John Tice, a young man raised in this valley, was gored to death by a steer yesterday. He is employed by the Hanley Bros. at Butte Creek, this county, and was found dead in a corral. He was alone and had roped the animal, which gored and trampled him to death.
Valley Record, Ashland, July 24, 1890, page 3

    From stage coach to airplane! A long, long trail in the minds of the present generation. A shortcut through "memory lane" to Fred Tice, 72, of Medford.
    Mr. Tice, who is one of the few remaining professional stage coach drivers left in the country, enjoyed his first airplane ride over the valley this week, through the courtesy of Harold Sanders, owner of the Sanders Aeronautical School. Piloted by Mr. Sanders, the white-haired pioneer of Jackson County retraced much of the route he traveled through this county, 50 years ago.
    No suggestion of nervousness marked the conduct of the ruddy-faced man of 72 as he climbed into a passenger plane for the first time in his life. Rather, there was a gleam of eagerness in his eyes as the motor began to hum and the prospect of actually leaving the earth approached.
    "It's something like being born again--into a new age--and a new life," he observed to his companion on the trip, as the plane lifted from the field and began soaring. Leaning over the side of the ship so as not to miss any of the details of the flight, he traced out with his finger the course over which he drove his six-horse teams half a century ago.
    "There it is--the old stage road. It was nothing but brush in those days--not much of a road to it." And he pointed out the avenue to which Medford pioneer residents point with most pride. "I've watched the old road changing through the years--but I never thought I'd ever see it look like this," he added with a note of humor, as the plane climbed still higher and the road dissolved into a thin fringy thread.
    The earth below became a colorful rug with a predominance of green in its patterns. Square pear orchards tipped with white--triangular patches of green, gold and red--irregular bits of gray and black threads weaving themselves in and out. Here and there a dot of blue and, winding its way through the whole beautiful picture, a gleaming band of silver--the Rogue!
    The detail grew less marked, and the colors began to blend and melt into one another as the plane winged its way still higher. The pioneer stage coach driver leaned back in the seat and studied the clouds. Heaven seemed a friendly distance from there--the atmosphere was fine and light, and the sun was a cordial host.
    "I don't think I ever want to go down--unless of course they'd bring back my six-horse team and stage coach," sighed the veteran driver.
    Fred Tice was born near Jacksonville in 1857. He attended the Oak Grove school along with a number of the other well-known older residents of the county. He began driving a team at an early age, and when but 17 years old was considered one of the most adept horsters in the county.
    "It was quite a trick to pick up six lines and drive over some of the tricky passes we had in those days," he said, "and in that day it was a skill to be proud of."
    Mr. Tice was 21 years old when he received the responsible position of stage driver for the Oregon-California Stage Company, which ran from Roseburg, Ore., to Redding, Calif. From 10 to 12 drivers covered this stretch of 275 miles, changing teams every 15 miles and using 180 horses on the entire trip; 100 through this state and 80 through the California section.
    The drivers in Oregon were paid $55 a month, room and board, while those south of the border received $50, room and board; the difference being explained by the fact that six-horse teams were necessary here, instead of the four-horse teams used in the southern state.
    The stage was due in Jacksonville daily northbound, 9:30 a.m., and southbound at 2:30 p.m. Jacksonville at that time was the center of mining activity, and gold dust was shipped from the town in large quantities. Medford was a prairie, unborn and unnamed.
    There were two strings of stages going each way to maintain the daily schedule. Carrying express and mail as well as passengers, it was necessary for the stages to arrive on time so as to meet the trains in both the north and south. Nothing was considered unavoidable except high water, and missing the train meant a fine of $600 to the stage company.
    Mr. Tice drove stage from Rock Point to the station on Cow Creek, a distance of 45 miles, for the first two years. With no visible road over which to travel, the feat of handling a six-horse team over the mountains and streams was dangerous and difficult.
    It was in the winter of '78 when the local man encountered a terrific storm near Cow Creek, and found it impossible to control the panic-stricken horses of his coach. After a considerable struggle, in which the team plunged down into the rising water, the driver rescued the express box and barely saved himself from death. The horses were lost, but the wagon weathered the storm and was pulled to the nearest station next day. Fortunately there were no passengers on that coach.
    Among other dangers which lurked along the way in those days were the Indians, holdup men and wild animals. The local man recalls one incident when for a certain distance along an edge of high brush and trees the horses shied away from the trail over which he guided them.
    Finally annoyed by their actions, he jumped down from the seat and walked along the edge of the brush, looking through it to discover what the animals had sensed. All of a sudden he peered into the face of a large grizzly bear which had been prowling along through the brush and had stopped simultaneously with the stage coach. Unarmed, the driver returned to his seat and made a hasty getaway, with the horses now in a mood for cooperation.
    Although there were frequent Indian attacks in those days, Mr. Tice was spared this misfortune on any of his routes. It was but a few years before this, however, when the Modoc war took place, and the stage driver, then a boy of 15 or 16, was impressed and not a little thrilled over his memory of some of the details. At this time Fort Klamath was an army post, and the pioneer lad was attracted by their colorful activity with the Indians.
    When he was 17 years old he once drove through Fort Klamath, arriving just in time to see the soldiers locking a number of Indians in a corral covering an acre of ground, as the result of their capture after an attack on the white settlers. Women and children were herded into the pen along with their Indian husbands, and guards were stationed around the outside wall.
    These Indians were kept at Fort Klamath for several months, after which they were taken in small groups to distant points and released. During their imprisonment they apparently enjoyed life, the squaws cooking their meals within the acre square.
    In 1880, Mr. Tice was transferred from Rock Point south, and drove over the Siskiyous. At that time this was a toll road, the stage company paying $700 a year to go over the mountain. George Chase, now of Yreka, covered the same route as did Mr. Tice.
    In the summer of 1880 another driver, Nort Eddings, was robbed on the mountains, a short distance from where the DeAutremont holdup took place. The stage driver was slowing his team on a steep pass when a group of bandits emerged from the timber, fired some shots past the stage and commanded Eddings to throw down the express box, carrying a large quantity of gold dust from the mines. They then commanded the driver and passengers to get out of the coach, and while they were covered one of the bandits robbed them of everything they had.
    Mr. Tice was put on the route covered by Eddings, driving the same team, immediately after the robbery. Officials accompanied the driver, keeping a sharp lookout for the holdup men in case of a second attempt, but they did not reappear.
    The local man derives a great deal of pleasure in reminiscing over the old days on the stage route--days which he considers the happiest of his life. He remembers, with a smile, that the women generally wanted to sit in the driver's seat, while most of the men passengers seemed contented to sit inside.
    He admits, however, that there was one lovely bit of femininity for whom all the others had to take a back seat when she decided to go on one of her frequent trips through the country to visit friends. This was Martha Dodge. She is now Mrs. Fred Tice of Medford. And when the 72-year-old man, who even now views the world daily from astride a bay-colored horse, decides to take his next airplane ride, Martha Dodge Tice is going with him.
Medford Mail Tribune, May 19, 1929, page B3

    Following a gradual decline in health for the past year or more, Fred Tice, one of Jackson County's best-known pioneers and veteran stage driver, passed away at his home, 725 Alder Street, in this city at 2:15 a.m. today.
    Mr. Tice was born on the donation land claim of his parents, Mr. and Mrs. John Tice, about halfway between Jacksonville and Medford, and had spent his entire lifetime of nearly 79 years in this locality.
    At the age of 20, before the Oregon & California Railroad was established throughout Southern Oregon, Mr. Tice began driving passenger stage from Yreka north. His record run was 45 miles in four and one-half hours. Many perils were encountered by this courageous young driver, in one of which his six-horse team was drowned in flood waters.
    Fred Tice and his wife, Martha, also well-known pioneer, have witnessed the construction of every business building and residence in Medford.
    Besides his wife, he leaves five children: Mrs. H. W. Smith of Tacoma, Wash.; Ralph Tice, Rochester, Wash.; Fred Jr., of Centralia; Mrs. J. W. Marshall, San Francisco, and Oliver Tice of Medford.
    Mr. Tice was a member of the Odd Fellows lodge of Medford for 40 years; also a member of the local camp W.O.W.
    Funeral services will be conducted by Rev. D. E. Millard at the Conger chapel at 2:30 Monday with the Odd Fellows officiating at the graveside in Medford I.O.O.F. cemetery.
Medford Mail Tribune, April 12, 1935, page 1


    Recent floods in the Rogue Valley recalled for F. S. Brandon, 211 North Ivy St., the Umpqua River flood of 1880, when six stage horses and a heavy loaded stage "disappeared."
    Fred Tyce, 30, a pioneer resident of Griffin Creek, was a stagecoach driver for the California-Oregon Stage Coach line operating between Redding, Calif., and Roseburg, Brandon recalled.
Jacksonville Stop
    He said, "One morning in early February, 1880, the six-horse northbound stage stopped at Jacksonville, where a change of drivers was made. Fred Tyce had the Jacksonville-Roseburg run. The stage coach was heavy loaded with mail and express. He had but one passenger, a man, who sat on the driver's seat with Fred.
    "A change of horses was made about every 12 miles.
    "Colonel Stone, superintendent of the stage line, was located at Jacksonville and kept in touch with the Western Union Telegraph Company concerning time of stage arrivals at all stations. If a stage was behind time and failed to deliver mail to outgoing trains at Redding, Calif., or Roseburg, Ore., it meant a financial loss of no small amount to the stage coach company.
    "Fred stopped at a station to change horses. He was handed a telegram from Colonel Stone," Brandon recalled. The telegram read "You are 30 minutes behind time, make it up. We own the horses, so use your whip," according to Brandon.
Lover of Horses
    The stage hitch was changed, Brandon said, and added, "Fred was a lover of horses, and thought a lot of that particular six-horse team. He said afterward that there was some sort of an omen or foretelling came over him that day not to heed the demand of Colonel Stone, in particularly running the heavy loaded team uphill and downhill for 12 long miles. However, he obeyed orders, gave them a slack rein, and away they went.
    "When he reached the Umpqua River it was flood high. The roadway at one place was close to the river bank. The passenger was watching closely. Suddenly he yelled to jump quick. Both men jumped and climbed with all possible speed, grabbing bushes or anything they could hang to. A small oak tree toppled over, they grabbed it, and pulled themselves upward. Tough roots of the little tree held fast to solid ground above. They climbed out. The river bank and wagon road had caved in the Umpqua River. The six-horse team and coach disappeared in the heavy flood waters."
Boards Stage
    Tyce, Brandon said, boarded the next stage south for Jacksonville, intending to have a rest at his parents' home at Griffin Creek. But Colonel Stone was waiting for Tyce, Brandon said, and had heard about the Umpqua flood incident.
    Brandon added that Colonel Stone said, "Our southbound stage was held up and robbed on the old Dollarhide toll road on the Siskiyous. The driver was scared out and quit us at Yreka. I am short a driver to take this stage to Yreka, and you are the only one available I can depend on."
    Tyce took the stage to Yreka, Brandon added.
Medford Mail Tribune, March 4, 1956, page 12  The source of Brandon's information is unknown. He got Fred's name and age, the month and year (see 1879 articles above) and other details wrong--and triggered the response below.


    To the Editor: I was very interested in F. S. Brandon's account of the 1880 Umpqua flood and the "disappearance" of six stage horses and a heavy loaded stage of driver Fred Tice (not Tyce) as mentioned in the Mail Tribune of March 4. I knew Fred Tice years ago, and he told me of the incident many times. I hope the following will clarify and not contradict Mr. Brandon's account.
    Fred Tice's stage run in February 1880 was from Jacksonville to Canyonville, which was made in a day and a night, and the road at that time, down in the canyons and straight up over the mountains, rarely followed a grade. It was a bad winter and the mud in the road was axle deep to his coach. He said he expected trouble crossing the streams, but the main rivers, the Rogue and the Umpqua, were bridged but Grave Creek, Wolf Creek and Cow Creek were open fords. He recalled that
though they were all raging torrents he made it across all till he reached Cow Creek. Cow Creek was well over the banks and he was certain he could not ford it, but when he thought of the mail and the contract with the express company, he felt he had to ford it if at all possible, so he urged his team of six horses into the stream. The swift water forced the lead team to stop and the swing team became tangled in the "stretchers," better known as "singletrees," causing them to be pulled down in the raging waters, piling up the whole team. The stage, pushed by the current of the stream, swung around against the bank and Fred and his guard abandoned the coach, saving the express box and mail sack. They then walked to a change station and stayed a short time, and when the high waters lowered enough so they could get to where the horses were, they took their pocket knives and cut the harness loose from the horses and let them float down the creek. This is the version of the drowning as told to me by Mr. Tice. Mr. Tice has a son living here in Medford.
    There is a picture on display in the Jacksonville Museum of the late Fred Tice on the seat of his stage coach driving a six-horse team, but if this was the team that drowned I do not know.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, March 7, 1956, page 4