few "dummied" in those days. For many other pages, composing room personnel put in whatever type fit.
    Robert W. and Mabel Ruhl owned the newspaper. While he still had the title of editor and publisher, Mr. Ruhl, the 1934 Pulitzer Prize winner, had semi-retired by the time I arrived and was living in San Francisco. I never met him. Gerald Latham, business manager (later general manager), acted as publisher, and Eric Allen acted as editor.
    We were in the hot metal days. Stories were typeset on linotype machines. News staffers used typewriters to write stories and headlines on sheets of paper, edited copy with a pencil and sent it all to the composing room in a pneumatic tube. The composing room staff was two or three times as large as that of the newsroom. On it were some people who would stay for many years and retire here, among them George Longie, Elmer Minne and J. Richard Morgan.
    The Mail Tribune was published Monday through Friday evening and on Sunday morning. There was no Saturday paper. This schedule somehow spawned the urban myth that the Mail Tribune was owned by Seventh-day Adventists. The newspaper in Klamath Falls followed the same schedule, but I don't believe the Adventist myth ever materialized over there.
    The Ruhls, as Medford Printing Co., also owned KYJC Radio, and the midday radio newscasts were often done from the Mail Tribune newsroom.
    My starting salary in 1961 was $105 a week. You could rent a house for $85 a month, have lunch at North's Chuck Wagon for $1 and get a glass of port at the Brave Bull for 40 cents, so it was a living wage.
    I was at work at the Mail Tribune when a major national story broke in November 1963, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. It was a Friday. George Bell, on the wire desk that day, announced the news. At least one staffer shed tears. Others took it more calmly and pondered what effect JFK's murder would have on the country and the world. In general we all found it hard to keep working, but managed. The TV networks suspended regular programming for several days, although we had only two channels in those days. Friday evening's Mail Tribune headline read "Kennedy Assassinated." On Sunday morning: "Kennedy to Be Buried at Arlington." At this writing, I still have a copy of that Sunday front page.
    I share a memory with a man named Alex Murphy. He was the first manager of the Mount Ashland Ski Area, then under construction. He was driving to the Mail Tribune to deliver a ski area photo when he heard the news on the radio. He appeared at my desk, apologized for his poor timing but explained that he was already en route when he heard about JFK. Alex later became manager of Salishan Lodge on the northern Oregon coast and then the Heathman Hotel in Portland. We would cross paths on occasion, and talk about that day.
    A very significant change in my role at the Mail Tribune came about in 1964. Robert Ruhl officially stepped down as editor. (He died in 1967.) Eric Allen became editor, and Earl Adams became managing editor. They created a new position, news editor, which would include the duties of city editor, and appointed me to it. Marjorie O'Harra succeeded me as regional editor.
    I held that title for the next 19 years, although the duties changed from time to time. For the remainder of the 1960s, I was in charge of most local news coverage. I was basically an editor/reporter. The staff was small and everyone had assigned duties, so I sometimes wound up covering stories myself because there was no one to whom to delegate an assignment. But when big news broke, everyone pitched in.
    Major stories during that time included the drastic flood of 1964. We all put in long hours. During the height of the flood I had the opportunity to be taken up in a small plane. The pilot literally opened the side of the plane so that I could try to shoot a photo of the huge lake that covered much of the vicinity of the Rogue River. It was rainy and dark, and the photo did not turn out well. A couple of days after the flood waters had receded, a bush pilot walked into the newsroom and asked if anyone would like to fly downriver to Agness with him. I volunteered. It was a two-seater plane, pilot in front, passenger in back. The pilot delivered mail to remote cabins. He would zoom down toward the cabin, open a window, throw out a mail sack so that it would land near the cabin, then quickly gun the motor and climb upwards to avoid crashing into a canyon wall. At another point he landed in a field near the remote community of Marial. I quickly realized the plane was rolling (bumping actually) along the ground heading toward a wooded area. No problem. The pilot let the rear of the plane swing around so that we were soon rolling backwards. Then he stepped on the gas. That brought the plane to a halt. I again had a camera with me and did manage to get some aerial photos of flood damage along the Rogue, some that were printable.
    A tragicomic story from 1964 involved a man [Sig Digree] who suffered major losses twice. His business in Anchorage, Alaska, was demolished in the big earthquake they had there in March of 1964, the one that also spawned a tsunami that devastated downtown Crescent City, CA. So, he moved to Shady Cove and built a home on the Rogue River, which was wiped out by the December flood. Just getting to Shady Cove was tricky for quite a while. The flood took out the Shady Cove bridge and damaged the one at TouVelle Park among others. You had to drive to Gold Hill to get across the Rogue.
    There were the presidential primaries of 1964 and 1968 which attracted visits from Nelson Rockefeller, Bobby Kennedy, Eugene McCarthy and Richard Nixon, among others (see Chapter Four). Election nights were busy times. Jackson County used the computers at Harry & David for a number of years until acquiring its own equipment.
    Following up on an earlier interest in Unidentified Flying Objects, I wrote a 13-part series for the Mail Tribune called "The UFO Saga." It later came out in book form.
    I fought a battle with cancer starting in late 1965 which cost me quite a bit of work time. But the outcome was a happy one. I had chemotherapy periodically until 1971. My handprint is on the cancer survivors' wall at the Providence Medford Medical Center (see Chapter Ten).
    During that era I was also Harry Chipman's backup as wire editor. When in 1970 Harry left to become Jackson County clerk, I jumped at the chance to take over his job. The wire editor really shaped much of the paper in those days, laying out much of the front page. Another reason was workload. I had played a major role in the launching of Tempo in late 1969 (covered in Chapter Two). Serving as both city editor and Tempo editor often meant a 60- to 70-hour week. Switching to the wire desk cut that down somewhat. Although my focus changed, I retained the title of news editor. Later it would become news and Tempo editor.
    I inherited one amusing situation as a result of the switch. Jim Weaver, a frequent candidate for Congress (he eventually beat John Dellenback to gain a seat in the House) would stop to see Harry whenever he wanted to approach the Mail Tribune about coverage. Jim was a Democrat and Harry was active in the Democratic Party locally. After Harry left, Jim would go to the same desk as before. So I got him, even though I was on the wire desk and no longer had much to do with local coverage!
    The continuing controversy over the war in Vietnam was another major story during that era. I wrote a lot of headlines about the war, and efforts at peace, including Henry Kissinger's famed "Peace is at hand" followed by "Peace is not at hand." One of my newer colleagues, helping out, asked if I thought it would be OK to publish a head he'd written saying "Same old garbage at Paris peace talks." Hmm. Probably not a good idea.
    And there also was the historic moon landing in 1969 by Neil Armstrong and crew. There's an odd quirk here. If you search the 1969 Mail Tribune archives for a headline saying "Man lands on moon," you won't find it. That's because of the event's timing. It happened on a Sunday. The Sunday morning paper, printed late Saturday night, reported that the landing was imminent. The next edition wasn't until Monday afternoon. By then, Armstrong and company had finished their work and headed for home. So Monday's headline said something like "Moon liftoff successful."
   
CHAPTER TWO--TEMPO
    The date was Nov. 7, 1969.
    The movie "Midnight Cowboy" was playing at Medford's Holly Theater. A prime rib dinner at the Candle Room of the Medford Hotel cost about $4.50 and Sunday dinner at Newberry's was $1.57. Most Rogue Valley television viewers got just two channels, but that was about to change.
    Readers of the Mail Tribune noticed something different about their newspaper that evening. It included a modest, 16-page supplement with television listings, information about a few Rogue Valley events, what was playing at the movies, a listing of local radio stations and their programs, some wire-service entertainment news, and a dining column.
    The new section's name was Tempo--and an era had begun.
    While television wasn't the only factor contributing to the birth of Tempo, it was the most immediate.
    Cable television was on its way into Rogue Valley homes. In the late summer and early fall of 1969, a company called SO (Southern Oregon) Cable TV was in the process of hooking up subscribers. With cable you could get six channels instead of two.
    The Mail Tribune had for some time published the schedules for the two existing Medford stations--KOBI (Ch. 5) and KMED (Ch. 10)--in the daily paper. Would the newspaper consider also listing these cable channels, the cable company asked.
    "Come back when you have 1000 subscribers," responded editor Eric Allen, figuring it would be a year or two before that goal was achieved.
    SO Cable was back in a month.
    Although I was the news editor, I was also writing a weekly column about television at the time, so expansion of TV listings seemed to fall into my area of coverage. But the thought occurred that a weekly section could cover other local entertainment and events. I wrote a memo suggesting ideas for a weekly "TV-Entertainment-Things to Do" publication. A number of us brainstormed--among them Gerald Latham, general manager; Earl Adams, managing editor, and Herb Partridge, advertising manager. Also in on the process at the start was Al Reiss, who would become my longtime colleague on the Tempo staff.
    Should this new section run on Sunday, we wondered. The Sunday paper was already crowded. How about Friday, someone suggested--the beginning of the weekend.
    And then we had to pick a name. More brainstorming. Tempo got the most votes. It suggested rhythm and motion--the spirit of things happening. (In later years, many readers would refer to it as "The Tempo." We didn't care, as long as they read it.)
    As the target date approached, the advertising folks mentioned that a number of restaurants wished to buy space in the section. Would we consider running some kind of "Restaurant of the Week" feature, perhaps a photo. I thought we could do a little better than that. I planned a weekly dining-out feature. It started as a series of interviews with restaurant owners, then gradually evolved into "The Long Weekend" dining column, which ran almost every week until I retired in 2002.
    More local content quickly evolved after the first few issues. We started a listing of cocktail lounge entertainment. Reiss volunteered to create a weekly column called "The Tempo Beat." It ran for decades.
    Added later on were such features as a listing of restaurants, art galleries, coverage of out-of-town events, who was playing in Reno and Lake Tahoe, dances, libraries, museums, and non-profit classes.
    One unusual aspect of the first issue of Tempo and many that would follow in the early years was the absence of bylines. That was Mail Tribune policy at the time. Commentaries were signed with initials rather than full names. Look at early issues and you see C.T. or A.R. at the end of certain articles.
    During the first few years of Tempo, only four pages were required to provide comprehensive television information for those six channels. Inevitably, the number of channels mushroomed, as did the number of pages devoted to listing TV schedules.
    For about the first 20 years, we of the Tempo staff compiled the TV schedules ourselves, figuring we could be more accurate with local control. The effort paid off. We subsequently learned that the per-capita circulation of TV Guide magazine in the Rogue Valley was among the lowest in the U.S. Our readers were telling us they didn't need TV Guide.
    But eventually the job became too big and too complex. We signed on with one of the companies that provide TV schedules for papers all over the country. Today, these schedules arrive electronically, close to deadline, so that last-minute changes can be reflected.
    SO Cable, originally owned by the Smullin family of Medford, has gone through various ownership and name changes--McCaw, Cooke, TCI and now Charter.
    The non-television portion of Tempo gradually grew from the original 12 pages to an average of 36 (occasionally increasing to 44).
    Until recently, Tempo was produced by a part-time staff--people who had other duties. For the first 14 years of Tempo's existence, I was also the Mail Tribune's news editor. Later I became Lifestyles editor and wrote feature stories. Others on the Tempo staff also played other roles. Reiss did newscasts for KYJC radio, then owned by the Mail Tribune (until 1973), and was the newspaper's theater critic. Sandi Nelson, who compiled many of the events calendars, was also the newsroom receptionist. The thinking was that being familiar with several jobs would be helpful on a small staff, so that others could step in when someone was ill or on vacation.
    Reiss, Nelson and I were the original "Tempo three." Reiss stayed until his retirement in the late 1990s. Nelson was succeeded by Maureen Esser for several years, Kathy Morgan for a decade and a half, and eventually Chris Abbey and then Laurie Heuston. As time went on, other staff writers, notably Bill Varble, became regular contributors of Tempo content. Members of the sports staff helped by compiling a list of sports events on TV and radio.
    Richard Moeschl succeeded me as Tempo editor in 2002. Prior to coming to the Mail Tribune, Moeschl was editor of Revels in the Ashland Daily Tidings. Revels was born a few weeks after Tempo, back in late 1969 or early 1970, as the Ashland newspaper's brass felt the need for a competing publication. I sometimes only half-jokingly say I am the father of Revels as well as Tempo
    How times change. As of 2004, both newspapers were now owned by the same company. Moeschl served as arts and entertainment editor of both. Tempo and Revels were no longer rivals.
    Moeschl retired in 2009 and was succeeded by Heuston.
   
CHAPTER THREE--THE OTTAWAY CONNECTION
    A major change at the Mail Tribune occurred in 1973. One day while Eric Allen was vacationing in Europe, Earl Adams asked everyone in the newsroom to gather around his desk for an announcement. Some would later confess they thought maybe Eric had died. That wasn't it. Earl announced that Mabel Ruhl was selling the Mail Tribune to Ottaway Newspapers of Campbell Hall, NY. Most everyone did a doubletake. I did a double doubletake, because I was quite familiar with the name Ottaway. From 1951 to 1955 I went to boarding school at Phillips Exeter Academy in Exeter, NH. One of my classmates was Jim Ottaway, Jr. He was a popular student, a class officer and business manager of the school newspaper, the Exonian. I was an associate editor. I hadn't seen him since graduation. Under his father's leadership, Ottaway Newspapers had grown and become a part of Dow Jones & Co., publisher of the Wall Street Journal.
    Shortly after Earl's announcement, in walked Stephen W. Ryder, who would become our first publisher under the new ownership, later a top Ottaway executive. But instead of moving back east when he retired years later, he chose to remain in Medford.
    The Ottaway/Dow Jones era brought with it many changes and improvements. The newspaper's printing method changed from hot metal to cold type and offset. Publication of color photos became first feasible and then commonplace. The photo staff grew and the paper looked better. The computer age arrived in the late 1970s and early 1980s. More and more stories were written on computer screens. By the late 1990s and around the turn of the century, the old composing room functions gradually ceased to exist. Newsroom people created entire pages on computer screens. A good copy editor had to do a lot more than just edit copy, write headlines and lay out pages. He or she had to know all or most of the computer technology as well.
    Major stories of the 1970s included the Vietnam cease-fire, Watergate, President Nixon's resignation and the fall of Saigon.
    During the latter 1970s and early 1980s, the staff grew and my responsibilities shrank a bit. I handled the design and production of Page 1A and put out Tempo. In 1976, President Jerry Ford came to town (see Chapter Four). And on one dramatic day in the early 1980s, President Reagan was shot--right at our deadline time. We delayed the press run so that we could get as much of the full story in as possible.
    John Reid joined the staff and became assistant managing editor. He would later become managing editor and then editor--until his career was tragically curtailed by the ravages of Parkinson's. Bob Hunter, a more recent arrival on the staff, would eventually succeed John as editor.
    In 1981, editor Eric Allen became ill and was absent for two to three months. Since he was the chief editorial writer, that left a gap. I made an effort to help fill it. I gained renewed respect for the craft. In a couple of weeks you get all your opinions off your chest. Then you stop and wonder, "What do I do now?" I was astonished to find that by year's end about 55 of my editorials had appeared in print.
    Eric Allen was a taskmaster at times, also gentle. He stuck to his guns. One time during an Oregon State Bar convention in Medford, an Oregon Supreme Court justice was cited for being drunk in public. Most papers ran the story. Eric did not. The Mail Tribune did not normally report citations for that offense. He felt the policy should apply to all regardless of who they were.
    When I was handling the wire news, I often tried to put things in perspective for local readers. That included not overplaying distant tragedies, a philosophy I had outlined earlier in a letter to Editor & Publisher magazine titled "The relative irrelevance of distant violence" which got quite a bit of positive feedback. So, when Israel invaded Lebanon back in the 1970s or early '80s, and the story was all over the national media, TV and radio, I decided not to spread it all over Page 1A. I put a brief summary on Page 1A and the full story on an inside page. In this case, Eric disagreed, rather strongly. Said he, "I think you blew it."
   
CHAPTER FOUR--THE POLITICIANS COME TO CALL
    Lyndon Johnson stood on the stage at what is now Hedrick Middle School. Richard Nixon was greeted by the Oregon Cavemen at the Medford Airport. Bobby Kennedy stood near the front steps of Medford City Hall just over a week before he was killed.
    My 40-plus years at the Mail Tribune are peppered with reminiscences of some of the major political figures who have come calling in the Rogue Valley.
    The tradition continued as recently as 2004, when President George W. Bush, Vice President Dick Cheney and their opponents, John Kerry and John Edwards, all came to the Rogue Valley.
    In the 1960s and '70s, many came because the Oregon primary was nationally significant--less so today.
    LBJ actually was not here for a primary. He was already the vice president, serving in the Kennedy administration. He just came to give a speech.
    Unable to find a babysitter, I took my son, who was not quite 3 years old, to Hedrick to see and hear Johnson. The boy started to fuss after a while and I felt compelled to take him out into the lobby. In later years I would tease him about how he walked out on the vice president of the United States.
    What's interesting about the visit is that, soon after his talk at Hedrick, Johnson left abruptly and flew back to Washington because "something big" was happening. Turned out to be Cuban missile crisis.
    Nelson Rockefeller campaigned in Medford, as well as elsewhere in Oregon, prior to the 1964 Oregon primary. He addressed a gathering at the Medford Armory, remembered for some of its lighter moments. One speaker referred to the visitor's wife as "Mrs. Roosevelt." Another spoke of Rocky as the mayor of New York. Actually, he was the governor.
    Rockefeller lost the nomination to Barry Goldwater that year but won the Republican primary in Oregon. Many thought it was because he cared enough to spend some time here.
    The presidential campaign of 1968 brought three major visitors to the Rogue Valley: Nixon, Bobby Kennedy and Eugene McCarthy. Each came to Medford at least once, some twice.
    The Oregon Cavemen, the Grants Pass group that would dress up in prehistoric garb, greeted Nixon at the airport. A photo taken of that encounter went out on the wire and was carried far and wide because of its unusual content.
    Kennedy paid a return visit to Medford just before the Oregon election, which he lost to McCarthy. The California primary took place one week later, and we all know what happened that night.
    Eight years later, a single day proved memorable. It was 1976, the year Jimmy Carter eventually reached the presidency, ousting the incumbent, Gerald Ford, who had become president when Nixon resigned in the Watergate scandal.
    Ford decided to campaign in Medford. So did Jimmy Carter and his wife, Rosalynn. All on the final Saturday prior to Tuesday's Oregon primary.
    Rosalynn arrived first, giving a morning talk at Vogel Park. Then Ford and his entourage flew in. While the president was on the ground, other air traffic was restricted, and Jimmy Carter was unable to get here. Just about everyone on the Mail Tribune news staff worked that day.
    I also remember it as "the day I stood up Helen Thomas."
    We were affiliated with United Press International in those days rather than the Associated Press. Helen Thomas was UPI's well-known White House correspondent, the dean of the White House press corps.
    UPI folks called, at various intervals, with three requests.
    One was to meet the press plane and hold up a sign reading "UPI" so that Thomas would see it and ask me for any help she might need. The other two were to cover Rosalynn Carter's talk and phone in a story, and meet the president's plane and make a phone call with the words, "He has landed."
    Well, it didn't work. By the time I phoned in a report on Mrs. Carter's speech and made it to the airport, the press plane had already landed and people had scattered. Ford's plane was due in a few minutes, so there wasn't time to go looking for Thomas. I never did find her--a fact gently noted in a followup phone call from UPI a few days later.
    Other notables have visited over the years--Hubert Humphrey, the elder George Bush. Ronald Reagan was here both as a candidate and president. And back before my arrival in the Rogue Valley, John F. Kennedy was marshal of the Pear Blossom Parade.
    But the drama of 1968 and that busy, long, but fun Saturday in 1976 are special memories.
   
CHAPTER FIVE--THE LONG WEEKEND
    "Give that place a good review and I'll break your arm," said a male visitor to the Mail Tribune newsroom one day. He was only half serious, but his remark illustrates one reason why the weekly dining column I wrote from 1969-2002 was so widely read. People care passionately about their food.
    As of early 2010, I had been retired for nearly eight years and had not written the column since May 2002. But people still would stop me on the street and remark, "Aren't you the food critic? Where's a good place to eat?"
    Over a period of three decades I wrote some 1,500 dining columns. Most were under the umbrella title of "The Long Weekend," since the column ran on Fridays. My philosophy was to write from the perspective of a citizen consumer, passing along information. I varied the restaurants visited--some expensive, some cheap, many over a wide geographical area of Southern Oregon and the extreme northern part of California. (My arm was never broken, after all. The place in question went out of business before I could get there.)
    The variety of restaurants exploded over the years--especially Mexican and Oriental.
    Prices changed, of course. In 1969 you could get a good steak dinner for $4.50. By 2002 the average price had reached the $20 mark.
    I had many very fine meals, some not so fine.
    Best restaurants? Over the years I have especially liked the Jacksonville Inn, Arbor House, Omar's, Rogue River Lodge, the Rogue Regency, Rosario's and the Bella Union.
    It's a changing landscape.
    For example, during 1983, I did dine at well-known places like Mon Desir, the Winchester Inn, the Hungry Woodsman and the Bella Union. I also paid visits to the Blue Max, Chien Heng, the Alfheim Kitchen and the Saucey Noodle, some of which you may not remember.
    The Blue Max was a pleasant, modest dinnerhouse that existed for some years in the Kmart Plaza (now Winco) in south Medford. Chien Heng was a pretty good Chinese place on West Main Street. The building burned down in the mid-1980s.
    The Alfheim Kitchen? It had a very brief life in the small shopping center on Highway 238 in Ruch. This was a vegetarian restaurant--really vegetarian. Salads leaned heavily on edible flowers. I was prompted to remark that I now knew what it was like to be a cow grazing in a field.
    And the Saucey Noodle was one of several restaurants to occupy a site in downtown Medford above Hubbard's Ace Hardware. It was preceded by the Spaghetti Warehouse and the Second Floor and followed by Digger O'Dell's and That Italian Place. Most recently, a nightclub occupied the space.
    I kept typed records of where I dined, and how much I spent. They went back to 1983, and could make for some interesting reading years later.
    If you want to try stumping your friends in a parlor trivia game, ask them to describe the location and finer points of the following Rogue Valley restaurants: the Pioneer House, Les 2 Bears, Sundays, the Cozy Nook and McCoy's. Hint: All were mentioned in "Long Weekend" columns during the year 1985.
    Some may remember the Pioneer House. It was at Pioneer Village in Jacksonville, more recently called Frontier Village and now gone. The restaurant was an elegant dinnerhouse with excellent food. And many may recall that Les 2 Bears was the name of Harry and David's restaurant for a time in the mid-1980s. That, of course, was when the country store was down on Pacific Highway. South Gateway was still a decade in the future.
    But Sundays? Cozy Nook? McCoy's?
    Sundays succeeded the Blue Max at the Kmart Plaza for a brief time. It offered a steak and seafood dinner menu. One oddity: it was closed on Sunday. The owner explained that the name related to the aura of Sunday as an enjoyable time for recreation.
    The Cozy Nook was a restaurant inside what is now the north Medford Fred Meyer. It had separate service windows at which one could order pizza, chicken, hamburgers or hot dogs and then dine at a nearby table--kind of a miniature of the mall food court concept that's popular today.
    McCoy's existed for a brief time in the building at 2729 Jacksonville Highway, succeeding the Longhorn. It served steaks and seafood as well as barbecued food. The building originally housed an Italian place called the Station House. It is no longer used as a restaurant. In more recent years it has housed furniture stores and radio station offices.
    Some others from that era that you may or may not remember include the Salad Emporium, a salad bar place in Poplar Square about where the Tin Tin Buffet opened in 2004, and For the Halibut, on West Main Street across from Black Bird.
    Perhaps better known was the Treehouse restaurant, the original dining tenant at Cobblestone Village. It was a branch of a restaurant that existed in Eugene, offering elegant fine dining. It was popular for lunch but often empty at night and did not last. It was followed at Cobblestone by Azteca and Casa Ramos.
    Writing a dining column in a relatively small-town area can prove challenging. How critical should one be? Should you alienate a big advertiser? I apparently was blessed with a knack for sounding upbeat even when offering constructive criticism. Over the years, some readers accused me of being too kind. On the other hand, a few restaurant owners hoped I'd never come back. Things balanced out over time.
    But there were diplomatic dilemmas on occasion. One time my wife and I were having lunch in a coffee shop in Grants Pass, on the way to the coast. The meal was sub-par. We were the only customers. One woman cooked and served all the food. As we were ready to leave I presented my credit card and headed for the restroom. As I emerged, the woman was waiting for me.
    "You've got to give me another chance," she exclaimed. Apparently she had recognized the name on my card, even though we were in Grants Pass, 30 miles away from Medford.
    I was taken aback. I explained that it would be difficult for me to return any time soon. I didn't routinely get to Grants Pass at lunchtime. I said I'd think about it.
    This was a relatively minor establishment at the fringe of our circulation area. So, I hadn't planned a major column on the place anyway, just a brief mention perhaps. I simply chose not to write about it at all.
    Six months later I happened to drive down the same street in Grants Pass and noticed that the coffee shop had been replaced by a Thai restaurant.
    "I want your job after you retire" was a remark I often heard, especially in later years. I'd sometimes reply, "You might not want it." That's because writing a dining column was just a small part of my duties as an editor and columnist. In fact, many editions of "The Long Weekend" were written at home, on my own time, because I was too busy with other tasks at work. And while I did have an expense account, I tried not to overuse it. When I went to an expensive restaurant I paid as much as half the cost out of my pocket.
    Researching the dining column did produce its share of humorous and/or bizarre moments.
    I was in a fancy place out of town in the 1990s. A tablemate started to get up at one point and pushed down on the table just enough to get some momentum. The smallish table apparently wasn't secured properly and it tipped. We caught it, but not before every container of liquid on it--wine, water, coffee--spilled directly into my lap. I was significantly drenched from the waist down.
    Fortunately I was wearing a pair of dark blue trousers that did not show the moisture. And fortunately for the management's sense of well-being, this happened in a distant city (Eugene) and those folks had no idea whose lap had been swamped.
    Another time my wife and I were dining at a Medford restaurant (since closed) that didn't take reservations. You had to put your name on a list, which we did. We waited a bit. It seemed after a while as though some folks who had arrived after us were getting seated. You know the feeling.
    Finally, I checked back with the maitre d' and was informed, "According to our records, you're already in the dining room." Oh.
    Then there was the time a group of diners approached my table and said they made a practice of following me around to restaurants I had written up. The spokesman pointed to a woman in the group and said, "She is your alter ego. Her name is Cleavage Twitch."
    There was the time during the 1960s when a friend and I went to a small Medford restaurant that was full when we arrived. A waitress seated us in a back room, where we watched President Lyndon Johnson on TV, speaking at the Democratic National Convention of 1964. A half hour went by, perhaps 45 minutes. Finally I got suspicious, opened the door and peeked out, to find the place virtually empty. Yes, they had forgotten us. The waitress in question later became a next-door neighbor and we shared a friendly chuckle about what had happened.
    Speaking of just making do with the circumstances, we were at a steakhouse in Eastern Oregon when the restaurant apparently had a small kitchen fire. The dining room started to fill up with smoke. No problem. A staff member opened the front door and left it open for a while. Life went on. The smoke diminished. Nobody said a word about it.
    Another humorous memory involves me only indirectly. A Rogue Valley resident I ran into told me about the time he was in an Ashland restaurant when some extra food samples started to arrive at his table--a dish here, a dish there, items he had not ordered. He didn't say anything at first, but finally decided he'd better, lest he be charged for food he had not requested.
    "You are Cleve Twitchell, aren't you?" explained the food server. The man did look a little like me, but he admitted that he was not. The extra food stopped coming.
    There have been some experiences that are humorous in retrospective, but not so funny at the time.
    One time a dining companion ordered chicken cordon bleu. The staff apparently took it out of the freezer, but forgot to thaw it, just warmed the outside, so that the interior was still frozen solid. The restaurant owner was most embarrassed.
    Everyone has a bad day now and then. I remember one dinner in Medford when just about everything that could go wrong did--slow service, botched wine order, etc. At the end, we got someone else's check.
    There was the time we took three youngsters ages 9 to 11 to a new coffee shop in town, waited 30 minutes to be seated, another 30 to have our order taken, 45 minutes for the food to arrive. Not a great memory. For the kids either. But the restaurant is question is still around and doing much better.
    Back in the 1970s, a couple of us went for dinner at a small place about 5 p.m. on a Sunday, hoping to beat the rush. Problem was, so did a bunch of other people. The place quickly filled up, with just one waitress on duty.
    After a while I heard her call out, "Is there a doctor in the house?" Seems a patron had felt faint in an adjacent dining room and was literally lying on the floor. There was no doctor in the house, but fortunately the diner soon felt better, got up, paid his bill and went home.
   
CHAPTER SIX--THE LIFESTYLES YEARS
    Another major change for me came along in 1983. I was asked to trade in my old title of news/Tempo editor and became Lifestyles/Tempo editor. I no longer designed Page 1A. I became a feature writer.
    Lifestyles? It's the section of the newspaper that used to be the Society page, later the Women's section. Over time editors all over the country realized that the section need not be restricted to an audience of women. Many men would also want to read about food, leisure, books, travel and the home. Hence the title Lifestyles.
    At the Mail Tribune, the Lifestyles and Tempo staffs were combined. I presided over a staff of Al Reiss, Mary Ann Campbell, Terrie Claflin and Maureen Esser. Kathy Morgan succeeded Maureen and Bill Varble took over for Mary Ann when she retired. JoNel Aleccia became a part-timer, job-sharing with Terrie, going full time after Terrie left.
    From 1983 to 1996, the Lifestyles/Tempo marriage proved a stable and productive one. The staff produced a local feature story for the Lifestyles cover page almost daily, only rarely resorting to a wire story. We had weekly food, leisure and home pages, and monthly pages devoted to books, travel and fashion. We also did a student page from time to time with stories by high school students. Arts stories often appeared in the Sunday paper. Lifestyles and Tempo flourished. I wrote constantly. Between the two sections I averaged five to seven bylines a week. One of my feature stories, "Mr. Mom," about a stay-at-home father, earned a best writing award. Another gratifying project was a group effort on Mother's Day, "Mom & Me." We all wrote about our moms. It got a lot of positive feedback.
    Besides writing feature stories, the Lifestyles staff also produced play and concert reviews, dozens each year.
    The year 1963 had marked the launch of two Rogue Valley activities that would grow and prosper for decades--the Britt Music Festivals and the Miss Rogue Valley Pageant. The music festival began as a series of classical concerts, then in the late 1970s blossomed into a major concert attraction with big-name stars as well as jazz, folk and dance performers. The pageant, a Miss America preliminary, gradually evolved into a scholarship program benefiting many young women of the region. It would often be my job over the years to review many concerts--at least 100 of them--as well as to cover perhaps 60 percent of the annual Miss Rogue Valley pageants, from the 1960s on into the next century. The two actually had something in common: events ended close to the newspaper's deadline, so I had to scramble to get the review or story into print. Advance preparation proved essential.
    There were humorous episodes, and some not so funny. One day a female acquaintance walked into the newsroom and said, "I'm sorry this news release is late, but my husband was killed in an accident yesterday."
    Computers continued to play a major role in our professional lives. The early days brought us their share of tribulations. Sometimes part of the computer would crash and everything you had done in the last several hours would be lost. We developed a strategy: save every story in two different areas of the computer so that if one crashed you still had the other. It took extra time but bought us some peace of mind. Eventually the technology improved and crashes became rare. If you ever run into Chuck Holmboe, who worked in the composing room at the time, ask him about the look on my face when I returned from lunch to find that everything I'd done that morning had apparently been wiped out. (Actually, Chuck and crew were later able to restore the lost material.) Similarly, early efforts at color photo reproduction were often less than spectacular, with many photos appearing out of register. There again, the technology improved. Today, virtually all color reproduction is excellent.
    As covered in the chapter on Tempo history, I started writing a weekly dining column in 1969 which ran until my retirement in 2002. Then in 1989 the Mail Tribune launched a Saturday paper. We decided to devote the Lifestyles cover to day trips--visits to interesting places in the area, ghost towns, touristy spots like Oregon's only geyser, nature trails, tours, back roads, jet boat rides and many others. I wrote about 40 of them each year and also did an event column called the Saturday Spectator.
    I shot most of the photos that accompanied these stories as well--some of which turned out better than others. One time I proposed to do a story on the beautiful Christmas lights display at Shore Acres, a state park near Coos Bay. Shooting pictures in the dark would be a challenge at best. The photo department gave me two rolls of very high speed film. I tried a variety of lens settings, with flash, without flash, time exposures--everything I could think of. I shot 72 exposures. Exactly one turned out. But it was good enough to publish!
    In 1992, the Mail Tribune published a small book featuring a number of my day trip articles and photos. "Day Trips" was most popular, selling out two printings. Less successful was a 1994 book, "Dining Out in Southern Oregon," a restaurant guide. Too many of the restaurants went out of business before all of the copies could be sold.
    Another milestone came along in 1993--a new building one block away from the old. We had more space, and for the first time, answering machines and voicemail. In the old building, someone had to answer every phone. That could prove time-consuming. Kathy Morgan once lost virtually an entire day because another staff member wrote an article inviting people to call but wasn't present to take the many calls that came in.
    The new building also featured tighter security. In earlier days you might be typing away and suddenly find a stranger standing next to you, wanting to deliver a press release or request an interview. Anyone could just walk in. No more. The new policy may have inconvenienced the public a little, but it was greatly appreciated by the staff, may have prevented some unfortunate incidents, and in general made sense.
    About a year later the Mail Tribune switched to all-morning publication, seven days a week (instead of Monday through Friday evenings and weekend mornings). The change meant that working hours were moved to later in the day. Few people came in prior to 9 a.m. Most sports and copy desk folks were on a night shift, 4 p.m. to midnight or later. The newsroom was busiest around 4:30 p.m., when shifts overlapped.
    Also during that era, I began writing a bi-weekly wine column in the food section known as A La Carte (see Chapter Nine).
   
CHAPTER SEVEN--THE LIGHTER SIDE
    In a 40-year career, you remember illnesses, setbacks and challenges. But you also recall a lot of lighter moments.
    Like the time an obituary for a prominent Medford resident announced that a certain funeral home would be "in charge of refreshments." Fortunately, an editor caught it before too many copies were printed.
    A personal favorite involved a phoned request from the New York Times. One of their photo editors, a man I had met at a conference, asked if we could supply a photo of the Rogue River Rooster Crow to go with a story they planned.
    We agreed, got the picture ready to transmit and called the San Francisco bureau of United Press International, which was supposed to relay the picture to New York.
    I explained who I was and what the photo was about. Silence greeted me. Finally, a puzzled voice responded: "The Rogue River WHAT?"
    And then there was the time we ran a story about a local nudist park's plans for a Halloween costume party. I didn't see it myself but I'm told Johnny Carson picked up on it and made the news part of his "Tonight Show" monologue. He'd paint a stripe down his back, said Carson, and go as "the open road." Later, I actually wrote a couple of stories about visiting that park, sporting the "uniform of the day."
    The next one didn't make the paper, but I recall attending a Democratic platform committee meeting at which proposed planks were being read aloud. Someone handed a sheet to a committee member who had just arrived and wasn't familiar with the contents. With great seriousness, he proclaimed, "We Democrats believe that the sales tax is not a pancreas."
    Prior to the sale of the Mail Tribune to Ottaway Newspapers in 1973, the Ruhl family, operating as Medford Printing Co., also owned KYJC Radio, and the
midday radio newscasts were often done from the Mail Tribune newsroom. Sometimes a newspaper staff member did the broadcast. On other occasions someone from the radio station did it, reading carbons of stories written for the newspaper. One jovial radio guy had an unfortunate habit of hitting the air cold, without reading his copy first. On occasion he'd be reading a story that stopped in the middle of a sentence or had a blank spot where the writer had intended to insert a fact later. Needless to say, the announcer had to do some improvising.
    Headline writing is quite an art form. In my career I wrote at least 200,000 of them, probably more. Sometimes you're right on. Other times you struggle. Sometimes the head winds up with a meaning you did not intend.
    One time I was handling a story about the Phoenix School Board's plans for a meeting to go over future building construction needs. Most headlines need to contain short punchy words or else they don't fit. I tried to say something like: "Phoenix school needs to be discussed." Discuss would not fit, so my final headline read (and yes it got into print that way): "Phoenix school needs to be aired."
    On the plus side, I did actually win an award for headline writing. It was a Society of Professional Journalists contest. I submitted several. One was on a wire story known as a "bright" in the trade. Seems there was a malfunction in a law office and whenever someone flushed the toilet the phone rang. My headline read something like "Phone mystery comes to a head." I took second place. The Eugene Register-Guard copy desk took first.
    Sometimes, typos outsmart you. In the early 1970s a man named Claude Fly was in the news. First time we ran a story about him it came out as "Claude Fry." That's wrong, I said. Let's get it right next time. We tried, but next time it appeared as "Clyde Fly."
    On another occasion, a classified ad appeared in the newspaper, under pets for sale, headlined "Big Ole Puppies." The next day, a correction had been made. The ad read "Beagle Puppies."
    Back in the days of hot metal type, each line in a story was a separate piece of metal. So, sometimes, lines would get mixed up, or correction lines might be placed in the wrong spot. Or, sometimes an unintended stray line would wind up in a story. Like the time an article announcing that Oregon Secretary of State Clay Myers would address the annual dinner of the Medford Chamber of Commerce added: "according to Medford police."
    It doesn't happen every single year, but often the Rogue Valley experiences a "false spring" in early February, with temperatures creeping up near or past 70 for a few days. One year when that happened, much of Florida experienced a cold snap. A few days later someone sent us a front page from a Florida newspaper. Its headline read: "The final indignity: Medford, Ore., basks in 73 degrees."
    Back in the 1970s there was a trend in journalism toward using short, colorful opening sentences in news stories. Instead of "Susan Jones, 8, won the 4-H rabbit club competition at the county fair Saturday" one might go with "A cute girl with freckles wowed them," followed by an explanation of how and why she did it. Eric W. Allen, the longtime Mail Tribune editor, thought this technique was being overdone and was a bit ridiculous. To illustrate his point, he came up with a satire (not published, just for staff consumption): "Dead. That's what the man was when police found him."
    One of my more challenging experiences came when I found myself greeting and chatting with several actors. The problem was the appearance of one member of the group. I honestly could not tell if the person was male or female and did not know how to address him/her. The person's name was genderless, so that didn't help.
    Not wishing to be rude, I chose my words carefully and waited for a clue to be dropped in the conversation. And waited. Minutes went by, quite a few of them. Finally, the clue came. She was a woman portraying a man in the performance. Good job, too.
    Another lesson learned: Never go to the restroom just as the meeting is breaking up.
    I attended an evening meeting of group of editors, held in a building not far from our office. I felt the call of nature just as things were winding down. When I emerged, everyone had left and turned off the lights. I didn't think too much about it at first, but then discovered that the door we had entered to get into the building was locked.
    Surely, you must be able to unlock a door from the inside, right?
    Nope.
    Surely, there must be another door leading out of there, right?
    Nope.
    Surely, there must be a telephone somewhere on the premises, right?
    Nope.
    It became increasingly apparent that I was stuck in that building. I pondered my options. I didn't think it wise to try to trigger a burglar alarm. If I made things look unusual, I decided, maybe someone would notice. So, I turned on every light I could find, then stood by the door, which fortunately was made mostly of glass so that I could be seen through it.
    A half hour or more went by, but finally another newspaper employee happened to drive by. Waving frantically, I was able to attract his attention. He went for help and eventually a key was located and I was liberated.
   
CHAPTER EIGHT--HOW'S THE DUMMY?
    Just about every profession has its special lingo, words and phrases that would be meaningless to outsiders. The newspaper field is no exception.
    Some expressions can seem quite humorous to the general public. And some don't mean what you might think.
    One time, I heard an editor tell someone on the phone, "I've turned down that picture." Did that mean he declined to publish it? Wrong.
    To "turn down" a photo, in those days, meant to turn it--or send it--downstairs from the second-story newsroom to the folks on the first floor who would process it and put it in the paper.
    You might have been puzzled to pick up the telephone and hear a voice say, "We need some more 32s and 35s." In the 1960s, certain sizes of headlines were assigned numbers so that you didn't have to remember any other specific details.
    A "32" was a short story, two to four paragraphs, with a 1-column, 2-line headline set in type about a third of an inch deep. A "35" was similar, only smaller. Both were used as fillers.
    On other occasions, the phone would ring and a voice would simply say, "Send me some numbers." The caller was a man whose job involved setting wire stories in type. Each wire story had its own number. Sometimes the fellow who called would hit a slow time in the morning. Instead of waiting for crunch time, he'd try to get a head start on setting stories that were likely to be used in the paper that day. Hence the request, which meant "give me the numbers of some stories you will probably use."
    "Let's dump that story now" was an expression heard in the newsroom until just a few years ago. Did that mean to kill it? No. To "dump" a story meant to dump it out of the computer so that it could be pasted up on a page and published.
    You might feel insulted if someone asked you, "How's the dummy today?" Don't worry. That word has a different meaning among newspaper folks. The "dummy" is a replica of a newspaper page. It usually shows where the advertisements have been placed, so that the copy editors know exactly what space they have available for stories and photos.
    The word is also used as a verb, as in "I've gotta dummy that page by 8 p.m.," meaning the layout must be completed by that hour. With advances in the electronic era, computers and all that, the days of the word dummy may be numbered.
    Computer advances did do away with another form of journalistic language you used to see around the Mail Tribune, and elsewhere. Back in the 1960s and early 1970s, wire service stories arrived by teletype machine. Stories were printed on paper, one at a time. Today, they magically arrive in one's computer, hundreds at a time.
    During the teletype era, wire service bureaus and client newspapers communicated by sending messages in between stories. A mix of abbreviated English, slang and acronyms was used. I gave it a name, "wirese."
    "Guv's MF stam" meant the governor's Medford statement. "Pox" meant police. If an editor felt a story did not make sense, he or she might message "Ure stry unreads. Pls upfix."
    We were affiliated with United Press International at the time, and I had a four-letter identification, "CT/MF," meaning, of course, Cleve Twitchell, Medford.
    MF makes sense as an abbreviation for Medford. Some other UPI designations had a more circuitous explanation.
    Salem was known as GP, so named for the late George Putnam, who was editor and publisher of the Salem Capital Journal for many years (prior to which he was the first editor and publisher of the Mail Tribune).
    And Portland was JO, named for the Oregon Journal, which was the UPI newspaper in Portland at the time (it later merged with the Oregonian).
    Some "wirese" lingers. To this day, if I am taking notes and need to write "Portland" I put "JO." It's short, and I know what it means.
    And, you could say that "wirese" foreshadowed the lingo used in text messaging today.
   
CHAPTER NINE--THE WINE COLUMN
    Most daily newspapers have what they call a shopper. It's a free weekly newspaper tossed into the driveways of non-subscribers. The concept is to be able to offer an advertiser total distribution in a market area.
    For years the Mail Tribune had one called the MT Extra. Then along about the late 1980s or early 1990s, management decided to make it a food section, figuring that food has pretty universal appeal. The new section's name was A La Carte. It contained much of the news content that also appeared in the Mail Tribune's weekly food section received by subscribers.
    As time went on, several people thought it would be a good idea to have a wine column. Wine columns were available from wire services, but they rarely covered Oregon wines, and when they did it was about some Willamette Valley pinot noir and never about the Rogue Valley. So I decided to take a crack at filling the gap, writing about local wineries.
    I was no wine expert, but I had written feature stories about the infant wine industry in Jackson and Josephine counties, beginning in the latter 1970s and early 1980s with Valley View near Ruch and Siskiyou near Cave Junction. And I liked to drink wine. My dining column, which ran from 1969 to 2002, often mentioned wines served at various restaurants.
    The Southern Oregon wine industry did not exist prior to the latter 1970s. By 2012 it had grown to more than 60 wineries in the Jackson-Josephine counties-Douglas counties area. Local wines were winning rave reviews.
    So the column to be known as "Wine Talk" became a bi-weekly fixture in A La Carte, starting in the early 1990s and continuing on. It gained a following. I continued to write it on a freelance basis after I retired in 2002, finally giving it up in 2011. Overall I wrote about 400 wine columns. They were devoted primarily to covering the Southern Oregon wine scene, with occasional mentions of interesting wines from elsewhere.
    Researching the column has meant attending many tastings. Sometimes there have been lighter moments. On one occasion a group of us were doing a blind tasting of sauvignon blancs--eight or nine of them. Most of the wines tasted pretty much the same, but there was one that had a unique, although strong flavor. I wasn't so sure I liked it. But another member of the group spoke highly of it. He explained, "I admire a wine that takes a position."
   
CHAPTER TEN--REMEMBERING DR. SHASKY
    In mid-January of 2002 I learned that Dr. Florian J. Shasky had died at the age of 87. His passing marked the end of an era of particular significance for me--significant because I was alive to appreciate it.
    There was some doubt, back in 1965-66. I had cancer, and the chances of my survival were not great. But, obviously, I lived. And a man who had a lot to do with the happy outcome was Dr. Shasky. He was a noted physician and surgeon practicing urology in Medford, dating back to 1951. He also was a community servant, active in many charities and causes.
    I first met him in the fall of 1965. My family doctor had been treating me for a urological problem and felt a specialist should take a look. Dr. Shasky saw me on a Friday and had me in surgery Monday morning. It was that bad. I had testicular cancer, very malignant.
    At his suggestion, and also the urging of my parents, who then lived in New York City, I went to the Sloan Kettering Cancer Institute, also known as Memorial Hospital. It's in Manhattan, not far from my old family home. A specialist there concluded that the cancer had already spread to my lungs, and that chemotherapy was my only hope.
    I returned to Medford in January 1966 and underwent chemotherapy treatments under Dr. Shasky's supervision.
    Testicular cancer had a poor cure rate back in the 1960s. Great strides have since been made, and the last I heard the cure rate was about 96 percent.
    The Sloan Kettering specialist, I later learned, told Dr. Shasky my chances of cure were no better than 10 percent, and also cautioned my mother to be prepared for my death in about six months.
    But Dr. Shasky didn't buy it. "We'll just take this a day at a time," he said.
    At the outset, I had five-day chemotherapy treatments every seven weeks. These required hospitalization, first at Sacred Heart and then at its successor, now known as Providence Medford Medical Center. I was one of the patients moved into Providence the day it opened in 1966.
    Insurance covered most of the costs. Would you believe that hospital room rates were about $20 a day back then?
    After three or four of these treatments, X-rays showed dramatic improvement. The spots on the lungs were disappearing. But the chemotherapy had to continue. So few had survived before me that no one really knew when it was safe to stop. Stop chemo too soon and the cancer might return.
    The treatments took their toll. Basically I would go into the hospital feeling great and come out sick as a dog from the chemo, with side effects that included a severely sore tongue. But, hey, I was alive. (Years later I learned that the drug I was given was eventually discontinued as a chemo weapon because it was unnecessarily toxic. But back then that's about all they had.)
    I ran out of sick pay, but two Mail Tribune co-workers, Harry Chipman (later to become Jackson County clerk) and Peggyann Hutchinson, came to my rescue. I'd work an extra day or two for them when I was healthy. They'd pay me back when I was sick. We all knew how to do each other's jobs, so the plan worked.
    Eventually I had 17 of those five-day chemo treatments, farther and farther apart, ending finally in 1971. One of them had an added quirk to it. Dr. Shasky was hurt in a bicycle accident on the day I was released from the hospital, and was placed in the room I had just vacated. So, I got to visit him for a change.
    Some memories always will be linked to lying there with a needle in my hand or arm and the steady drip-drip-drip of the drug. I was there in the hospital when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. I was there when Hugh Downs introduced the "Today" show audience to the Beatles' new "Sgt. Pepper" album. And I was there when the Oregon State football team beat O.J. Simpson-led Southern Cal 3-0 in a game at Corvallis broadcast on radio.
    But most of all, I remember Dr. Shasky's attention, kindness and caring manner. Others noticed it, too. He was the kind of doctor who even made some house calls.
    He was involved in getting Providence Hospital built, in creating the John Tomlin Cancer Lectures and in numerous other medical and community endeavors.
    Thankfully, I had no need to spend much time in his office after 1971. But we kept in touch over the years. He would occasionally send me literature about some new breakthrough in the treatment of testicular cancer, just in case.
    I saw him again in the mid-1990s when I did a story about his daughter, Judy Nadler, who had become mayor of Santa Clara, Calif.
    One of the last times I saw him was at a social function of some kind. We talked about the old days, the hard work and the happy outcome.
    "I still have your chart," he remarked at one point. And then he said something like, "When the time comes, I'd like it if you wrote my obituary."
    The time came, and I wrote it.
   
CHAPTER ELEVEN--THE FINAL YEARS
    The mid- and latter 1990s were a time of change and challenge. I had two bowel obstruction surgeries, one in 1994, the second 14 months later, and lost at least two months of work time. In 1996 the Mail Tribune dramatically restructured the news staff, going to a team system. There no longer was a separate Lifestyles department. Virtually every reporter on the staff wrote articles for different parts of the paper.
    There's a saying: if you stay in journalism for a long time chances are you will be called upon to supervise or specialize. I chose the latter. I was never comfortable supervising others.
    I continued to lay out Tempo, wrote my dining and wine columns and took on a few other duties. I did less feature writing but more entertainment reviews, especially after theater critic Al Reiss retired in the late 1990s.
    In 1998, Dow Jones apparently ordered Ottaway Newspapers to become more profitable. The Washington Bureau was shut down and many longtime employees were offered buyouts. I was one of them. I almost accepted the buyout--which for me would have meant one year's salary plus immediate full pension. But I was only 61. I figured the money would last for a year and a half. I'd have to go on Social Security at age 63 or find another job. Also, accepting the buyout, and thereby leaving the staff, might have made it difficult to continue with any kind of byline presence in the newspaper. So I decided to stay on until I turned 65 in May of 2002. That proved a wise choice financially. And I was able to keep writing.
    At the turn of the century, the Mail Tribune went to full pagination, with pages created, edited and proofed on computer screens in the newsroom. The composing room pretty much ceased to exist.
    When you approach the age of 60, you think more about your mortality and your limitations. You realize you are really getting older. Most everyone you work with is younger. In my case even the president of the United States (Bill Clinton) was younger than I. The final six years of my career at the Mail Tribune were bittersweet, reflecting that situation and those feelings.
    Long hours in front of a computer screen took their toll in the form of eyestrain and backache. (Both problems went away within weeks of my retirement in 2002.)
    But there were some rewards and high points. In 1996 I was voted Mail Tribune employee of the year and also received a special award from the Children's Festival. In 2000, the Arts Council of Southern Oregon honored me as individual of the year. In 2001 the Mail Tribune launched a Readers Choice poll. I was voted favorite newspaper reporter/columnist for 2001, 2002 and 2003. I still placed second in the 2004 and 2005 polls even though I was retired and my byline appeared in the paper much less often. Then, to my astonishment, I placed first again in 2006! A second-place finish followed in 2007, and I tied for third in 2008. It wasn't until 2009 that I finally fell under the radar.
    Looking back, I wrote about 9,000 stories for the Mail Tribune (1,500 of them dining columns) and 200,000 headlines. I'm no photographer, but I took along a camera when no professional photog was available, and hundreds of my pictures ran in the paper. I worked under seven publishers: Robert Ruhl, Mabel Ruhl (each with Gerald Latham assisting), Steve Ryder, Gil Bogley, Beverly Jackson, Greg Taylor and Grady Singletary.
    My retirement at the end of May 2002 was a happy time, with three different parties and many tributes--very much appreciated. It's been quite a ride.
Self-published. Southern Oregon Historical Society Research Library.


NEWS RELEVANCE
    A reader picks up his paper and is confronted by a page-one headline.
    It tells him that 10 people died in a fire, or that a group of militants shot it out with  police, or that a respectable businessman killed his family of five.
    None of these events occurred within 1,500 miles of where the newspaper is published.
    Was this reader well served? Of all the stories reported that day, were these the
most relevant to his life?  
    The issue of good news vs. bad news, and the possible link between coverage of violence and violent behavior, is complex.
    The traditional newsman's argument that the public is entitled to get the news quickly and accurately, whether good or had, is sound.
    If news of demonstrations, hijackings, other crime and violent death were to cease, it is unlikely that such events would no longer occur.
    But perhaps it is time to question what appears to be a long-standing belief among some journalists that multiple death and the like are highly newsworthy, no matter where they occur.
    Virtually all would agree that a local or regional murder, bus accident or the like is news.
    But when a monsoon in the Philippines kills 97, or 172 die in a train wreck in Mexico, is it really that important in Massachusetts? Or if a bank robber in Florida slays five while making his getaway, is that big a deal in Oregon?
    When there is nothing much going on locally, and major national political news is also lacking, many wire editors seem traditionally to turn to multiple death for their headlines; "10 Die in Weekend Traffic Accidents in State," or maybe a plane crash in Africa, or a train wreck in Japan.
    The point is not that these stories should be ignored. They should be reported, but in the perspective of time, place and relevance to readers' concerns.
    Some distant disasters do have local relevance. A fire in a high-rise building is important to any city which also has such structures. A big-city train wreck has some relevance in areas served by that type of mass transit.
    But even then, do such stories deserve to dominate the front pages of faraway newspapers?
    Instead, why not use something more pertinent to the quality of man's life; a political backgrounder or news analysis, story about a medical advance, news of an expedition that may contribute to world knowledge, or something on environment?
    (An exception, of course, is in order in those rare cases involving sheer mass. If. say, 100,000 die in an earthquake in Iraq, it becomes a bigger story simply because so many fellow humans perished.)
    The issue of distant violence's newsworthiness has intrigued me for some time. And in recent years on the wire desk of the Medford (Ore.) Mail Tribune, I have tried some experiments.
    On October 30, 1972, for example, most newspapers around the Northwest were headlining the commuter train wreck in Chicago that killed more than 40; a fire aboard the USS Saratoga, datelined Singapore, in which three died; and two hijackings, one by Palestinian guerrillas, the other to Cuba following a shooting death in Houston.
    My front page headlined President Nixon's announcement that he would sign the Social Security bill, increasing benefits but also causing a sharp hike in everyone's payroll deductions the following Jan. 1.
    The Saratoga fire made the page-one news briefs. The train wreck was covered in detail, but on page two. The hijackings also got a fair amount of space, but farther back in the paper.
    The December 8, 1972, crash of a United Air Lines 737 in Chicago received more attention than I would normally give a story of its type. The accident involved an airline and style of plane which serves Medford. Also it was a kind of disaster which hadn't occurred in the United States for some time. Still, while the coverage was extensive, most of it appeared on inside pages.
    Few hijackings make my front page, unless they occur so close to deadline that it's impossible to put them elsewhere, or they involve the Northwest directly.
    One might term this philosophy "The Relative Irrelevance of Distant Violence."
    I am not yet entirely sure of it. Indeed, it is not shared by all on the Mail Tribune staff. When I have a day off, treatment of stories is different.
    I would not argue that journalists should try to make the world look better than it is.
    But attention-getting page-one headlines about distant violence tend to make the world artificially unpleasant. They are a disservice.
    It takes more thought and work, but one can create grabber headlines for, and compose interesting front pages with, stories that contribute more to the reader's quality of life.
CLEVE TWITCHELL,
News editor of the Medford (Ore.) Mail Tribune.
Editor & Publisher, December 30, 1972, page 7


  
Last revised July 14, 2026