Rick Just's Blog, page 160
June 3, 2020
Idaho's Normal Schools, Part One
When I was growing up, I heard a lot about the Albion Normal School because my mother went there. I’m sure I wasn’t the first to wonder, if this was the “normal” school, where did the students who weren’t normal go?
Normal schools in the U.S. were simply colleges that produced teachers. Idaho had two of them. In a way, it still has both, though the campus at Albion hasn’t been a place of higher education since 1951.
We’ll look at a little history of Albion, today. Tomorrow the subject will be the Lewiston Normal School. Both schools were authorized by the Idaho State Legislature in 1893.
Today, Albion is a small south-central Idaho town. But in 1893, it was a small south-central Idaho town. What? Some did scratch their heads when the site was picked. There was no railroad nearby and nothing particular that would lead one to believe a college would thrive there. It did have the advantage of being about a day’s travel away from most places in southern Idaho, and it had an influential senator who proposed the location.
The proposal nearly died at its inception. The bill creating the school called for funds to come from the sale of public lands granted by Congress for colleges devoted to the development of agriculture and the mechanical arts. The Idaho Attorney General wrote an opinion that such a funding method was unconstitutional. In his opinion only the interest from such funds could be used while the principle remained untouched. In his opinion, Attorney General Parsons wrote, “The intention of congress (was) to create an irreducible fund, one that will not only benefit present but also all future generations, is most manifest.” We call income from those lands the State Endowment Fund today.
Both normal schools were authorized, but with nearly no funding.
That didn’t stop the citizens of Albion. J.E. Miller donated land for the campus of the new normal school and the citizens got together to construct the first building with volunteer labor. In 1894 classes began with 23 students and two teachers.
At first the Albion Normal School offered only one year of instruction to its students. By 1934 it was a two-year school with 200 students.
But, it was still in Albion, that small south-central Idaho town. That didn’t make sense to a lot of people and the school endured efforts to close it in 1911 and 1917. Then, in 1946, the Idaho Legislature commissioned a study of the state’s institutions of higher learning. That study recommended the closure of Albion if it did not substantially increase its student enrollment within five years. Those years ticked by without an uptick, and the school was shuttered in 1951.
Its mission of educating teachers was transferred to Idaho State College, now Idaho State University in Pocatello.
During its time, more than 6,500 teachers got degrees there, including future U.S. Secretary of Education Terrell Bell. Oh, and my mom, my aunt, and my great aunt. Who do you know that went to Albion? [image error]
Normal schools in the U.S. were simply colleges that produced teachers. Idaho had two of them. In a way, it still has both, though the campus at Albion hasn’t been a place of higher education since 1951.
We’ll look at a little history of Albion, today. Tomorrow the subject will be the Lewiston Normal School. Both schools were authorized by the Idaho State Legislature in 1893.
Today, Albion is a small south-central Idaho town. But in 1893, it was a small south-central Idaho town. What? Some did scratch their heads when the site was picked. There was no railroad nearby and nothing particular that would lead one to believe a college would thrive there. It did have the advantage of being about a day’s travel away from most places in southern Idaho, and it had an influential senator who proposed the location.
The proposal nearly died at its inception. The bill creating the school called for funds to come from the sale of public lands granted by Congress for colleges devoted to the development of agriculture and the mechanical arts. The Idaho Attorney General wrote an opinion that such a funding method was unconstitutional. In his opinion only the interest from such funds could be used while the principle remained untouched. In his opinion, Attorney General Parsons wrote, “The intention of congress (was) to create an irreducible fund, one that will not only benefit present but also all future generations, is most manifest.” We call income from those lands the State Endowment Fund today.
Both normal schools were authorized, but with nearly no funding.
That didn’t stop the citizens of Albion. J.E. Miller donated land for the campus of the new normal school and the citizens got together to construct the first building with volunteer labor. In 1894 classes began with 23 students and two teachers.
At first the Albion Normal School offered only one year of instruction to its students. By 1934 it was a two-year school with 200 students.
But, it was still in Albion, that small south-central Idaho town. That didn’t make sense to a lot of people and the school endured efforts to close it in 1911 and 1917. Then, in 1946, the Idaho Legislature commissioned a study of the state’s institutions of higher learning. That study recommended the closure of Albion if it did not substantially increase its student enrollment within five years. Those years ticked by without an uptick, and the school was shuttered in 1951.
Its mission of educating teachers was transferred to Idaho State College, now Idaho State University in Pocatello.
During its time, more than 6,500 teachers got degrees there, including future U.S. Secretary of Education Terrell Bell. Oh, and my mom, my aunt, and my great aunt. Who do you know that went to Albion? [image error]
June 2, 2020
Capitol Clocks
Time is of some importance when you’re running the government, especially at the statehouse where committee meetings follow a published agenda. It was important enough in the early days of Idaho’s capitol that they installed a system of clocks each controlled by a single master clock. The master clock stood about six feet high with a pendulum the size of dinner plate.
Problems with the system developed almost immediately.
The September 20th, 1914, Idaho Statesman reported that “All the clocks in the capitol building proper are regulated and set every few minutes by the master clock in the office of the state board of health on the top floor, and as this has been out of order for some time the whole system has been stopped, and for some reason each separate instrument stopped at a different hour.”
This resulted in some confusion as visitors moved about inside the statehouse only to find that time seemed to be rushing ahead or falling back at random according to the 27 clocks on the system.
The clocks throughout the building were notorious for not working. They went for years at a time without moving at all, offering a “wide variety of time.” They underwent repair several times, costing taxpayers about $500 per fix, each of which would last a week or two. It wasn’t long before maintenance staff just gave up.
At least a couple of times a Statesman reporter would take it upon himself to report the time in various offices to goad the government a bit. In several state offices they covered the clocks to avoid confusion. And embarrassment.
One clock was so thoroughly covered that it disappeared even from memory. An ornate clock behind the justices of the Idaho Supreme Court was covered by a false wall. That room became the setting for the Joint Finance and Appropriation Committee (JFAC) meetings when the court got its own building. The clock was rediscovered during the repair and remodel following the statehouse fire in 1992, and was restored to its original grandeur (see photo). It is the last of the capitol clocks that once—occasionally—ran on signals from the master clock. The mechanism has been replaced so that it ACTUALLY TELLS TIME.
The clock in the JFAC Hearing Room.
Problems with the system developed almost immediately.
The September 20th, 1914, Idaho Statesman reported that “All the clocks in the capitol building proper are regulated and set every few minutes by the master clock in the office of the state board of health on the top floor, and as this has been out of order for some time the whole system has been stopped, and for some reason each separate instrument stopped at a different hour.”
This resulted in some confusion as visitors moved about inside the statehouse only to find that time seemed to be rushing ahead or falling back at random according to the 27 clocks on the system.
The clocks throughout the building were notorious for not working. They went for years at a time without moving at all, offering a “wide variety of time.” They underwent repair several times, costing taxpayers about $500 per fix, each of which would last a week or two. It wasn’t long before maintenance staff just gave up.
At least a couple of times a Statesman reporter would take it upon himself to report the time in various offices to goad the government a bit. In several state offices they covered the clocks to avoid confusion. And embarrassment.
One clock was so thoroughly covered that it disappeared even from memory. An ornate clock behind the justices of the Idaho Supreme Court was covered by a false wall. That room became the setting for the Joint Finance and Appropriation Committee (JFAC) meetings when the court got its own building. The clock was rediscovered during the repair and remodel following the statehouse fire in 1992, and was restored to its original grandeur (see photo). It is the last of the capitol clocks that once—occasionally—ran on signals from the master clock. The mechanism has been replaced so that it ACTUALLY TELLS TIME.
The clock in the JFAC Hearing Room.
June 1, 2020
Has Anyone Ever Counted those Springs?
What’s with all those springs, and are there really a thousand of them?
Oregon Trail pioneers came up with the name Thousand Springs. They likely didn’t count them. The springs tumble out of the canyon walls on the (roughly) north side of the Snake River from (again, roughly) Niagara Springs northwest of Buhl to the springs that fill Billingsley Creek at Hagerman. Many of the springs, which run a steady 58 degrees, have been captured for trout production or production of power, so they are less spectacular to view today than they were before the turn to the Twentieth Century.
But where do they come from? That was a puzzlement to the pioneers who named them, but geologists have it figured out. Much of the Snake River Plain consists of fractured basalt. Over theeons,s rain and snowmelt found its way through the cracks, filling them up much the way a sponge absorbs water. Water from as far away as the southern reaches of Yellowstone National Park has been seeping into the aquifer for thousands of years. The Lost River isn’t so much lost as it is hiding. It dives down into those cracks so thoroughly that it disappears.
The Snake River, with a bit of help from the Bonneville Flood, has been carving its canyons into that basalt, eroding away the “foot” of it and giving the water a chance to drain. Those are the springs along the canyon wall. There are also springs beneath the river, such as crystal clear Blue Heart Springs.
There may have been a balance of water going in and water coming out at one time. Now, water pumped for irrigation is depleting the aquifer faster than nature can fill it up. That’s why the springs have measurably diminished over the past few decades.
The picture shows the main Thousand Springs site near Hagerman before 1910, when construction of the concrete capture structure was completed. This is how it would have looked to the pioneers who named it.
#thousandsprings
Oregon Trail pioneers came up with the name Thousand Springs. They likely didn’t count them. The springs tumble out of the canyon walls on the (roughly) north side of the Snake River from (again, roughly) Niagara Springs northwest of Buhl to the springs that fill Billingsley Creek at Hagerman. Many of the springs, which run a steady 58 degrees, have been captured for trout production or production of power, so they are less spectacular to view today than they were before the turn to the Twentieth Century.
But where do they come from? That was a puzzlement to the pioneers who named them, but geologists have it figured out. Much of the Snake River Plain consists of fractured basalt. Over theeons,s rain and snowmelt found its way through the cracks, filling them up much the way a sponge absorbs water. Water from as far away as the southern reaches of Yellowstone National Park has been seeping into the aquifer for thousands of years. The Lost River isn’t so much lost as it is hiding. It dives down into those cracks so thoroughly that it disappears.
The Snake River, with a bit of help from the Bonneville Flood, has been carving its canyons into that basalt, eroding away the “foot” of it and giving the water a chance to drain. Those are the springs along the canyon wall. There are also springs beneath the river, such as crystal clear Blue Heart Springs.
There may have been a balance of water going in and water coming out at one time. Now, water pumped for irrigation is depleting the aquifer faster than nature can fill it up. That’s why the springs have measurably diminished over the past few decades.
The picture shows the main Thousand Springs site near Hagerman before 1910, when construction of the concrete capture structure was completed. This is how it would have looked to the pioneers who named it.
#thousandsprings
May 31, 2020
Pop Quiz!
Below is a little Idaho trivia quiz. If you’ve been following Speaking of Idaho, you might do very well. Caution, it is my job to throw you off the scent. Answers below the picture.
1). Which Idaho company once operated the Treasure Valley’s Interurban?
A. J.R. Simplot
B. Trus-Joist
C. Morrison-Knudsen
D. Idaho Power
E. Intermountain Gas
2). Why did they move American Falls?
A. A surveying error had placed it on federal property
B. Radon in the soil was causing people to get sick
C. To make way for a reservoir
D. When the Fort Hall Reservation was established they wanted to be outside of its boundaries
E. None of the above.
3). What was Jim Stevens famous for writing?
A. The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere
B. The “Dr. Seuss” stories
C. The B. M. Bower western series
D. The Paul Bunyan stories
E. The preamble to Idaho’s constitution
4). What was the name of Meriwether Lewis’ dog?
A. Scannon
B. Bud
C. Seaman
D. Lion
E. Puck
5) What street was the name of the artwork that was moved from in front of Boise City Hall?
A. The Big Steaming Crack
B. Lincoln, Sitting
C. Lincoln, Standing
D. Postcards From the Edge
E. Point of Origin
Answers
1, D
2, C
3, D
4, C
5, E
How did you do?
5 right—Why aren’t you writing this blog?
4 right—A true Idaho native, no matter where you’re from.
3 right—Good! Treat yourself to some French fries.
2 right—Okay! Eat more potatoes!
1 right—Meh. You need to read more blog posts.
0 right—Really, you should reconsider your recent relocation.
1). Which Idaho company once operated the Treasure Valley’s Interurban?
A. J.R. Simplot
B. Trus-Joist
C. Morrison-Knudsen
D. Idaho Power
E. Intermountain Gas
2). Why did they move American Falls?
A. A surveying error had placed it on federal property
B. Radon in the soil was causing people to get sick
C. To make way for a reservoir
D. When the Fort Hall Reservation was established they wanted to be outside of its boundaries
E. None of the above.
3). What was Jim Stevens famous for writing?
A. The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere
B. The “Dr. Seuss” stories
C. The B. M. Bower western series
D. The Paul Bunyan stories
E. The preamble to Idaho’s constitution
4). What was the name of Meriwether Lewis’ dog?
A. Scannon
B. Bud
C. Seaman
D. Lion
E. Puck
5) What street was the name of the artwork that was moved from in front of Boise City Hall?
A. The Big Steaming Crack
B. Lincoln, Sitting
C. Lincoln, Standing
D. Postcards From the Edge
E. Point of Origin
Answers1, D
2, C
3, D
4, C
5, E
How did you do?
5 right—Why aren’t you writing this blog?
4 right—A true Idaho native, no matter where you’re from.
3 right—Good! Treat yourself to some French fries.
2 right—Okay! Eat more potatoes!
1 right—Meh. You need to read more blog posts.
0 right—Really, you should reconsider your recent relocation.
May 30, 2020
Better at Butter
A personal indulgence, today. One of my favorite stories from my family history. The following was taken from the book
Letters of Long Ago
by Agnes Just Reid, first published in 1923, and available today in its fourth edition on Amazon. Nels and Emma Just were my great grandparents. Emma is writing to her father in England.
“The winter was uneventful, but the spring, the spring has been wonderful! We have had guests, distinguished guests from the big world itself. You see there is a land to the northeast of us, perhaps a hundred miles, that is considered marvelous for its scenic possibilities and the government is sending a party of surveyors, chemists, etc., to pass judgment with a view to setting it aside for a national park. Well, this party happened to stop at our little cabin. There were representatives from all of the big eastern colleges, and then besides, there were the Moran brothers. I think you must have heard of Thomas Moran even as far away as England, for he is a wonderful nature artist. And his brother John is what I have heard you speak of as a "book maker." He writes magazine articles.
“And these two remarkable men were interested in us and in our way of living. Think of it, Father! I took them into the cellar where I had been churning to give them a drink of fresh buttermilk and while they drank and enjoyed it, I was smoothing the rolls of butter with my cedar paddle that Nels had whittled out for me with his pocket knife. I noticed the artist man paying special attention to the process and finally he ventured rather apologetically: "Mrs. Just, would you mind telling me what you varnish your rolls of butter with that gives them such a glossy appearance?" I thought the man was making fun of me, or sport of me as you would express it, but I looked into his face and saw that it was all candor. That is one of the happiest experiences of my life for that man who knows everything to be ignorant in the lines that I know so well. I tried to make him understand that the smooth paddle and the fresh butter were all sufficient but I think he is still rather bewildered. And do you know, since that day, the art of butter making has taken on anew dignity. I always did like to do it, but now my cedar paddle keeps singing to me with every stroke, "Even Thomas Moran cannot do this, Thomas Moran cannot do this," and before I know it the butter is all finished and I am ready to sing a different song to the washboard.”
Thomas Moran, of course, was a member of the Hayden Expedition to Yellowstone in 1871. The expedition was camped nearby along the Blackfoot River on their way to Yellowstone, and several members visited the Just cabin. Emma and Nels sold them some of their handiwork. Some leather gloves and britches.
Family tradition has it that the britches in this photo, taken by another famous man that went along on that expedition, William Henry Jackson, were made by Emma.
“The winter was uneventful, but the spring, the spring has been wonderful! We have had guests, distinguished guests from the big world itself. You see there is a land to the northeast of us, perhaps a hundred miles, that is considered marvelous for its scenic possibilities and the government is sending a party of surveyors, chemists, etc., to pass judgment with a view to setting it aside for a national park. Well, this party happened to stop at our little cabin. There were representatives from all of the big eastern colleges, and then besides, there were the Moran brothers. I think you must have heard of Thomas Moran even as far away as England, for he is a wonderful nature artist. And his brother John is what I have heard you speak of as a "book maker." He writes magazine articles.
“And these two remarkable men were interested in us and in our way of living. Think of it, Father! I took them into the cellar where I had been churning to give them a drink of fresh buttermilk and while they drank and enjoyed it, I was smoothing the rolls of butter with my cedar paddle that Nels had whittled out for me with his pocket knife. I noticed the artist man paying special attention to the process and finally he ventured rather apologetically: "Mrs. Just, would you mind telling me what you varnish your rolls of butter with that gives them such a glossy appearance?" I thought the man was making fun of me, or sport of me as you would express it, but I looked into his face and saw that it was all candor. That is one of the happiest experiences of my life for that man who knows everything to be ignorant in the lines that I know so well. I tried to make him understand that the smooth paddle and the fresh butter were all sufficient but I think he is still rather bewildered. And do you know, since that day, the art of butter making has taken on anew dignity. I always did like to do it, but now my cedar paddle keeps singing to me with every stroke, "Even Thomas Moran cannot do this, Thomas Moran cannot do this," and before I know it the butter is all finished and I am ready to sing a different song to the washboard.”
Thomas Moran, of course, was a member of the Hayden Expedition to Yellowstone in 1871. The expedition was camped nearby along the Blackfoot River on their way to Yellowstone, and several members visited the Just cabin. Emma and Nels sold them some of their handiwork. Some leather gloves and britches.
Family tradition has it that the britches in this photo, taken by another famous man that went along on that expedition, William Henry Jackson, were made by Emma.
May 29, 2020
Manning Crevice Bridge
It’s time for our occasional Then and Now feature.
The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) operated 248 camps in Idaho between 1933 and 1941. The famous jobs program kept 88,000 young men working in Idaho, most of them from far-flung states across the country. It was a big jobs program for Idaho men, too. According to Ivar Nelson, who with his wife Patricia Hart, has amassed a vast collection of material on the CCCs in Idaho, one in five Idaho men—about 20,000—served in the CCC during the depression. Check out their Civilian Conservation Corps in Idaho Collection.
The CCCs built roads, cattle watering ponds, Forest Service buildings, trails, and most of the facilities in Heyburn State Park. They planted trees and fought soil erosion. And they built a bridge across the Salmon River.
The Manning Crevice Bridge, about 14 miles upstream from Riggins, was a 248-foot-long suspension bridge that was part of an ill-conceived road project. That project was a plan to make a road along the Salmon from North Fork to Riggins, uniting the state roughly from border to border. The CCCs started on both ends, meaning to meet in the middle, perhaps driving the equivalent of a golden spike to celebrate.
People who valued the wildness of the river were opposed to it, but the CCCs plunged on, oblivious to politics. They made good progress on both ends until steep canyons started to bring a dose of reality to the project. By the time World War II kicked up, sending young men on another mission, it was clear that funding and topography would kill the project.
The Manning Crevice Bridge, named for John C. Manning, a CCC worker who lost his life during its construction, was probably the most visible relic of the venture. It served back country travel for decades.
The bridge was deemed unsafe a few years ago by the Federal Highway Administration. It didn’t get a lot of traffic, but it was the only access to that side of the river, so they determined they needed a safe, one-lane bridge. The general contractor that won the bid, the RSCI Group in Boise, also won an award for the project, which was completed in 2019. The new Manning Crevice Bridge is only the seventh structure in the world to use an asymmetrical, single tower bridge design. It is the first such bridge in North America (see photo below). Though of modern design the bridge was built using a weathering steel that provides a densely rusted patina that gives it an antique look while protecting the structure.
The old Manning Crevice Bridge, above, and the new structure below. 
The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) operated 248 camps in Idaho between 1933 and 1941. The famous jobs program kept 88,000 young men working in Idaho, most of them from far-flung states across the country. It was a big jobs program for Idaho men, too. According to Ivar Nelson, who with his wife Patricia Hart, has amassed a vast collection of material on the CCCs in Idaho, one in five Idaho men—about 20,000—served in the CCC during the depression. Check out their Civilian Conservation Corps in Idaho Collection.
The CCCs built roads, cattle watering ponds, Forest Service buildings, trails, and most of the facilities in Heyburn State Park. They planted trees and fought soil erosion. And they built a bridge across the Salmon River.
The Manning Crevice Bridge, about 14 miles upstream from Riggins, was a 248-foot-long suspension bridge that was part of an ill-conceived road project. That project was a plan to make a road along the Salmon from North Fork to Riggins, uniting the state roughly from border to border. The CCCs started on both ends, meaning to meet in the middle, perhaps driving the equivalent of a golden spike to celebrate.
People who valued the wildness of the river were opposed to it, but the CCCs plunged on, oblivious to politics. They made good progress on both ends until steep canyons started to bring a dose of reality to the project. By the time World War II kicked up, sending young men on another mission, it was clear that funding and topography would kill the project.
The Manning Crevice Bridge, named for John C. Manning, a CCC worker who lost his life during its construction, was probably the most visible relic of the venture. It served back country travel for decades.
The bridge was deemed unsafe a few years ago by the Federal Highway Administration. It didn’t get a lot of traffic, but it was the only access to that side of the river, so they determined they needed a safe, one-lane bridge. The general contractor that won the bid, the RSCI Group in Boise, also won an award for the project, which was completed in 2019. The new Manning Crevice Bridge is only the seventh structure in the world to use an asymmetrical, single tower bridge design. It is the first such bridge in North America (see photo below). Though of modern design the bridge was built using a weathering steel that provides a densely rusted patina that gives it an antique look while protecting the structure.
The old Manning Crevice Bridge, above, and the new structure below.
May 28, 2020
Boise Art
Boise is a city filled with public art, thanks largely to the efforts of the Boise City Arts and History program. But it wasn’t always that way. The first piece of public art didn’t come along until 1915, when a statute of Abraham Lincoln went up at the Old Soldier’s Home. In 1927 a life-size statue of assassinated former governor Frank Steunenberg was installed across from the Capitol’s main entrance. That was the only public art in the city until Point of Origin, a modernistic series of metal frames, was installed in front of City Hall in 1978. The sculpture, which was meant to frame various city views for the appreciative art connoisseur, generated more controversy than admiration. It was eventually moved to the grounds of the Boise Art Museum (top picture), where it ruffles fewer feathers.
That less-than-lauded attempt to art up the city wasn’t a great start. In spite of it the city arts program has soared in recent years, with dozens of installations of major art pieces all over town, including more than 160 beloved art-wrapped traffic control boxes (bottom picture).
That less-than-lauded attempt to art up the city wasn’t a great start. In spite of it the city arts program has soared in recent years, with dozens of installations of major art pieces all over town, including more than 160 beloved art-wrapped traffic control boxes (bottom picture).
May 27, 2020
Beaver Slides
Do you know what a beaver slide is? If you’re a beaver fan, you’ll probably assume I’m talking about a muddy little path that serves as a quick way to get into the water for your favorite rodent.
The beaver slide I have in mind was once used to stack hay all over the West. It was patented as the Beaver County Slide Stacker in the early 1900s. Invented in the Big Hole Valley in Montana, it’s a somewhat portable device, made of wood, that lets someone with a team of horses pull a big wad of hay up the slide and topple it off onto a stack. Before bailing became the thing to do, loose hay in stacks was a way to store and preserve it. Hay stacked that way can last a couple of years—maybe as many as six years, if conditions are right.
The name was popularly shortened to beaver slide by those who used it. Nowadays you’re more likely to see a roll of hay the size of a Volkswagen than a beaver slide and a loose stack. However, the University of Montana notes that a few ranchers are going back to this method because it saves money and fuel.
The beaver slide in the picture was being run by Nona Virgin on the Railroad Ranch in the Island Park country, probably in the 1920s.
#idahohistory #beaverslide #harrimanstatepark
The beaver slide I have in mind was once used to stack hay all over the West. It was patented as the Beaver County Slide Stacker in the early 1900s. Invented in the Big Hole Valley in Montana, it’s a somewhat portable device, made of wood, that lets someone with a team of horses pull a big wad of hay up the slide and topple it off onto a stack. Before bailing became the thing to do, loose hay in stacks was a way to store and preserve it. Hay stacked that way can last a couple of years—maybe as many as six years, if conditions are right.
The name was popularly shortened to beaver slide by those who used it. Nowadays you’re more likely to see a roll of hay the size of a Volkswagen than a beaver slide and a loose stack. However, the University of Montana notes that a few ranchers are going back to this method because it saves money and fuel.
The beaver slide in the picture was being run by Nona Virgin on the Railroad Ranch in the Island Park country, probably in the 1920s.
#idahohistory #beaverslide #harrimanstatepark
May 26, 2020
Arboglyphs
My father was an unrepentant creator of arboglyphs. He probably didn’t give it a second thought. It was simply his practice to carve his initials in the bark of quaking aspens from time to time when he was in the hills in the Blackfoot River country of Southeastern Idaho.
He probably knew that Basque sheepherders did the same thing across the southern part of the state. It’s a way to say “I was here.”
The Basques left initials and dates in the tree bark, but often added their hometown, images of churches, and other figures.
The three arboglyph photos shown are in the Basque Museum in Boise, which is well worth the hour you’ll spend there next time you’re in town.
He probably knew that Basque sheepherders did the same thing across the southern part of the state. It’s a way to say “I was here.”
The Basques left initials and dates in the tree bark, but often added their hometown, images of churches, and other figures.
The three arboglyph photos shown are in the Basque Museum in Boise, which is well worth the hour you’ll spend there next time you’re in town.
May 25, 2020
The Boise Victory Center
During World War II cities and towns across the country established Victory Centers. They were places temporarily put into service to raise money for the war effort through the sale of war bonds.
Boise’s Victory Center was a stage in front of city hall. Every week on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, organizers would present entertainment there starting when the noon whistle went off. The performances were meant to inspire downtown workers to buy bonds and, not incidentally, sign up for some branch of the military to serve their country.
The first mention of a Victory Center in The Idaho Statesman, on June 12, 1942, had a strong Idaho connection, but it wasn’t about Boise. It was about the Portland Victory Center, where Lana Turner had bestowed kisses on the top purchasers of war bonds. Turner, from Wallace, Idaho, was generous with her kisses and the people of Portland—likely the male people of Portland—were generous with their dollars. The crowd of some 30,000 purchased $379,000 worth of war bonds.
Inspired by Portland’s success, Boise merchants announced the first performance on the Victory Center stage in front of city hall at the end of June. The city band played, and every time someone bought a bond the emcee rang a bell.
The Statesman commended the Retail Merchants Bureau for the Victory Center, writing that, “If they take the trouble to arrange snappy, diversified programs, they will attract copious crowds to Victory Center, nee the City Hall vista.”
The newspaper’s praise continued: “Boise candidly apes Portland and Seattle in the Victory Center idea. Those two coast cities have mammoth Victory Center stages raised at the heart of the commercial districts and hold interesting programs daily, interspersed with effective bond buying ballyhoo. The programs attract thousands of people, utilize crowd emotion, fan the red-blooded Yankee spirit and sell thousands of dollars’ worth of victory bonds.”
The first week in July 1942, the Victory Center performance featured “a negro quartet from Camp Bonneville,” along with the Gowen Field orchestra. The U.S. treasury publicity chief made an appearance, declaring the Victory Center a vital part of the war bond effort. R.M. Logsdon, the state war bond committee secretary said, “It bares the patriotic spirit where the hurried noon-day crowds can pause to reflect on the urgency of financial support of the war effort.”
Performances on the stage included the dramatization of a prize-winning play by a KIDO troupe, Ivan Hopper’s orchestra, and a solo sung by Curt Williams. Rousing, patriotic speeches were not uncommon. One such, given by E.G. Harlan of the Boise Chamber of Commerce, included the line, “When a small boy saves his dimes and nickels until he can buy $5 worth of stamps, perhaps he is buying an airplane first aid kit that may save the life of his older brother in service.”
When the Dailey Brothers circus came to town, Mary, Rosie, and Nemo put on a show at the Victory Center. Mayor A.A. Walker posed with one of the pachyderms performers for a front-page picture.
That bond bell that rang up the purchases was probably scrap metal by the time it quit dinging on July 10. The City of Boise bought $50,000 in war bonds. A $1,000 war bond could be purchased for $750 and redeemed after the war for face value.
KIDO and The Statesman got together in August to sponsor a slogan contest. Those participating were to complete the phrase “Sponsor a Naval Recruit” with six catchy words of their own. The winner of the contest, from hundreds of entries, was Mrs. Dorothy Layne of Boise. Her slogan was “Sponsor a Naval Recruit—put more kicks in America’s boot.” That earned her a $25 war bond.
It wasn’t all about the money. At one Victory Centerpresentation,n 74 young men signed on with the navy. In subsequent days the Victory Center goal was to raise $1,000 each to pay for transportation and training of the men. They ended up raising $81,000.
Boise’s Victory Center was established to encourage the purchase of war bonds. Photo, United States. Dept. of the Treasury war bonds poster, 1942.
Boise’s Victory Center was a stage in front of city hall. Every week on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, organizers would present entertainment there starting when the noon whistle went off. The performances were meant to inspire downtown workers to buy bonds and, not incidentally, sign up for some branch of the military to serve their country.
The first mention of a Victory Center in The Idaho Statesman, on June 12, 1942, had a strong Idaho connection, but it wasn’t about Boise. It was about the Portland Victory Center, where Lana Turner had bestowed kisses on the top purchasers of war bonds. Turner, from Wallace, Idaho, was generous with her kisses and the people of Portland—likely the male people of Portland—were generous with their dollars. The crowd of some 30,000 purchased $379,000 worth of war bonds.
Inspired by Portland’s success, Boise merchants announced the first performance on the Victory Center stage in front of city hall at the end of June. The city band played, and every time someone bought a bond the emcee rang a bell.
The Statesman commended the Retail Merchants Bureau for the Victory Center, writing that, “If they take the trouble to arrange snappy, diversified programs, they will attract copious crowds to Victory Center, nee the City Hall vista.”
The newspaper’s praise continued: “Boise candidly apes Portland and Seattle in the Victory Center idea. Those two coast cities have mammoth Victory Center stages raised at the heart of the commercial districts and hold interesting programs daily, interspersed with effective bond buying ballyhoo. The programs attract thousands of people, utilize crowd emotion, fan the red-blooded Yankee spirit and sell thousands of dollars’ worth of victory bonds.”
The first week in July 1942, the Victory Center performance featured “a negro quartet from Camp Bonneville,” along with the Gowen Field orchestra. The U.S. treasury publicity chief made an appearance, declaring the Victory Center a vital part of the war bond effort. R.M. Logsdon, the state war bond committee secretary said, “It bares the patriotic spirit where the hurried noon-day crowds can pause to reflect on the urgency of financial support of the war effort.”
Performances on the stage included the dramatization of a prize-winning play by a KIDO troupe, Ivan Hopper’s orchestra, and a solo sung by Curt Williams. Rousing, patriotic speeches were not uncommon. One such, given by E.G. Harlan of the Boise Chamber of Commerce, included the line, “When a small boy saves his dimes and nickels until he can buy $5 worth of stamps, perhaps he is buying an airplane first aid kit that may save the life of his older brother in service.”
When the Dailey Brothers circus came to town, Mary, Rosie, and Nemo put on a show at the Victory Center. Mayor A.A. Walker posed with one of the pachyderms performers for a front-page picture.
That bond bell that rang up the purchases was probably scrap metal by the time it quit dinging on July 10. The City of Boise bought $50,000 in war bonds. A $1,000 war bond could be purchased for $750 and redeemed after the war for face value.
KIDO and The Statesman got together in August to sponsor a slogan contest. Those participating were to complete the phrase “Sponsor a Naval Recruit” with six catchy words of their own. The winner of the contest, from hundreds of entries, was Mrs. Dorothy Layne of Boise. Her slogan was “Sponsor a Naval Recruit—put more kicks in America’s boot.” That earned her a $25 war bond.
It wasn’t all about the money. At one Victory Centerpresentation,n 74 young men signed on with the navy. In subsequent days the Victory Center goal was to raise $1,000 each to pay for transportation and training of the men. They ended up raising $81,000.
Boise’s Victory Center was established to encourage the purchase of war bonds. Photo, United States. Dept. of the Treasury war bonds poster, 1942.
