Rick Just's Blog, page 59
May 20, 2023
An Indian Rock (Tap to read)
Traveling the Oregon Trail wasn’t always a one-way trip. Several of those who made the trek came back along the trail years later to reminisce.
Ezra Meeker is probably the best-known Oregon Trail traveler to retrace his journey. He did it several times in order to memorialize the trail’s importance in U.S. history. In his late 70s, 1906-1908, and again from 1910-1912, he travelled the route in a covered wagon and encouraged communities along the way to install memorials to mark the trail. The trail was being obliterated by the passage of time. Without his efforts, we would know much less about that history than we do today. I’ll do an extended post about Meeker in the future.
Today, I want to tell a smaller story that relates only to Idaho, specifically to a single rock. The photo shows the image of an Indian chief scratched onto the surface of a lava rock. It’s a good rendition when you consider that the artist was seven years old. J.J. Hansen was in a wagon train on the Oregon Trail with his parents on their way to Portland, Oregon in 1866 when they stopped at Register Rock. Many travelers carved their names or initials on the big rock, which is a feature of Massacre Rocks State Park today. Young Mr. Hansen found a smaller rock to call his own and proceeded to chip out the image of an Indian and what looks like a cowboy across the rock facing the chief. Hansen called the man in the hat a preacher. He added the year to his artwork, 1866.
Hansen visited the site again in 1908, 42 years later. His youthful artistic leanings had blossomed as an adult and he had become a sculptor. He found the rock on which he had practiced his art and added the new year, 1908, to complete the circle. The latter date is difficult to see in the picture. It is on the lower right.
Ezra Meeker is probably the best-known Oregon Trail traveler to retrace his journey. He did it several times in order to memorialize the trail’s importance in U.S. history. In his late 70s, 1906-1908, and again from 1910-1912, he travelled the route in a covered wagon and encouraged communities along the way to install memorials to mark the trail. The trail was being obliterated by the passage of time. Without his efforts, we would know much less about that history than we do today. I’ll do an extended post about Meeker in the future.
Today, I want to tell a smaller story that relates only to Idaho, specifically to a single rock. The photo shows the image of an Indian chief scratched onto the surface of a lava rock. It’s a good rendition when you consider that the artist was seven years old. J.J. Hansen was in a wagon train on the Oregon Trail with his parents on their way to Portland, Oregon in 1866 when they stopped at Register Rock. Many travelers carved their names or initials on the big rock, which is a feature of Massacre Rocks State Park today. Young Mr. Hansen found a smaller rock to call his own and proceeded to chip out the image of an Indian and what looks like a cowboy across the rock facing the chief. Hansen called the man in the hat a preacher. He added the year to his artwork, 1866.
Hansen visited the site again in 1908, 42 years later. His youthful artistic leanings had blossomed as an adult and he had become a sculptor. He found the rock on which he had practiced his art and added the new year, 1908, to complete the circle. The latter date is difficult to see in the picture. It is on the lower right.
May 19, 2023
Strange Harvest (Tap to read)
I sometimes publish lists of people born in Idaho who have achieved some level of fame. Poet Ezra Pound made my list of Idaho writers because he was born in Bellevue, even though he hadn’t even begun to write with a crayon when he left the state.
Linda Moulton Howe has solid connections to Idaho, though her connections to reality have often been questioned. But, hey, I sometimes write fiction myself.
Howe isn’t a fiction writer. Her field is—and now my mind sees an actual field littered with slaughtered cows and crop circles—UFO reporting. But first, let’s make that Idaho connection.
Born Linda Moulton, on January 20, 1942, in Boise, she is the daughter of long-time Idaho Director of Aeronautics Chuck Moulton. She was a beauty queen: Miss Boise, 1963; Miss Idaho, 1963; Miss America participant in 1964. Moulton was also a scholar, receiving her BA in English Literature from the University of Colorado and a master’s in communication from Stanford.
Linda Moulton Howe was an award-winning environmental reporter for a Denver television station, producing several documentaries before moving on to WCVB in Boston. Her 1980 documentary A Strange Harvest received a regional Emmy and set her off on the UFO path.
She became an expert in Ufology, producing numerous programs about alien visitations. Howe produced the Sightings series on Fox and was a regular on Coast to Coast AM for 28 years. She has frequently been interviewed on network television when the subject of UFOs pops up.
Linda Moulton Howe is still active today, managing her website Earthfiles and producing a weekly YouTube program.
Linda Moulton Howe receiving her regional Emmy. By Larry W. Howe - https://www.earthfiles.com/bio/index.php, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index...
Linda Moulton Howe has solid connections to Idaho, though her connections to reality have often been questioned. But, hey, I sometimes write fiction myself.
Howe isn’t a fiction writer. Her field is—and now my mind sees an actual field littered with slaughtered cows and crop circles—UFO reporting. But first, let’s make that Idaho connection.
Born Linda Moulton, on January 20, 1942, in Boise, she is the daughter of long-time Idaho Director of Aeronautics Chuck Moulton. She was a beauty queen: Miss Boise, 1963; Miss Idaho, 1963; Miss America participant in 1964. Moulton was also a scholar, receiving her BA in English Literature from the University of Colorado and a master’s in communication from Stanford.
Linda Moulton Howe was an award-winning environmental reporter for a Denver television station, producing several documentaries before moving on to WCVB in Boston. Her 1980 documentary A Strange Harvest received a regional Emmy and set her off on the UFO path.
She became an expert in Ufology, producing numerous programs about alien visitations. Howe produced the Sightings series on Fox and was a regular on Coast to Coast AM for 28 years. She has frequently been interviewed on network television when the subject of UFOs pops up.
Linda Moulton Howe is still active today, managing her website Earthfiles and producing a weekly YouTube program.
Linda Moulton Howe receiving her regional Emmy. By Larry W. Howe - https://www.earthfiles.com/bio/index.php, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index...May 18, 2023
Pomp (Tap to read)
If you picture the dollar coin that features Sacajawea (or Sacagawea, if you prefer), you may remember the eagle on the obverse, and you might remember that Shoshone Tribal member Randy’L Teton served as the model for Sacajawea. But did you remember that there are two people depicted on the coin?
Jean Baptiste Charbonneau was a part of the famous trip Lewis and Clark’s Corps of Discovery made to the Pacific. He would not remember the trip because he was just a baby on his mother’s back, as depicted on the dollar coin. He played an important role just the same. Seeing a woman with a child as part of that strange group, which included a black man and a giant black dog, helped assure tribes they encountered that this was not a war party.
William Clark took a liking to the boy, giving him the nickname Pomp. More than that, after the death of Sacajawea, Clark took him in and paid for his education.
Jean Baptiste spoke English and French fluently. His father was Toussaint Charbonneau, a French trader who also went along on the expedition. He knew Shoshone well, thanks to his mother, and could converse in several Indian languages. During six years in Europe, he also picked up German and Spanish.
Charbonneau led expeditions in the West and guided for others. In 1846 he was the head guide for the Mormon Battalion’s trek from Kansas to San Diego. He was a trapper, gambler, magistrate, and freighter. He prospected for gold and once owned a hotel in northern California. He even served as mayor of Mission San Luis Rey de Francia, near San Diego, for a time.
Pomp probably died as the result of an accident at a river crossing in Oregon when he was on his way, perhaps, to the mines in the Owyhees. His destination is uncertain as are the exact details of his death. An obituary for Jean Baptiste appeared in the Owyhee Avalanche in 1866, listing pneumonia as the cause of death.
There is a competing story about a Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, who died on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming in 1885. Evidence that this was the Charbonneau that accompanied Lewis and Clark is slim.
The grave of John Baptiste Charbonneau, about 100 miles southwest of Ontario, Oregon, is listed on the national register of historic places and boasts no fewer than three historic markers.
Jean Baptiste Charbonneau was a part of the famous trip Lewis and Clark’s Corps of Discovery made to the Pacific. He would not remember the trip because he was just a baby on his mother’s back, as depicted on the dollar coin. He played an important role just the same. Seeing a woman with a child as part of that strange group, which included a black man and a giant black dog, helped assure tribes they encountered that this was not a war party.
William Clark took a liking to the boy, giving him the nickname Pomp. More than that, after the death of Sacajawea, Clark took him in and paid for his education.
Jean Baptiste spoke English and French fluently. His father was Toussaint Charbonneau, a French trader who also went along on the expedition. He knew Shoshone well, thanks to his mother, and could converse in several Indian languages. During six years in Europe, he also picked up German and Spanish.
Charbonneau led expeditions in the West and guided for others. In 1846 he was the head guide for the Mormon Battalion’s trek from Kansas to San Diego. He was a trapper, gambler, magistrate, and freighter. He prospected for gold and once owned a hotel in northern California. He even served as mayor of Mission San Luis Rey de Francia, near San Diego, for a time.
Pomp probably died as the result of an accident at a river crossing in Oregon when he was on his way, perhaps, to the mines in the Owyhees. His destination is uncertain as are the exact details of his death. An obituary for Jean Baptiste appeared in the Owyhee Avalanche in 1866, listing pneumonia as the cause of death.
There is a competing story about a Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, who died on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming in 1885. Evidence that this was the Charbonneau that accompanied Lewis and Clark is slim.
The grave of John Baptiste Charbonneau, about 100 miles southwest of Ontario, Oregon, is listed on the national register of historic places and boasts no fewer than three historic markers.
May 17, 2023
You're not Really an Idahoan if You don't call it a Jockey Box (Tap to read)
When you hear the term “jockey box,” what comes to mind? If you’ve been around Idaho for a while, you probably think of what most people in the US call a glove compartment. If you’re new to the state, you’re likely baffled by the term.
Knowing that it was a mystery to a lot of folks, I did a little research. The first instance of the term I found in an Idaho paper was in the October 18, 1881 edition of the Idaho World. It was mentioned during an interview with convicted murderer Henry McDonald. In describing the murder of George Meyer. McDonald said, “He and I then got into a quarrel about the dog, and he came at me, I pushed him, and he fell over a sagebrush; he got up and started for the jockey box to get a six-shooter…” The jockey box, in that instance, was probably a box beneath the seat of the man’s wagon or buckboard.
The next mention of the phrase is from the Idaho Daily Statesman, June 23, 1896. A couple of lines tell the story, “He opened the jockey box on his seat and rummaged around in it, finally producing a small hatchet and a big nail.
“‘I guess you’ll have to drive her out with this,’ said he, and he sat down on the ground and hung on to a buckeye bush with both hands while one of his companions placed the end of the nail against the side of the tooth and hit it with the hatchet.”
Cowboy dentistry.
Note that those early mentions were about wagons, not cars. The term referred to a small (as jockeys are supposed to be) box in which one stored certain essentials, such as guns and dental tools. That small box inside automobiles that served the same purpose picked up the same name in Idaho and other Western states.
So, laugh all you want, but what do you store in YOUR glove box? Gloves? Maybe. More likely the owner’s manual, an old CD, your registration, a couple of pens that don’t work, 16 cents, and a four-year-old peppermint. So, why call it a glove compartment? Jockey box is a nice generic term to indicate that the box is equivalent to the junk drawer in your house. You know, a place to put your hatchet.
Knowing that it was a mystery to a lot of folks, I did a little research. The first instance of the term I found in an Idaho paper was in the October 18, 1881 edition of the Idaho World. It was mentioned during an interview with convicted murderer Henry McDonald. In describing the murder of George Meyer. McDonald said, “He and I then got into a quarrel about the dog, and he came at me, I pushed him, and he fell over a sagebrush; he got up and started for the jockey box to get a six-shooter…” The jockey box, in that instance, was probably a box beneath the seat of the man’s wagon or buckboard.
The next mention of the phrase is from the Idaho Daily Statesman, June 23, 1896. A couple of lines tell the story, “He opened the jockey box on his seat and rummaged around in it, finally producing a small hatchet and a big nail.
“‘I guess you’ll have to drive her out with this,’ said he, and he sat down on the ground and hung on to a buckeye bush with both hands while one of his companions placed the end of the nail against the side of the tooth and hit it with the hatchet.”
Cowboy dentistry.
Note that those early mentions were about wagons, not cars. The term referred to a small (as jockeys are supposed to be) box in which one stored certain essentials, such as guns and dental tools. That small box inside automobiles that served the same purpose picked up the same name in Idaho and other Western states.
So, laugh all you want, but what do you store in YOUR glove box? Gloves? Maybe. More likely the owner’s manual, an old CD, your registration, a couple of pens that don’t work, 16 cents, and a four-year-old peppermint. So, why call it a glove compartment? Jockey box is a nice generic term to indicate that the box is equivalent to the junk drawer in your house. You know, a place to put your hatchet.
May 16, 2023
Hogan's Headstone (Tap to read)
This all started form me when I saw a photo of James Hogan and a brief story about his tragic life in the book
Legendary Locals of Boise
, by Barbara Perry Bauer and Elizabeth Jacox. I decided to do a little research on the man. Sifting through old papers I found story after story, most numbingly familiar.
In September of 1880, the Idaho World, which was published in Idaho City, said that “James Hogan, better known as Hogan the Gambler, was brought before a probate judge on a charge of stealing four hundred cigars. The judge fined Hogan $100 and gave him twenty-five days in jail for silent meditation on the fact that “Honesty is the best policy.”
Then, in March of, 1883, the same newspaper quoted Hogan as saying, “When I’ve money, I’m Hogan the Gambler; but when I’m broke I’m Hogan the shtiff!”
The Statesman first mentioned Hogan in January 1888. The article read, “Hogan the stiff;” as the city marshal calls him, has been locked up in the city jail for the past three or four days. He was drunk and disorderly at various times and places and hence locked up until he became sobered.”
In 1889, Jimmy made the paper twice. Both stories were in a faux formal style. In October, the report was that “Friday evening, Officer Haas invited Mr. Hogan of this city, to pass the night in the city lodging house on Eighth Street. The invitation was accepted in the spirit in which it was tendered.” The “lodging house” on Eighth was the city jail.
Then, just a month later there appeared the following: “A celebrity known here as Hogan has been the guest of the city and entertained for several weeks past at the city lodging house on Eighth street, left the city on the Idaho Central passenger train Wednesday evening for Nampa, where he took the west bound train of the Oregon Short Line for Tilamock Head and points further west. Mr. Hogan had intimated to the City Marshal that he needed a change of scene and diet, when “Old Nick” very courteously and kindly escorted him to the railroad depot on the other side of the river, where both took the train for Nampa. At Nampa, the parting scene took place, Mr. Hogan promising the marshal that he would write to him and to all his friends in Boise as soon as he reached his destination. “
Hogan stayed out of trouble, or perhaps, stayed out of Boise for about a year. A thorough search of other newspapers might locate him. In October, 1891 the Statesman reported simply that “Hogan the Stiff got drunk again yesterday and was taken in by Marshall Nicholson.’
In 1892, he got four mentions in the paper. He paid a $9 fine, served 20 days in jail for stealing a coat from a restaurant, was called by the Statesman “Boise’s boss boozer,’ and shipped out as the cook for the Idaho National Guard, which had been dispatched to Wallace to quell the union troubles in the mines up there. It was the fond hope of some in Boise that the guard would forget to bring him back home when they returned. The boys liked his cooking. They took up a collection to get him a new suit of clothes, and when they returned to Boise, James Hogan came back with them.
1894 was a banner year for James Hogan. A blurb said, “It is only a matter of time until Hogan the stiff will become a permanent county charge. He was only recently discharged from the county jail after serving a lengthy sentence for vagrancy, and yesterday Judge Clark sent him up for 70 days on the same charge.
A little later the Statesman reported that “Hogan, Boise’s veteran “bummer,” has been sent to the poor farm. Hogan said the only objection he had to going to the farm was because there were too many bums there. He didn’t like to associate with them.
A 90-day sentence. A 70-day sentence. The math was daunting for Jimmy in 1894. He would sometimes be out less than a day before being arrested again that year. Then there were the stolen shoes. Another inmate escaped with Hogan’s shoes. Jimmy commented that that’s what one gets for associating with a depraved set of men.
His big year was topped off when the Caldwell Tribune reported that “While Hogan the Stiff was delivering a speech against the Republican party on Main Street at a late hour Wednesday night he was shot at and barely missed, the bullet striking within a few feet of him.” The report came out on Christmas Day, so 1894 was about over.
James Hogan was usually listed as a cook, and sometimes as a waiter. He apparently also worked for a time at the Idaho statehouse, possibly as a janitor.
Hogan was political, in a ranting-at-the-Republicans sort of way. He was one of many prisoners who signed a petition for a breakaway group of Democrats while in jail. In 1896 Hogan expressed his regrets from jail that he would not be able to help Democratic electors. One wonders if that feeling was mutual.
In 1897 Hogan was in the paper as the victim of crime, not as a low-level perpetrator. One John Murphy was arrested for robbing Hogan. The paper couldn’t resist a dig, saying “No one would suppose that Hogan would have money for anyone to steal, but it is said he has been working and recently came into town with considerable cash.” Later that year, he was back in jail for being a common drunkard. He caused some mirth in the courtroom speaking in his own defense when he accused witnesses of being “worse drunkards nor he had been.”
Over the next ten years, Hogan was arrested at least 41 times, and the Statesman duly reported each instance.
I’ll just tell you about a couple. In 1900 a convention came to town. Conventioneers were each given a little badge that said Freedom of the City. About the time the convention broke up, Jimmy had been released from jail and told to leave town within 24 hours. But he found one of those Freedom of the City badges, pinned it on, and proceeded to act like it meant something. He said it was now “without the power of man to arrest him or otherwise deprive him of his liberty.” Jimmy was prone to make windy speeches about politics when he was well-lubricated, and this day he stationed himself on Main street and began to pontificate. To his surprise he felt the strong hand of the law on his collar and was whisked away to jail, protesting about the injustice all the way because, after all, he was wearing that pin. He got another 60 days for that one.
In 1903, the Statesman ran an unusually lengthy article about Hogan, pointing out that he had spent seven months of the past year in jail on long sentences, and that didn’t count the several short stints when he was there to just sleep it off.
In 1907 Hogan threw a brick at a phonograph in a tobacco store on Main Street, destroying it. He said the voices coming from the machine were calling him names.
That same year, in September, the headline was “Happy J. Hogan Leaves County Jail.” After serving his “forty-eleventh term in jail” Hogan had packed up his grip but left it with the deputy to take care of, saying he might as well keep it at the jail since he spent more time there than anywhere else.
Upon his departure deputies were watching him walk down the street. He turned and said, “Goodbye to ye, byes; don’t cry for me departure. Hogan the stiff will never desar-rt year. I’ll be back soon; never fear.”
The article ended with the line, “And he is expected.”
But he did not come back. The October 2, 1907 issue of the Statesman had a story about Hogan with a different tone. Hogan had passed away. No more Hogan the stiff, in this story. It read, “The deceased was about 65 years of age and resided in and around Boise for at least 30 years. He was a well-known character and friend to everybody in his humble way, while all who knew him were his friends. In late years it was through friendship that Hogan lived. Many gave him money and he was seldom found without some change in his pockets.”
The paper went on to say that many who had given him money to buy food would make up a purse to defray funeral expenses, and a special fund was being collected to buy flowers.
A crude concrete headstone marked his grave for 111 years. You’d have to get down on your hands and knees to read it.
I included a picture of his gravesite from the Find a Grave website when I first wrote about Jimmy in 2018. The photographer had tossed a red file folder over the little headstone to mark his grave for the photo. When people saw that, someone suggest that we get him a nice grave marker.
I did a little Go Fund Me campaign and in three or four days we had enough for an engraved stone marker, thanks to the generosity of Boise Valley Monument.
I’ll end this by explaining why the marker says what it does. You’d expect the dates of birth and death, of course. The epitaph is because of yet another Statesman article about Jimmy. The headline said “Just Plain Jimmy.” They quoted him saying to a reporter “Whin ye go up there to the Statesman office and write this up, please it jist plain Jimmy, and not Hogan the Stiff.
So, 111 years later, Jimmy got his wish. A toast to Just Plain Jimmy, 2018.
The Hogan headstone as it looks today. 
That's Hogan on the left posing with Legislators at the old Idaho Capitol.
In September of 1880, the Idaho World, which was published in Idaho City, said that “James Hogan, better known as Hogan the Gambler, was brought before a probate judge on a charge of stealing four hundred cigars. The judge fined Hogan $100 and gave him twenty-five days in jail for silent meditation on the fact that “Honesty is the best policy.”
Then, in March of, 1883, the same newspaper quoted Hogan as saying, “When I’ve money, I’m Hogan the Gambler; but when I’m broke I’m Hogan the shtiff!”
The Statesman first mentioned Hogan in January 1888. The article read, “Hogan the stiff;” as the city marshal calls him, has been locked up in the city jail for the past three or four days. He was drunk and disorderly at various times and places and hence locked up until he became sobered.”
In 1889, Jimmy made the paper twice. Both stories were in a faux formal style. In October, the report was that “Friday evening, Officer Haas invited Mr. Hogan of this city, to pass the night in the city lodging house on Eighth Street. The invitation was accepted in the spirit in which it was tendered.” The “lodging house” on Eighth was the city jail.
Then, just a month later there appeared the following: “A celebrity known here as Hogan has been the guest of the city and entertained for several weeks past at the city lodging house on Eighth street, left the city on the Idaho Central passenger train Wednesday evening for Nampa, where he took the west bound train of the Oregon Short Line for Tilamock Head and points further west. Mr. Hogan had intimated to the City Marshal that he needed a change of scene and diet, when “Old Nick” very courteously and kindly escorted him to the railroad depot on the other side of the river, where both took the train for Nampa. At Nampa, the parting scene took place, Mr. Hogan promising the marshal that he would write to him and to all his friends in Boise as soon as he reached his destination. “
Hogan stayed out of trouble, or perhaps, stayed out of Boise for about a year. A thorough search of other newspapers might locate him. In October, 1891 the Statesman reported simply that “Hogan the Stiff got drunk again yesterday and was taken in by Marshall Nicholson.’
In 1892, he got four mentions in the paper. He paid a $9 fine, served 20 days in jail for stealing a coat from a restaurant, was called by the Statesman “Boise’s boss boozer,’ and shipped out as the cook for the Idaho National Guard, which had been dispatched to Wallace to quell the union troubles in the mines up there. It was the fond hope of some in Boise that the guard would forget to bring him back home when they returned. The boys liked his cooking. They took up a collection to get him a new suit of clothes, and when they returned to Boise, James Hogan came back with them.
1894 was a banner year for James Hogan. A blurb said, “It is only a matter of time until Hogan the stiff will become a permanent county charge. He was only recently discharged from the county jail after serving a lengthy sentence for vagrancy, and yesterday Judge Clark sent him up for 70 days on the same charge.
A little later the Statesman reported that “Hogan, Boise’s veteran “bummer,” has been sent to the poor farm. Hogan said the only objection he had to going to the farm was because there were too many bums there. He didn’t like to associate with them.
A 90-day sentence. A 70-day sentence. The math was daunting for Jimmy in 1894. He would sometimes be out less than a day before being arrested again that year. Then there were the stolen shoes. Another inmate escaped with Hogan’s shoes. Jimmy commented that that’s what one gets for associating with a depraved set of men.
His big year was topped off when the Caldwell Tribune reported that “While Hogan the Stiff was delivering a speech against the Republican party on Main Street at a late hour Wednesday night he was shot at and barely missed, the bullet striking within a few feet of him.” The report came out on Christmas Day, so 1894 was about over.
James Hogan was usually listed as a cook, and sometimes as a waiter. He apparently also worked for a time at the Idaho statehouse, possibly as a janitor.
Hogan was political, in a ranting-at-the-Republicans sort of way. He was one of many prisoners who signed a petition for a breakaway group of Democrats while in jail. In 1896 Hogan expressed his regrets from jail that he would not be able to help Democratic electors. One wonders if that feeling was mutual.
In 1897 Hogan was in the paper as the victim of crime, not as a low-level perpetrator. One John Murphy was arrested for robbing Hogan. The paper couldn’t resist a dig, saying “No one would suppose that Hogan would have money for anyone to steal, but it is said he has been working and recently came into town with considerable cash.” Later that year, he was back in jail for being a common drunkard. He caused some mirth in the courtroom speaking in his own defense when he accused witnesses of being “worse drunkards nor he had been.”
Over the next ten years, Hogan was arrested at least 41 times, and the Statesman duly reported each instance.
I’ll just tell you about a couple. In 1900 a convention came to town. Conventioneers were each given a little badge that said Freedom of the City. About the time the convention broke up, Jimmy had been released from jail and told to leave town within 24 hours. But he found one of those Freedom of the City badges, pinned it on, and proceeded to act like it meant something. He said it was now “without the power of man to arrest him or otherwise deprive him of his liberty.” Jimmy was prone to make windy speeches about politics when he was well-lubricated, and this day he stationed himself on Main street and began to pontificate. To his surprise he felt the strong hand of the law on his collar and was whisked away to jail, protesting about the injustice all the way because, after all, he was wearing that pin. He got another 60 days for that one.
In 1903, the Statesman ran an unusually lengthy article about Hogan, pointing out that he had spent seven months of the past year in jail on long sentences, and that didn’t count the several short stints when he was there to just sleep it off.
In 1907 Hogan threw a brick at a phonograph in a tobacco store on Main Street, destroying it. He said the voices coming from the machine were calling him names.
That same year, in September, the headline was “Happy J. Hogan Leaves County Jail.” After serving his “forty-eleventh term in jail” Hogan had packed up his grip but left it with the deputy to take care of, saying he might as well keep it at the jail since he spent more time there than anywhere else.
Upon his departure deputies were watching him walk down the street. He turned and said, “Goodbye to ye, byes; don’t cry for me departure. Hogan the stiff will never desar-rt year. I’ll be back soon; never fear.”
The article ended with the line, “And he is expected.”
But he did not come back. The October 2, 1907 issue of the Statesman had a story about Hogan with a different tone. Hogan had passed away. No more Hogan the stiff, in this story. It read, “The deceased was about 65 years of age and resided in and around Boise for at least 30 years. He was a well-known character and friend to everybody in his humble way, while all who knew him were his friends. In late years it was through friendship that Hogan lived. Many gave him money and he was seldom found without some change in his pockets.”
The paper went on to say that many who had given him money to buy food would make up a purse to defray funeral expenses, and a special fund was being collected to buy flowers.
A crude concrete headstone marked his grave for 111 years. You’d have to get down on your hands and knees to read it.
I included a picture of his gravesite from the Find a Grave website when I first wrote about Jimmy in 2018. The photographer had tossed a red file folder over the little headstone to mark his grave for the photo. When people saw that, someone suggest that we get him a nice grave marker.
I did a little Go Fund Me campaign and in three or four days we had enough for an engraved stone marker, thanks to the generosity of Boise Valley Monument.
I’ll end this by explaining why the marker says what it does. You’d expect the dates of birth and death, of course. The epitaph is because of yet another Statesman article about Jimmy. The headline said “Just Plain Jimmy.” They quoted him saying to a reporter “Whin ye go up there to the Statesman office and write this up, please it jist plain Jimmy, and not Hogan the Stiff.
So, 111 years later, Jimmy got his wish. A toast to Just Plain Jimmy, 2018.
The Hogan headstone as it looks today. That's Hogan on the left posing with Legislators at the old Idaho Capitol.
May 15, 2023
It's Just a Male Donkey (Tap to read)
If you check the Kellogg Chamber of Commerce website today, you’ll find a sophisticated presentation about their town that includes photos of happy hikers, the gondola, ATV riders, golfers, and skiers. If you type the word “jackass” into their search engine, you get “no results found.” Sad.
Okay, maybe not sad. Certainly, a different approach than they once took, though. The Kellogg Chamber once maintained a sign on the outskirts of town (photo) that was all about the jackass. And it's descendants.
The story goes back to before Kellogg was a town. The town was originally called Milo Creek, but in 1887 it was changed to honor Noah Kellogg, the man who discovered a rich vein of ore near there in 1885.
Kellogg, the prospector, had one jackass and a grubstake of $18.75. His jackass strayed away, and when Noah caught up with it the animal was grazing on an outcropping of galena that seemed promising. Yeah. Something like 30 million tons of lead, silver, and zinc came out of the mines in the valley. So far.
Kellogg is said to have credited the jackass with the discovery so that he didn’t have to share the wealth with the folks who had grubstaked him. Courts didn’t buy that argument, and the partners got their share. In the end, the jackass may have been better off than his owner, who sold the beast. The story goes that the jackass spent his waning years happily grazing away while Kellogg squandered his money and ended up in poverty.
Okay, maybe not sad. Certainly, a different approach than they once took, though. The Kellogg Chamber once maintained a sign on the outskirts of town (photo) that was all about the jackass. And it's descendants.
The story goes back to before Kellogg was a town. The town was originally called Milo Creek, but in 1887 it was changed to honor Noah Kellogg, the man who discovered a rich vein of ore near there in 1885.
Kellogg, the prospector, had one jackass and a grubstake of $18.75. His jackass strayed away, and when Noah caught up with it the animal was grazing on an outcropping of galena that seemed promising. Yeah. Something like 30 million tons of lead, silver, and zinc came out of the mines in the valley. So far.
Kellogg is said to have credited the jackass with the discovery so that he didn’t have to share the wealth with the folks who had grubstaked him. Courts didn’t buy that argument, and the partners got their share. In the end, the jackass may have been better off than his owner, who sold the beast. The story goes that the jackass spent his waning years happily grazing away while Kellogg squandered his money and ended up in poverty.
May 14, 2023
Our Beloved Sales Tax (Tap to read)
Love it or hate it, you probably thought Idaho’s sales tax came into being in 1965. You thought right, but it wasn’t a complete thought.
A sales tax was first instituted in 1935. It was intended to generate revenue for the state during the Great Depression. The tax back then was 2 cents on the dollar. It didn’t last long, though. The 1937 Idaho Legislature repealed the tax, which was roundly reviled by consumers and businesses alike.
When the Legislature brought the tax back in 1965, they set the rate at 3 percent. By then, it was a little easier to collect and report tax revenue for businesses. Today, with electronic transactions and reporting, it’s even less of a burden for businesses. The public has largely accepted the sales tax, though there are frequent grumblings about exemptions that shouldn’t be exemptions and collecting the tax on groceries.
Reviled or not, the sales tax has gone up and down since 1965. It’s currently 6 cents on the dollar. The good news: this blog comes to you completely tax-free.
A sales tax was first instituted in 1935. It was intended to generate revenue for the state during the Great Depression. The tax back then was 2 cents on the dollar. It didn’t last long, though. The 1937 Idaho Legislature repealed the tax, which was roundly reviled by consumers and businesses alike.
When the Legislature brought the tax back in 1965, they set the rate at 3 percent. By then, it was a little easier to collect and report tax revenue for businesses. Today, with electronic transactions and reporting, it’s even less of a burden for businesses. The public has largely accepted the sales tax, though there are frequent grumblings about exemptions that shouldn’t be exemptions and collecting the tax on groceries.
Reviled or not, the sales tax has gone up and down since 1965. It’s currently 6 cents on the dollar. The good news: this blog comes to you completely tax-free.
May 13, 2023
Ivy League Idaho (Tap to read)
Looking for a good education? You might consider Purdue, Princeton, Harvard, Yale, or Cornell. They're all Ivy League universities, and they're all places in Idaho. All those sites are along the old Washington, Idaho, and Montana Railroad in north Idaho. You'll also find Wellesley, Vassar, and Stanford along the 47-mile-stretch of railroad.
The tradition of naming places along that route after colleges apparently started when railroad officials offered to name one site for a local man, Homer Canfield. He suggested they name the place Harvard, instead. An engineer named a siding Purdue, after his alma mater, and the die was cast. Students working summer jobs set about naming various sidings after their colleges.
Cambridge, Idaho, in Washington County, also owes its name to a railroad and Harvard University. Harvard was the alma mater of the president of the Pacific and Idaho Northern Railroad, and of course, Harvard is in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
And what about Oxford? Surely that's a good choice to receive your advanced degree? In England, that's true, but in Idaho, Oxford is a site a few miles north of Preston. It wasn't named after the university at all. Oxford was named because some oxen forded the creek there.
You can learn something at any of these Idaho sites, but none of them, as far as I know, offer advanced degrees.
The tradition of naming places along that route after colleges apparently started when railroad officials offered to name one site for a local man, Homer Canfield. He suggested they name the place Harvard, instead. An engineer named a siding Purdue, after his alma mater, and the die was cast. Students working summer jobs set about naming various sidings after their colleges.
Cambridge, Idaho, in Washington County, also owes its name to a railroad and Harvard University. Harvard was the alma mater of the president of the Pacific and Idaho Northern Railroad, and of course, Harvard is in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
And what about Oxford? Surely that's a good choice to receive your advanced degree? In England, that's true, but in Idaho, Oxford is a site a few miles north of Preston. It wasn't named after the university at all. Oxford was named because some oxen forded the creek there.
You can learn something at any of these Idaho sites, but none of them, as far as I know, offer advanced degrees.
May 12, 2023
The Nampa Doll (Tap to read)
One man’s hoax is another man’s proof of a theory of history at odds with generally accepted wisdom. That is—as Ripley suggested—believe it or not.
The Nampa Doll or Nampa Figurine still has proponents for its authenticity as a 2-million-year-old artifact that upends the generally accepted understanding of human history on Earth. Found in July, 1889 near Nampa by local businessman Mark Kurtz, the 1 ½ inch tall doll brought with it outsized attention since its discovery. Was it attention that Kurtz sought? He was a real estate man drilling a deep well to find water. Cynics reading this—I know you’re out there—might think Kurtz was trying to gin up interest in lots for sale.
What interested people was that the drilling operation brought up—seemingly from 320 feet below the surface—a tiny, fired clay figurine that had clearly been made by human hands. The little doll seems to depict a woman. Scratches in the clay may represent jewelry around her neck and on her wrists.
The excitement this stirred up in some, such as geologist George Fredrick Wright was as high as the well was deep. Wright was with the Boston Society of Natural History when the drilling crew found the doll.
In his book, Origin and Antiquity of Man, published in 1912, Wright wrote, “In visiting the locality in 1890 I took special pains, while on the ground, to compare the discoloration of the oxide upon the image with that upon the clay balls still found among the debris which had come from the well, and ascertained it to be as nearly identical as it is possible to be. These confirmation evidences, in connection with the very satisfactory character of the evidence furnished by the parties who made the discovery, and confirmed by Mr. G. M. Gumming, of Boston (at that time the superintendent of that division of the Oregon Short Line Railroad, and who knew all the parties, and was upon the ground a day or two after the discovery) placed the genuineness of the discovery beyond reasonable doubt.”
Well, that’s all very impressive, but famed explorer and geologist John Wesley Powell, writing in Popular Science Monthly, had a different take:
“Consider the circumstances. A fragile toy is buried in the sands and gravels and boulders of a torrential stream. Three hundred feet of materials are accumulated over it from the floods of thousands of years. Then volcanoes burst forth and pour floods of lava over all; and under more than three hundred feet of sands, gravels, clays, and volcanic rocks the fragile figurine remains for centuries, under such magical conditions that the very color of the burning is preserved. Then well-diggers, with a pump drill, hammer and abrade the rocks, and bore a six-inch hole down to this figurine without destroying it, and with a sand-pump bring it to the surface, to be caught by the well-digger; and Prof. Wright believes the story of the figurine, and places it on record in his book!”
Powell had been interested enough to visit the site of the drilling and examine the doll himself shortly after it was found. He noted that he had “jested with those who claimed to have found it,” and said everyone he talked with “passed it off as a jest.” Powell noted that he’d seen similar dolls made as toys by contemporary Indians.
Cruise the always reliable internet, and you can find numerous stories about the doll, including from those who are certain it was deposited by Noah’s Flood. One enterprising woman who claims psychic powers is selling a pendant inspired by what she “’saw” through the doll’s eyes through her psychic connection after viewing the artifact. Only $200!
The Nampa Doll is nearly a perfect focus for those selling alternate ideas about history, creation, and, apparently, jewelry. It is a real object found in an unexpected place. Insert your own theory here.
Why are archeologists skeptical? No other human artifact of this purported age has been found anywhere in the world.
A poor photo (the only kind that exists, apparently) of the Nampa Doll. 
John Wesley Powell with Native American at Grand Canyon Arizona, 1871-74, Mark A. Kurtz, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
The Nampa Doll or Nampa Figurine still has proponents for its authenticity as a 2-million-year-old artifact that upends the generally accepted understanding of human history on Earth. Found in July, 1889 near Nampa by local businessman Mark Kurtz, the 1 ½ inch tall doll brought with it outsized attention since its discovery. Was it attention that Kurtz sought? He was a real estate man drilling a deep well to find water. Cynics reading this—I know you’re out there—might think Kurtz was trying to gin up interest in lots for sale.
What interested people was that the drilling operation brought up—seemingly from 320 feet below the surface—a tiny, fired clay figurine that had clearly been made by human hands. The little doll seems to depict a woman. Scratches in the clay may represent jewelry around her neck and on her wrists.
The excitement this stirred up in some, such as geologist George Fredrick Wright was as high as the well was deep. Wright was with the Boston Society of Natural History when the drilling crew found the doll.
In his book, Origin and Antiquity of Man, published in 1912, Wright wrote, “In visiting the locality in 1890 I took special pains, while on the ground, to compare the discoloration of the oxide upon the image with that upon the clay balls still found among the debris which had come from the well, and ascertained it to be as nearly identical as it is possible to be. These confirmation evidences, in connection with the very satisfactory character of the evidence furnished by the parties who made the discovery, and confirmed by Mr. G. M. Gumming, of Boston (at that time the superintendent of that division of the Oregon Short Line Railroad, and who knew all the parties, and was upon the ground a day or two after the discovery) placed the genuineness of the discovery beyond reasonable doubt.”
Well, that’s all very impressive, but famed explorer and geologist John Wesley Powell, writing in Popular Science Monthly, had a different take:
“Consider the circumstances. A fragile toy is buried in the sands and gravels and boulders of a torrential stream. Three hundred feet of materials are accumulated over it from the floods of thousands of years. Then volcanoes burst forth and pour floods of lava over all; and under more than three hundred feet of sands, gravels, clays, and volcanic rocks the fragile figurine remains for centuries, under such magical conditions that the very color of the burning is preserved. Then well-diggers, with a pump drill, hammer and abrade the rocks, and bore a six-inch hole down to this figurine without destroying it, and with a sand-pump bring it to the surface, to be caught by the well-digger; and Prof. Wright believes the story of the figurine, and places it on record in his book!”
Powell had been interested enough to visit the site of the drilling and examine the doll himself shortly after it was found. He noted that he had “jested with those who claimed to have found it,” and said everyone he talked with “passed it off as a jest.” Powell noted that he’d seen similar dolls made as toys by contemporary Indians.
Cruise the always reliable internet, and you can find numerous stories about the doll, including from those who are certain it was deposited by Noah’s Flood. One enterprising woman who claims psychic powers is selling a pendant inspired by what she “’saw” through the doll’s eyes through her psychic connection after viewing the artifact. Only $200!
The Nampa Doll is nearly a perfect focus for those selling alternate ideas about history, creation, and, apparently, jewelry. It is a real object found in an unexpected place. Insert your own theory here.
Why are archeologists skeptical? No other human artifact of this purported age has been found anywhere in the world.
A poor photo (the only kind that exists, apparently) of the Nampa Doll. John Wesley Powell with Native American at Grand Canyon Arizona, 1871-74, Mark A. Kurtz, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.May 11, 2023
Idaho Hoaxes (Tap to read)
Ralph Thurston, who follows my blog, sent me the clipping below this post. He wondered if I knew of other Idaho hoaxes. I couldn’t find anything else about this “find.” We are assuming it was a hoax because there is not a theme park now built around the 5,000-year-old ruins.
But to answer Ralph’s question, yes, I know of a few Idaho hoaxes. Hoaxes, by my definition, do not include April Fool’s Day jokes. Clever and humbling as those are, they just aren’t in the same category.
Here are a few I’ve previously written about, with the links to those stories. Probably the most famous and enduring hoax is the Bear Lake Monster. Note that this story includes a decidedly not-hoaxy piece on that big dog in Cottonwood. The William Clark Rock certainly smells like a hoax, though the artifact is still in the Idaho State Archives. Daniel Boone in Idaho qualifies as a hoax, even if the woman who publicized it sincerely believed in its validity.
Caleb Lyon, the second governor of Idaho Territory, famously embezzled more than $46,000 from intended for the Boise Shoshoni Tribe while he was in office. It’s less well-known that he started a frenzy of diamond prospecting by claiming that a diamond had been found near Ruby City. Hundreds flocked to stake their claims. Not a single diamond was found.
Kenneth Arnold, Idaho’s flying saucer man, is widely credited with starting the UFO mania that continues even today. His 1947 sighting generated a number of UFO hoaxes, perhaps the most famous of which was tied to Twin Falls. Following several sightings in Idaho in July of that year, some Twin Falls residents found a 30-inch disc in their backyard after hearing a thud at 2:30 in the morning. Police confiscated the object, which contained radio tubes, electrical coils, and wires underneath a plexiglass dome. The FBI turned the thing over to Army intelligence. They determined that it had been built by teenage pranksters. It got a lot of publicity before the Army got involved. When Army released a picture (below) of the suspicious disk, UFO reports dropped considerably. The Twin Falls saucer hoax came just three days after Army personnel found a “flying disc” that was later described as a weather balloon near Roswell, New Mexico.
There’s one more hoax that deserves a post of its own. Look for that one tomorrow.
The hoax that inspired this post. 
On July 12, 1947, the US Army released photos of a hoaxed "flying disc" recovered from Twin Falls. In the wake of the release, flying saucer reports decreased rapidly.
But to answer Ralph’s question, yes, I know of a few Idaho hoaxes. Hoaxes, by my definition, do not include April Fool’s Day jokes. Clever and humbling as those are, they just aren’t in the same category.
Here are a few I’ve previously written about, with the links to those stories. Probably the most famous and enduring hoax is the Bear Lake Monster. Note that this story includes a decidedly not-hoaxy piece on that big dog in Cottonwood. The William Clark Rock certainly smells like a hoax, though the artifact is still in the Idaho State Archives. Daniel Boone in Idaho qualifies as a hoax, even if the woman who publicized it sincerely believed in its validity.
Caleb Lyon, the second governor of Idaho Territory, famously embezzled more than $46,000 from intended for the Boise Shoshoni Tribe while he was in office. It’s less well-known that he started a frenzy of diamond prospecting by claiming that a diamond had been found near Ruby City. Hundreds flocked to stake their claims. Not a single diamond was found.
Kenneth Arnold, Idaho’s flying saucer man, is widely credited with starting the UFO mania that continues even today. His 1947 sighting generated a number of UFO hoaxes, perhaps the most famous of which was tied to Twin Falls. Following several sightings in Idaho in July of that year, some Twin Falls residents found a 30-inch disc in their backyard after hearing a thud at 2:30 in the morning. Police confiscated the object, which contained radio tubes, electrical coils, and wires underneath a plexiglass dome. The FBI turned the thing over to Army intelligence. They determined that it had been built by teenage pranksters. It got a lot of publicity before the Army got involved. When Army released a picture (below) of the suspicious disk, UFO reports dropped considerably. The Twin Falls saucer hoax came just three days after Army personnel found a “flying disc” that was later described as a weather balloon near Roswell, New Mexico.
There’s one more hoax that deserves a post of its own. Look for that one tomorrow.
The hoax that inspired this post. On July 12, 1947, the US Army released photos of a hoaxed "flying disc" recovered from Twin Falls. In the wake of the release, flying saucer reports decreased rapidly.
