Claire Lovell

For about three weeks now, I’ve been trying to remember first, the name of Royce Brown, a former citizen who worked at the downtown liquor store. The purpose of recalling Royce was really because I was on the trail of his wife, one of two sisters who lived in the little house which was situated on the land where Dr. Vinson built his clinic (now the Caldwell Cremation business).

The small house had a fenced yard with a locked gate to the north side of it. The girl’s mother, probably Edna, was old and no doubt disoriented. Often when I passed by the house as a child, she was at the gate, rattling it insistently, trying to get out. Next to their fence was a little summer cottage, white with pale green trim, facing Seventh Street on the corner of Second Avenue. Racking my brain all this time to dredge up their names from the old memory bank, imagine my surprise to find them serendipitously recounted in Yesteryear from a birthday party they attended in March of 1907Edith and Julia Haney. They were probably 5 or 6 years old at the time. What a thrill! I think Edith was the one who married Royce but I couldn’t stake my life on it. I only know that she was a very attractive womanbeautiful, actually. What kind of odds would you give that I would ever get my answer in such a way?

I guess the neighborhood is as incredulous as I am that another condo is going up on 12th and Roosevelt. Bits of insulation from the old building are blowing north on the highway. Such a great addition to our ambience. The Factory Outlet probably won’t rejoice to have such an obstacle blotting out the afternoon sun as they do so effectively on Holladay Drive (I can see that thing on 10th out my kitchen window.)

My blood pressure is probably up by 10 at the thought of more of the same. Watching the excavation being made, I’m surprised that there are not a lot of rocks in the sand. In my yard, three blocks south, a person can’t dig a foot without running into hundreds of rocks. I remember the area as a part of my childhood. The whole block was a big hill, covered with trees and vegetation. Our neighborhood boys used the trees for jungle escapades and an occasional hobo took refuge in the tall grass. As for 23rd Street, I thought that was the place where ODOT wanted a new bridge somedayon the path of the railroad trestle. I wonder if these condo builders realize that the bloom is off the rose.

Saturday, March 10, was the occasion of a regular Fire Department dinner, and recognizing Gordon Houston who is transferring to the Portland Department. It was sort of a thank you soiree, with remarks by his father. We had seafood to the maxclam chowder, baked salmon, scallops, shrimp and fresh crab, plus plenty of soft drinks and cake for dessert. Way too much to eat.

Don Larfield was there, looking for a familiar face. His brother, George Robert had died the day before. George, according to a sign, was a veteran of 50 years as a fire fighter in Seaside.

We had our equinoxial storm that nightabout 10 days early. Rain and wind were blowing sideways. Often at such times there is a fire call to louse things up. Certainly it was a night for it but we lucked out. I was privileged to go as the guest of Ansel Morehouse and enjoyed myself.

On Tuesday, March 20, a group left for New Orleans to take part in rebuilding that city. From the Methodist Church are Mark and Becky Mizell, Mike Coddington and his daughter Laura Coddington, and Glen Swift. Two others from town were also along. Already there as a missionary is Mark’s daughter, Lindsey Mizell. They will be gutting the inside of buildings, getting them ready for renovation. We’re really proud of these people who do the things most of us just think about. This project is under the auspices of UMCOR (United Methodist Committee on Relief).

For two days in a row there were jets overheadaround 10:30 or 11:30 a.m. and the rumbling was perpetual. They didn’t seem to get anywhere. Was it military? During other timesperhaps the Cold Warit was comforting when the SAC planes were overhead every evening.

Yes, it was a military exercise. What a relief.

Can you imagine anyone crazy enough to cut the telephone wires for drug money? Thousands of dollars worth of damage for perhaps $100 worth of copper. Our country won’t last long putting up with stunts like that.

I don’t know how it went at your house but my water bill was less this month. Never thought I’d see the day. It’s nice though. Every little bit helps.

I was sorry to read of the death of Kathryn Bassett. Although I didn’t know her personally, her husband Fred was my first boss at the Seaside Signal. It was his familiarity with my “Letters to the Editor” that allowed him to take a chance on my column. People who worked there at the time pretty much gave me free latitude to call the turns on what I did. I’ve always been grateful for the opportunity, believing Fred was the editor, but who knows? He often sang and played his guitar at local functions, always a treat.

My deepest sympathies to Fred and his family on the loss of a beloved wife and mother.

Quipsie Corner: In a certain New York suburb, the impatient cabbies are sometimes known as Yonkers honkers.

-When Cuban big wig Castro is really faithful to a cause, could you call that fidel-ity?

-Sci-fi film in which aliens tried to sell land in other worlds: “Lots in space.”