Rick Just's Blog, page 163
May 4, 2020
Shape Up, Idaho
So, every state has a unique shape. Even Wyoming and Colorado are different-sized rectangles. By the way, what’s with those two? It’s like map makers just got bored at the end of the day and drew four lines with their T-squares. Even Kansas, as one-dimensional as a sheet of paper, has a little oops in the upper right-hand corner where Missouri slouches into it.
But I digress.
The shape of Idaho just wants to be noticed. It has that gnome-sitting-in-a-chair thing going for it. Its face stares into Montana while Montana, rudely, stares into Idaho’s belly. It’s one of a handful of states that extends more vertically than horizontally, as if it is always in ascension.
And it has a legend.
In 1863, when Idaho became a territory, its boundaries included most of Wyoming, and all of Montana. That didn't last long, though. Congress carved Montana out of Idaho Territory in May of 1864, choosing the Bitterroot Mountain Range as the main border between the two territories.
Somehow, though, a legend grew up that the boundary resulted from a surveying error. According to this tale, the border was supposed to follow the Continental Divide all the way to Canada. Idaho would have included Missoula, Butte, and all of Montana west of the Rockies--a nice little piece of land.
The story goes that the surveyors were drunk, or they had been paid off by agents from Montana who wanted a bigger territory. It's a splendid story, but it isn't true. In fact, the boundary between Montana and Idaho wasn't even officially surveyed until fourteen years after Idaho statehood. The states simply got along knowing that the border generally followed the crest of the Bitterroots, as designated by the U.S. Congress.
In the years leading up to statehood; there was a lot of haggling and political maneuvering over where Idaho's borders should be. But drunken surveying crews did not play a part in shaping the state.
One footnote. I’m told the boundary legend tale came about because surveyors had a habit of dropping their empty refreshment bottles in the hole when they placed survey markers.
But I digress.
The shape of Idaho just wants to be noticed. It has that gnome-sitting-in-a-chair thing going for it. Its face stares into Montana while Montana, rudely, stares into Idaho’s belly. It’s one of a handful of states that extends more vertically than horizontally, as if it is always in ascension.
And it has a legend.
In 1863, when Idaho became a territory, its boundaries included most of Wyoming, and all of Montana. That didn't last long, though. Congress carved Montana out of Idaho Territory in May of 1864, choosing the Bitterroot Mountain Range as the main border between the two territories.
Somehow, though, a legend grew up that the boundary resulted from a surveying error. According to this tale, the border was supposed to follow the Continental Divide all the way to Canada. Idaho would have included Missoula, Butte, and all of Montana west of the Rockies--a nice little piece of land.
The story goes that the surveyors were drunk, or they had been paid off by agents from Montana who wanted a bigger territory. It's a splendid story, but it isn't true. In fact, the boundary between Montana and Idaho wasn't even officially surveyed until fourteen years after Idaho statehood. The states simply got along knowing that the border generally followed the crest of the Bitterroots, as designated by the U.S. Congress.
In the years leading up to statehood; there was a lot of haggling and political maneuvering over where Idaho's borders should be. But drunken surveying crews did not play a part in shaping the state.
One footnote. I’m told the boundary legend tale came about because surveyors had a habit of dropping their empty refreshment bottles in the hole when they placed survey markers.
May 3, 2020
Ballooning Over Grangeville
The writing style of reporters from days gone by was often a little more colorful than we’re used to today. Take for example this dispatch from Grangeville as reported in the October 5, 1906 edition of the Idaho Statesman.
“Women fainted, men groaned, children cried out in horror, this afternoon when Aeronaut E. Yates fell a distance of 150 feet from his balloon to the sidewalk in the center of about 2000 people who were attending the Woodmen street fair, and watching the ascension. It is feared Yates will not recover, his injuries being principally internal. He fell from his balloon about 2 o’clock, and was unconscious for half an hour. The accident was due to Yates mistaking the wave of a man’s hand as the signal to descend. He was not sufficiently far from the ground to permit his parachute to open and he struck the sidewalk with a thud.”
Aeronauts made the news frequently in those days of balloon exhibitions. More often than one would hope the story ended something like this one.
The photo is of a much happier balloon event, and serves no purpose other than to tie a balloon picture to a balloon story. It shows Idaho’s Centennial Balloon just above the hills at Hells Gate State Park in 1990, 84 years and about 70 miles from the Grangeville incident.
“Women fainted, men groaned, children cried out in horror, this afternoon when Aeronaut E. Yates fell a distance of 150 feet from his balloon to the sidewalk in the center of about 2000 people who were attending the Woodmen street fair, and watching the ascension. It is feared Yates will not recover, his injuries being principally internal. He fell from his balloon about 2 o’clock, and was unconscious for half an hour. The accident was due to Yates mistaking the wave of a man’s hand as the signal to descend. He was not sufficiently far from the ground to permit his parachute to open and he struck the sidewalk with a thud.”
Aeronauts made the news frequently in those days of balloon exhibitions. More often than one would hope the story ended something like this one.
The photo is of a much happier balloon event, and serves no purpose other than to tie a balloon picture to a balloon story. It shows Idaho’s Centennial Balloon just above the hills at Hells Gate State Park in 1990, 84 years and about 70 miles from the Grangeville incident.
May 2, 2020
The Future of Flight?
Local newspapers are all about local news nowadays, but that wasn’t always the case. In the late 1800s and early 1900s the local newspaper was often where one got all their news of the world. There were news cooperatives that local papers could subscribe to, including the Associated Press, which goes all the way back to 1846. Newspapers often traded subscriptions with each other so that stories told in one town could be retold in another, usually with attribution.
This came to mind when I ran across the March 4, 1914 edition of the Salmon Recorder. They devoted page three to national news without a single word about Salmon. The story that caught my eye had been written upon the occasion of the ten-year anniversary of the Wright Brothers flight. It pointed out that Wilbur Wright flew his plane for 59 seconds that day at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. In just ten years the record for sustained flight was up to 14 hours and 1,300 miles.
There were some predictions about what the future of “aeroplanes” would bring. An accompanying illustration, below, showed towering terminals in a city a little larger than Salmon could dream of becoming. There were about 1400 residents in 1914. Aeroplane users of the future were expected to take an elevator into the sky where they could catch an “uptown” or “downtown” plane to the destination of their choice.
Note to editors: If you stick your neck out and predict the future in print, the future will always come back to bite you.
This came to mind when I ran across the March 4, 1914 edition of the Salmon Recorder. They devoted page three to national news without a single word about Salmon. The story that caught my eye had been written upon the occasion of the ten-year anniversary of the Wright Brothers flight. It pointed out that Wilbur Wright flew his plane for 59 seconds that day at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. In just ten years the record for sustained flight was up to 14 hours and 1,300 miles.
There were some predictions about what the future of “aeroplanes” would bring. An accompanying illustration, below, showed towering terminals in a city a little larger than Salmon could dream of becoming. There were about 1400 residents in 1914. Aeroplane users of the future were expected to take an elevator into the sky where they could catch an “uptown” or “downtown” plane to the destination of their choice.
Note to editors: If you stick your neck out and predict the future in print, the future will always come back to bite you.
May 1, 2020
Famous Philo
When Philo T. Farnsworth appeared on the 1950s TV show, "I've Got a Secret," he leaned over and whispered his secret in the game show host's ear. When the secret was flashed on the screen for the audience and viewers at home, there was a lot of oohing and ahhing. Philo Taylor Farnsworth's secret was amazing. He had invented television. Perhaps even more amazing, he had done it when he was a high school student in Rigby, Idaho in 1922.
As a high school student, Farnsworth had recently heard radio broadcasts for the first time, and he was enchanted with the medium. But, wouldn't it be great if you could send pictures through the air, too? The young inventor sketched his idea for the cathode ray tube on a high school blackboard. That tube became the basis for modern television.
At the age of 20, Farnsworth produced the first all-electronic television image. In 1930, he received the first patent for television.
The former Rigby High School student went on to invent the first simple electron microscope. He did pioneering work on radar, black light viewing, and the peaceful use of atomic energy.
In all, Philo T. Farnsworth held over 300 U.S. and foreign patents. In 1983 the inventor was honored with a postage stamp. He is one of only three Idahoans so honored.
You can visit the Farnsworth TV and Pioneer Museum in Rigby, if you’d like to learn more.
As a high school student, Farnsworth had recently heard radio broadcasts for the first time, and he was enchanted with the medium. But, wouldn't it be great if you could send pictures through the air, too? The young inventor sketched his idea for the cathode ray tube on a high school blackboard. That tube became the basis for modern television.
At the age of 20, Farnsworth produced the first all-electronic television image. In 1930, he received the first patent for television.
The former Rigby High School student went on to invent the first simple electron microscope. He did pioneering work on radar, black light viewing, and the peaceful use of atomic energy.
In all, Philo T. Farnsworth held over 300 U.S. and foreign patents. In 1983 the inventor was honored with a postage stamp. He is one of only three Idahoans so honored.
You can visit the Farnsworth TV and Pioneer Museum in Rigby, if you’d like to learn more.
April 30, 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). Why were Farragut Naval Training Station’s drill halls famous?
A. They were the largest clear-span buildings in the world at the time.
B. They used cinderblock that crumbled before the roofs could be added.
C. They were Camouflaged to look like small lakes from the air.
D. Each was shaped like the state of Idaho.
E. Their metal roofs were blindingly reflective.
2). What was the last name of the man who drowned in the Salmon while trying to reach his mine in 1882?
A. Silver.
B. Plunge.
C. Digger.
D. Swim.
E. Challis.
3). What was the last name of the man Fort Hall was named after?
A. Hall
B. Kelley
C. Payette
D. Wyeth
E. Francois
4). Which of these towns were started by Robert E. Strahorn and his wife Carrie Adell Green Strahorn?
A. Caldwell
B. Mountain Home
C. Weiser
D. Hailey
E. All of the above.
5) Which prisoner number did Moroni Hicks have in the Idaho system?
A. 1
B. 2
C. 1234
D. 43
E. 11
Answers
1, A
2, D
3, B
4, E
5, B
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). Why were Farragut Naval Training Station’s drill halls famous?
A. They were the largest clear-span buildings in the world at the time.
B. They used cinderblock that crumbled before the roofs could be added.
C. They were Camouflaged to look like small lakes from the air.
D. Each was shaped like the state of Idaho.
E. Their metal roofs were blindingly reflective.
2). What was the last name of the man who drowned in the Salmon while trying to reach his mine in 1882?
A. Silver.
B. Plunge.
C. Digger.
D. Swim.
E. Challis.
3). What was the last name of the man Fort Hall was named after?
A. Hall
B. Kelley
C. Payette
D. Wyeth
E. Francois
4). Which of these towns were started by Robert E. Strahorn and his wife Carrie Adell Green Strahorn?
A. Caldwell
B. Mountain Home
C. Weiser
D. Hailey
E. All of the above.
5) Which prisoner number did Moroni Hicks have in the Idaho system?
A. 1
B. 2
C. 1234
D. 43
E. 11
Answers1, A
2, D
3, B
4, E
5, B
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.
April 29, 2020
Bud the Dog
The story starts on May 23, 1903, in San Francisco when Dr. Horatio Nelson Jackson and Sewall Crocker climbed into the front seat a of second-hand cherry-red Winton touring car and set out for New York City. The trip started as a $50 bar bet. Jackson, who had little experience with automobiles, was challenged on his statement that an automobile could make it coast-to-coast in 90 days. He took the bet, bought the car, and hired Crocker to go along with him as a driver and mechanic.
There were no road maps back then. There were barely roads. Only about 150 miles of pavement existed in the country, all of that within city limits.
The old saw about someone having more money than sense might have applied to Jackson. This was a spur-of-the-moment adventure that should have ended in disaster. Instead, it became a string of small disasters, flat tires, broken parts, and gasoline shortages, that piled up to make a success.
I found only one mention of the trip in an Idaho newspaper while it was taking place. There was a brief story on the front page of the Montpelier Examiner on Friday, June, 19, 1903. Headlined “A Curiosity for this City,” the short piece focused more on the fact the Winton was the first automobile to appear in Montpelier than the trip itself.
Nelson didn’t start getting much newspaper coverage until he had made it a little further east. By the time he hit Chicago on July 17, he got a grand reception from city officials. Publicity for the stunt built with a stop in Cleveland, where the Winton had been built. Outside of Buffalo all three riders were thrown out of the car in a little accident, but none were hurt.
Three? Nelson, of course, and Crocker… And Bud. It seems that when the humans left Caldwell, Idaho on June 12, Nelson discovered he’d left his coat behind at the hotel. They went back to get it and encountered a man with a bull dog along the way. The man suggested that they really needed a mascot for their trip. Nelson had been looking for one, so paid the man $15 and got Bud to climb aboard.
Bud became the star of the trip because, well, dog. And dog with driving goggles. The dust could be irritating on the eyes when you were speeding along at 15 or 20 MPH with no windshield. Bud didn’t seem to mind the goggles and he loved riding in the car.
The two guys and a dog rolled into New York City at 4:30 in the morning Sunday, July 26, 63 days, 12 hours and 30 minutes after leaving San Francisco. Nelson reportedly never did bother to collect on his bet. He spent $8,000 making himself and his dog famous. A 1903 Winton, along with a depiction of Nelson and Bud the dog tells the story of the first cross-county auto trip at the National Museum of American History in Washington, DC.
Ken Burns did a series for PBS on the adventure, called Horatio’s Drive in 2003, which can found on YouTube.
There were no road maps back then. There were barely roads. Only about 150 miles of pavement existed in the country, all of that within city limits.
The old saw about someone having more money than sense might have applied to Jackson. This was a spur-of-the-moment adventure that should have ended in disaster. Instead, it became a string of small disasters, flat tires, broken parts, and gasoline shortages, that piled up to make a success.
I found only one mention of the trip in an Idaho newspaper while it was taking place. There was a brief story on the front page of the Montpelier Examiner on Friday, June, 19, 1903. Headlined “A Curiosity for this City,” the short piece focused more on the fact the Winton was the first automobile to appear in Montpelier than the trip itself.
Nelson didn’t start getting much newspaper coverage until he had made it a little further east. By the time he hit Chicago on July 17, he got a grand reception from city officials. Publicity for the stunt built with a stop in Cleveland, where the Winton had been built. Outside of Buffalo all three riders were thrown out of the car in a little accident, but none were hurt.
Three? Nelson, of course, and Crocker… And Bud. It seems that when the humans left Caldwell, Idaho on June 12, Nelson discovered he’d left his coat behind at the hotel. They went back to get it and encountered a man with a bull dog along the way. The man suggested that they really needed a mascot for their trip. Nelson had been looking for one, so paid the man $15 and got Bud to climb aboard.
Bud became the star of the trip because, well, dog. And dog with driving goggles. The dust could be irritating on the eyes when you were speeding along at 15 or 20 MPH with no windshield. Bud didn’t seem to mind the goggles and he loved riding in the car.
The two guys and a dog rolled into New York City at 4:30 in the morning Sunday, July 26, 63 days, 12 hours and 30 minutes after leaving San Francisco. Nelson reportedly never did bother to collect on his bet. He spent $8,000 making himself and his dog famous. A 1903 Winton, along with a depiction of Nelson and Bud the dog tells the story of the first cross-county auto trip at the National Museum of American History in Washington, DC.
Ken Burns did a series for PBS on the adventure, called Horatio’s Drive in 2003, which can found on YouTube.
April 28, 2020
Doc Roach
Few public servants reach a measure of fame, even in their hometowns. W.F. “Doc” Roach did. Roach started his career with the Boise Fire Department in 1910, when horses pulled fire engines, and didn’t retire until 1965. The top picture, below, taken in 1912, shows him on the left, seated on the fire wagon at Boise Fire Station Number 2 in the North End.
Roach served five years as one of Boise’s first motorcycle police officers, but served the rest of his 54-year career with Boise Fire. Roach was a dispatcher for the fire department from 1922 to 1947, when he became the city’s fire marshal, a position he stayed in until his retirement.
Roach was well known in the city because of his efforts at fire prevention, including public campaigns. In the bottom photo Doc Roach stands with the winner of the 1957 “Miss Sparky” competition held as part of Fire Prevention Week. Sarah Jane Benson was “Miss Sparky” that year.
Doc Roach shot and collected hundreds of photos over his career, creating a precious resource for historians. The two featured photos are from the Doc Roach Fire Collection Courtesy of Boise State University Library, Special Collections and Archives.
Roach served five years as one of Boise’s first motorcycle police officers, but served the rest of his 54-year career with Boise Fire. Roach was a dispatcher for the fire department from 1922 to 1947, when he became the city’s fire marshal, a position he stayed in until his retirement.
Roach was well known in the city because of his efforts at fire prevention, including public campaigns. In the bottom photo Doc Roach stands with the winner of the 1957 “Miss Sparky” competition held as part of Fire Prevention Week. Sarah Jane Benson was “Miss Sparky” that year.
Doc Roach shot and collected hundreds of photos over his career, creating a precious resource for historians. The two featured photos are from the Doc Roach Fire Collection Courtesy of Boise State University Library, Special Collections and Archives.
April 27, 2020
Idaho's Motor City
What town comes to mind when you think automobile manufacturing? Detroit? Dearborn? Boise?
The photo, courtesy of the Idaho State Historical Society digital collection, is H.H. and M.B. Bryant’s Ford dealership in 1917. It was located at 1602 Main. But it wasn’t just an ordinary dealership. They put together Fords there for a time in 1914. H.H. was married to Henry Ford’s sister, so had a bit of an in.
Ford was famous for revolutionizing the industry with the assembly line process, beginning with the 1914 Model T. It’s not clear what advantage shipping pieces and parts to Boise for assembly had for Mr. Bryant (below), but he did put together cars in the capital city for a while.
The photo, courtesy of the Idaho State Historical Society digital collection, is H.H. and M.B. Bryant’s Ford dealership in 1917. It was located at 1602 Main. But it wasn’t just an ordinary dealership. They put together Fords there for a time in 1914. H.H. was married to Henry Ford’s sister, so had a bit of an in.
Ford was famous for revolutionizing the industry with the assembly line process, beginning with the 1914 Model T. It’s not clear what advantage shipping pieces and parts to Boise for assembly had for Mr. Bryant (below), but he did put together cars in the capital city for a while.
April 26, 2020
Dean Oliver
Kids, stay in school. You need that diploma. Now, with that out of the way, I can go on with the story.
Dean Oliver grew up dirt poor in Idaho. When Dean was 11, in 1940, his father died in an airplane crash while hunting coyotes with a partner over the Arco desert. That left Dean’s mom struggling to feed seven kids. So, Oliver dropped out of school during ninth grade in Nampa to help supplement his mother’s income and, frankly, because he couldn’t stop thinking about being a cowboy. It seemed like an impossible dream for a frail kid with a speech defect that caused him to pronounce rodeo and rope as wodeo and wope.
He couldn’t pronounce those words the way they were supposed to sound, but he could rodeo and he could rope. He first got his inspiration when he snuck into the Snake River Stampede and watched a little guy with glasses walk away with $300 in the roping competition. Starting with a beat-up mare he bought for $50, Oliver started to learn how to rope. He got pretty good at it.
He won his first professional roping competition in Jerome, Idaho, in 1952, and just kept on winning. He was the proclaimed the world champion calf roper in 1955. The frail kid from Idaho, by that time, weighed 200 pounds and stood at six three. Nobody cared how he pronounced rodeo.
Dean Oliver still holds the record for most world titles in calf roping with eight, including winning five straight from 1960-1964. He was crowned all-around world champion cowboy three years in a row, 1963-1965.
The picture is a page from the January 28th, 1966, edition of the Idaho Statesman. The article featured numerous pictures of Oliver and his family, including the one at top left of his two-year-old daughter Nikki wearing his championship hat and buckle, and sitting on his championship saddle.
Dean Oliver grew up dirt poor in Idaho. When Dean was 11, in 1940, his father died in an airplane crash while hunting coyotes with a partner over the Arco desert. That left Dean’s mom struggling to feed seven kids. So, Oliver dropped out of school during ninth grade in Nampa to help supplement his mother’s income and, frankly, because he couldn’t stop thinking about being a cowboy. It seemed like an impossible dream for a frail kid with a speech defect that caused him to pronounce rodeo and rope as wodeo and wope.
He couldn’t pronounce those words the way they were supposed to sound, but he could rodeo and he could rope. He first got his inspiration when he snuck into the Snake River Stampede and watched a little guy with glasses walk away with $300 in the roping competition. Starting with a beat-up mare he bought for $50, Oliver started to learn how to rope. He got pretty good at it.
He won his first professional roping competition in Jerome, Idaho, in 1952, and just kept on winning. He was the proclaimed the world champion calf roper in 1955. The frail kid from Idaho, by that time, weighed 200 pounds and stood at six three. Nobody cared how he pronounced rodeo.
Dean Oliver still holds the record for most world titles in calf roping with eight, including winning five straight from 1960-1964. He was crowned all-around world champion cowboy three years in a row, 1963-1965.
The picture is a page from the January 28th, 1966, edition of the Idaho Statesman. The article featured numerous pictures of Oliver and his family, including the one at top left of his two-year-old daughter Nikki wearing his championship hat and buckle, and sitting on his championship saddle.
April 25, 2020
Idaho Upside Down
Okay, I’m vying for the least important Speaking of Idaho post of all time with this one. Even so, I may quell an argument that seems to bubble between Andy Griffith show fans.
Mayberry is not in Idaho. That won’t settle the argument, though. Mayberry is also not in North Carolina, the state in which the fictional town was said to be. Mount Airy, Andy Griffith’s boyhood home, embraces its role as “Mayberry,” and has as good a claim as any town.
The argument is about a map that hung on the wall in Andy’s office. Legend has it that the map, perhaps meant to be a county or city map, was actually a map of Idaho hung upside down. True. And false. A map of Idaho did hang upside down in the office for at least one, and possibly several episodes, but not for the whole series. Maps seemed to be a joke with the sets people. Nevada was also hung from its feet, North Carolina was displayed, and most often the map was of Cincinnati.
The old publicity photo below clearly shows your favorite state map flying in distress mode on the wall over Don Knotts’ shoulder.
The shape of Idaho is just another thing to love about the state. Pity the poor folks from Colorado for their lack of recognizable state lapel pins.
Mayberry is not in Idaho. That won’t settle the argument, though. Mayberry is also not in North Carolina, the state in which the fictional town was said to be. Mount Airy, Andy Griffith’s boyhood home, embraces its role as “Mayberry,” and has as good a claim as any town.
The argument is about a map that hung on the wall in Andy’s office. Legend has it that the map, perhaps meant to be a county or city map, was actually a map of Idaho hung upside down. True. And false. A map of Idaho did hang upside down in the office for at least one, and possibly several episodes, but not for the whole series. Maps seemed to be a joke with the sets people. Nevada was also hung from its feet, North Carolina was displayed, and most often the map was of Cincinnati.
The old publicity photo below clearly shows your favorite state map flying in distress mode on the wall over Don Knotts’ shoulder.
The shape of Idaho is just another thing to love about the state. Pity the poor folks from Colorado for their lack of recognizable state lapel pins.
