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The Sou'westerof the Pacific County Historical Society and MuseumSpring 2001, Volume XXXVI Number 1

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Pacific County Historical Society and Museum

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Volume XXXVI, Number 1 Spring, 2001

Knappton Cove CampGrowing up in North Cove

A quarterly publication of the Pacific County Historical Society. Top ,... Cover,... Page: 00, 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, bonus, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16,... Back

The

Sou'westerISSN #0038-4984Copyright, 2000, by the Pacific County Historical Society. No portion of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the Society's Editorial Board.The Sou'wester is a quarterly publication of the Pacific County Historical Society and Museum. The Pacific County Historical Society is a non-profit 501(C)(3) organization in South Bend, Washington.

1008 Robert Bush Drive P. 0. Box P South Bend, WA 98586-0039 Website: www.pacificcohistory.org E-mail: [email protected]

In addition to the Sou'wester, the Society publishes a monthly newsletter for its members and operates the Pacific County Historical Society Museum in South Bend, Washington.

Annual membership fees include Society membership and a subscription to the Sou'wester.

Single $20 Family and foreign memberships $25 Corporate $50 Contributing $50 Benefactor $100

Pacific County Historical Society Board of Directors:

o Ron Hatfield

o Louise Hunter

o Marion Davis

o Sue Pattillo

Pacific County Historical Society Officers:

o Vincent Shaudys, President

o Robert Gerwig, Vice President

o Elizabeth McCollum, Secretary

o Gerald Porter, Treasurer

The Pacific County Historical Society welcomes contributions of articles and/or photographs relating to Pacific County history and culture. Although care will be taken in handling all submitted materials, we assume no legal liability or responsibility for loss or damage. Materials accepted for publication may be edited for grammar, clarity, and/or length.

Design, electronic page layout, and photo scans by Charles B. Summers, South Bend, Washington.The printed version of this is done by BookPrinters Network, Portland, Oregon.

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The

Sou'westerSpring Issue, 2001

Introduction Page 2

The Bells at Knappton Cove:1950 - 1967 Page 3

o by Nancy Bell Anderson

o Knappton Cove bonus photos are found just after page 8

Growing up in North Cove:1930 - 1941 Page 9

o By Betty Larson Fahey Garbe

Cover Photographs:

o Front Cover: Boats moored at the Knappton Cove Camp dock, 1955. Courtesy of the Bell Collection. PCHS #2001.22.1

o Back Cover: An aerial View of the Nelson Crab Company cannery in Tokeland, circa 1946. Courtesy of the Ken Bale collection.

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Introduction In this issue of The Sou’wester we are privileged to present two stories by

women who grew up in Pacific County. Betty Larson Fahey Garbe and Nancy Bell Anderson came from different backgrounds, but both shared the active outdoor life our rural area is noted for. Their lives on the edge of the continent prepared them well for the changing roles of women in America during the 20th Century. The source of Bettie Garbe’s optimism and generous nature are not hard to

trace. Growing up poor in the North Cove – Grayland area during the Great Depression must have made the trials of later life seem easy by comparison.She and other members of her family worked at every job available in order to make ends meet. The draft of Bettie’s story was interesting reading, but I could tell from

talking to her that there was more to tell than was on the page. I sent her back to her typewriter for two additional sidebars: one on the West family, and the other on her brief, sad first marriage. I appreciate her willingness to share with our readers what must have been painful to write.

Nancy Anderson obviously comes from more of a middle class background than Bettie, although I have no doubt that they could be friends as they have much in common. Nancy came to Pacific County with her father when he purchased the former US Health Service Quarantine station at Knappton. Sport salmon fishing boomed on the Columbia River after World War II. Today it is hard to imagine how little development existed back then to support recreational fishing on the Columbia. Men like Nancy’s father saw the potential for turning a hobby into a business and their children can not recall a time when women were not directly involved in fishing.

Besides presenting the female point of view on growing up in Pacific County this issue touches on some topics which I hope to develop in future issues of the Sou’wester: salmon fishing, razor clam harvesting, fish

processing, and cranberry growing. With the exception of salmon fishing, and possibly cranberries, all of these topics have received little attention from historians. Even salmon fishing has certainly not received its due in this publication. I am hopeful that the fishermen will follow the example of the loggers in writing about their experiences.

I would like to acknowledge a debt to two other women whose contribution to this issue may not be apparent. First I would like to thank Larayne Watts who worked with Bettie in preparing her story of publication. Volunteers like Larayne are very precious to this organization, and I hope we can call on her again for assistance in the future.

I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the founding editor of The Sou’wester, Ruth Dixon, for her considerable efforts to preserve the history of Pacific County. Where others only talked, Ruth did. Ruth’s recent passing leaves some very big shoes to fill. We look forward building on her dream for this publication.

Bruce WeileppMuseum Director

Editor’s Note The story about Knappton Cove is part of a more extensive history of the

Quarantine Station site Nancy plans to self-publish. Today Nancy and her husband operate a private museum and craft center in the former station hospital. Readers interested in tours of the station and Northwest Heritage Adventures can contact Nancy at PO Box 2840, Gearhart OR 97138, or e-mail at [email protected].

The early history of Knappton Cove US Health Service Station was covered in the Autumn 1982 (Vol.17 No.3) Sou’wester story by Larry Weathers.

Additional photos of the Quarentine Station supplied by the Bell family are posted at the end of this issue.


The Bells at Knappton Cove 1950 - 1967by Nancy Bell Anderson

Knappton Cove - a lonely spot on the north shore of the lower Columbia River estuary-became an important part of my life in 1950, the summer I turned 12. Our family lived in Portland where Dad was foreman of the Automotive Department at Benson Polytechnic School for Boys. Dad was an avid outdoorsman. Hunting and fishing were his passions. Every August our family spent two weeks camping and salmon fishing at McGowan’s Landing in Washington

near the mouth of the Columbia River. Our boat was a 16' Birchcraft with an Evirude outboard motor. Dad and my two older brothers—Tom and Bob—fished, and Mom canned the salmon. I got to do the coloring of Dad’s homemade salmon can labels. All our friends and relatives got our home-canned salmon for Christmas. My older brother Tom was always looking for surplus stuff to buy. He’d get these GSA

(Government Surplus Auction ) lists and bid on some very strange things. In 1950 one of those lists advertised an old deserted Quarantine Station for sale—accessible only by an eight-mile, dead-end gravel road from Naselle, Washington, or by boat. It occupied four and a half acres on the banks of the Columbia directly across the river from Astoria, Oregon, and included seven acres of tideland. He told Dad about it and upon investigation, they decided it would make a suitable site for a summer sportfishing camp and moorage. There were several buildings on shore: a two-story house, an old quarantine hospital, a mess hall, a workshop, a pumphouse, and a wooden water tower and storage tank. The buildings were in fair shape, and there was a large dock building (250' x 60') and approach (740' x 10' gangway) to the wharf as well.

A map showing the Quarantine Station at Knappton Cove prepared by theDepartment of Highways in 1936. Courtesy of Delbert Nupp. PCHS Map Collection.


Knappton Cove Camp during winter prior to construction of the road from Knappton to Megler.Bell family collection. PCHS #2001.22.13

Dad was a genuine jack-of-all-trades. He could fix just about anything. He could do wiring, plumbing, and carpentry. He knew motors backwards and forwards. Nothing intimidated him.So he talked one of his teaching friends into going 50-50 with him on a bid for the old station.At $5,000, theirs was the winning bid and Knappton Cove Camp was born. Mom decided on the name because of the little cove’s location, just a short way downriver from the old townsite of Knappton. The name Knappton Cove stuck and has been in common use since 1950.

The work began, and the three-hour drives every weekend from our home in Northeast Portland, across the Interstate Bridge, through Vancouver, Washington, and on to Longview.Since we always left Friday as soon as school was out, we’d arrive in Longview just about dinnertime, and Dad would treat us to great hamburgers at the In ‘n Out drive-in. Then we

continued on past Cathlamet, Puget Island, and Skamokawa to Naselle, where we finally reached the old Knappton Road, unpaved and eight miles, until it dead-ended just behind the station.We’d work all weekend— or in my case, mostly play—until the return trip back to Portland late Sunday afternoon. What a relief when summer vacation arrived and those drives were less frequent.

A fine catch of Columbia River salmon. From left Bob Jones, Katharine Bell, C.V. Bell,and Nancy Bell in front of her dad. Bell family collection. PCHS #2001.22.12


The carved wood sign at the entrance to the camp. Bell family collection. PCHS#2001.22.9

We pretty much spent all summer there gearing up for August when the sport fishermen (and women) arrived. Early on, Dad had a falling out with his partner—due, as I remember to a “new” wife—and he bought out George Brown’s half. It rankled him that he had to pay George $5,000 to buy him out, financed by taking out a second mortgage on our Portland home. Part of Dad’s maintenance crew were the few neighboring gillnet fishermen who lived in this remote area. Harold Hagerup, Ed Smalley, and Charley Mattson had moored their gillnetters at the dock for years. Dad was grateful for their experienced help. In exchange for moorage, they assisted with the dock maintenance. Charley lived with his wife Cora right next to the Station. Ed, a bachelor, became our caretaker, taking up residence in the building that had served as the mess hall, converting it to a small home. Harold was a classic Norwegian bachelor, living at the family home just west of the station with his mother, who everybody called Grandma Hagerup.

Indeed, her grandchildren often came on weekends from Wauna to visit. I always looked forward to their arrival because it meant I had other kids to keep me company—the twins, Clara and Larry and their older brothers, Ben and Arnold Sorensen and their cousins Shirley and Joe

Higgins. We had such fun playing on the beach and the dock, exploring the nearby woods, and swimming in the river. The twins were real dare-devils. They jumped around from log to log like gazelles, Larry usually in the lead with Clara, her blonde braids flying, close behind.Sometimes we would hide under the approach to the dock and smoke something the twins called “smokewood”—porous bits of driftwood about the size of a cigar.

Boots moored at the Knappton Cove dock during the 1950s. The two gillnetters moored at thefar end belonged to Harold Hagerup and Ed Smalley. Bell family collection. PCHS#2001.22.16


Nancy Bell outside the tackle shop during the mid 1950s where she sold coffee,candy bars, and fishing tackle. Bell family collection. PCHS#2001.22.14

We spent a good deal of time out on the dock fishing for suckers. They showed me how to make bread balls to use for bait. We’d have contests to see who could catch the most, lining them up on the dock as we brought them in. Then we’d throw the dead fish to the seagulls. If it was rainy, we’d play board games at the Hagerups and records on their old wind-up Victrola.They were a fun-loving group - always lots of joking, teasing and laughter.

Grandma Hagerup herself was a real live-wire. She baked bread every day and always had something home-baked to offer you. She also gave me steamy romance novels to read that I hid from my mother!“Uncle Harold” was a great guy. He frequently took us places in his boat—to the ferry

landing on Sundays to buy the Sunday paper and treat us to ice cream cones, or to Astoria so we could take in a movie. Sometimes he took us all out to fish for tom-cod, a delicate white-meated fish that was delicious fried. That was really fun. We’d bait several hooks and bring up three or four little fish at the same time. Since the tom-cod only took the bait just before and around the turn of the tide, the action didn’t last long. Once he took us out for a night drift when the salmon were running. It was a beautiful moonlit night—one I’ll always remember. The silver fish flashed in the moonlight as the net lifted them over the side of the boat, and the lights of Astoria twinkled in the distance. We went on longer day trips, too—upriver to Frankfort (a ghost town), Cathlamet, Westport, Wauna (where the Sorensens and Higgins lived), and Puget Island. And every Fourth of July, we had a big bonfire on the beach, complete with fireworks. The twins also taught me how to throw a lit firecracker off the dock, so it would explode just as it hit the water. Of course, Mom never knew about that! What great experiences for me—a city kid !

As the sport fishing season approached, the campground filled with tents and cars, and boats lined the dock. The price was two dollars a day and $20 a season for a tent site and boat moorage. Dad set me up in business out on the dock in the little building that had been the pumphouse. We sold fishing tackle, Boyd’s coffee, candy bars and chances on the derby. The hot salmon fishing plug at the time was a “Lucky Louie Pearl Pink,” but the ferry landing held the local franchise on Lucky Louie, so we had to settle for Wallace Highliners. I developed a pretty good sales pitch for those plugs!

The "Pearl Pink" Luck Louie plugs were a popular lure for catching Columbia River salmon.Bell family collection. PCHS#2001.22.13


The house before remodeling in 1950. Bell family collection. PCHS#2001.22.10

The house as it appears today. Charles B. Summers photo.

Dad got me a little motorized “puddle jumper” so I could run errands for him. I just loved racing that little cycle back and forth on the dock.

Every fisherman dreamed of winning the annual Chinook Salmon Derby. In 1952 and 1953, the biggest salmon of the day brought $100, and the Grand Prize for the

season got you $1,000. The 1952 winner was Ken Carpenter from Portland, with a 49-pound, 13-ounce Chinook, and the 1953 winner was Floy Nelson with a 50-pound, 9&¼-ounce whopper. In 1955, trophies were added as prizes.

Business was good and Dad was having the time of his life. Profits from the business helped put me through Oregon State College. In 1956, Knappton Cove Camp even made Sunset

Magazine. For the rest of his life, Knappton Cove was Dad’s pride and joy. He and Mom started fixing up the old house on the property for their retirement.

Then came a blow. The Army Corps of Engineers began surveying for a road to link the Knappton Road (Highway 401) to Megler, where the ferry operated between Oregon and Washington’s Highway 101. Much to our dismay, it was decided to build the road along the waterfront—right through the front of our property—cutting off direct access to the dock and our river beach. It also effectively cut off our swimming hole. Acquisition by condemnation is what it’s called. What a bummer.

The deteriorating Knappton Cove dock was finally demolished in 1970. Bell family collection.PCHS#2001.22.2


The Knappton Cove Camp as seen today from the highway. Charles B. Summers photo.

The new highway was completed in 1960. The folks newly remodeled home had to be moved back 32 feet to allow for the highway. Moving the house and putting up a chain-link fence to the beach was the only compensation they received. But my folks went ahead with their retirement plans, sold their Portland home, and moved permanently to Knappton in 1966. They took great pride in maintaining a beautiful, parklike setting. My husband Rex and I were even married there on Friday the 13th, July 1962. And after the wedding, Uncle Harold took us across the river in his gillnetter to Astoria, where Rex had parked his car. He always took the ferry channel, so there we were—me in my white wedding suit and Rex with a bottle of champagne standing atop the fish nets in the bow of the boat—waving to the ferry passengers as Harold whizzed by—or so it seemed at the time—past the M. R. Chessman plying its way to Astoria. Rex was amazed at the ease with which Harold maneuvered that boat.

Then storms battered the dock so severely by 1970 that Dad had it demolished, salvaging as much as possible. Those setbacks, along with a change in sport fishing habits—sport fishermen were now fishing in the ocean more than the river—pretty much shut down the business. As the

folks grew older and needed more help in maintaining the property, they realized they needed to hire some help, and placed an ad in the local paper. A young couple, Laura Higgins and Gair Walker, answered the ad and moved into the “little house” as we now called the old mess hall.They proved to be a great help to Mom and Dad and stayed on for several years.

In 1979, Larry Weathers, who was with the Pacific County Historical Museum, approached Mom and Dad about nominating the station to the National Historic Register. They enthusiastically gave him the go-ahead, and in 1980 that status was achieved. My folks continued to enjoy their lovely, historic home and grounds until Dad’s death in 1988.


Bonus Knappton Cove Photo #1

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Betty Larson Fahey Garbe. Garbe collection

Growing up in North Cove 1930-1941by Betty Larson Fahey Garbe

Some years ago when we lost our little Weimaraner dog, my granddaughter Jessica said, “Grandmooder, she died and went back to herself.” That is where I would like to go with you now—back to myself in my younger years.

My birthplace was Bemidji, Minnesota, June 22, 1923. I was the oldest of four sisters. About 1927, my father, Cleo Harold Larson, joined his father, Henry Larson, to work for Polson Logging Company at the Hoquiam Railroad Camp. About six months later (I was four years old and my sister Shirley was one) our mother took us by train to Hoquiam to join my father. Because of the pending depression, my father was laid off. He then had to accept seasonal work in the canneries at Warrenton, Oregon. Around 1930, our Aunt Lenola (my father’s sister) came to get us so that we could have a place to live on my grandfather’s cranberry farm. This farm was located where the Alexson Road now exists. We had to take the Megler Ferry from Astoria. I was afraid that they would not let me take the little pet rabbit, so I hid it in a shoebox as we crossed the river to Washington. We all arrived safely in our new home. While we were living in grandfather’s farmhouse, my Uncle Roy treated

himself with mineral oil, which came in very interesting bottles. I discovered that I could sell these bottles to local bootleggers. On one such “business trip,” the bootleggers wanted me to have one of their new kittens. I took the kitten home—to the delight of my two sisters. Each one claimed that the cat was theirs alone! Consequently, the accommodating cat was actively massaged until it grew very large.

Uncle Roy had acquired an old barber chair that he kept in the warehouse.Sister Elaine decided that sister Shirley needed a hair cut. She must have had a good time because Shirley had very little hair left. When Shirley came to school with me on the first day (visitor’s day) at North Cove School, she insisted on wearing a cap.

Sister Shirley lost her hearing when she was three years old. My mother and I shared a bed at my grandmother’s house, where my mother was trying to care for Shirley after the doctor in Hoquiam sent her home with a cold. She had avery high fever, and mom looked at me (age six) and said, “Betty, I think she has lost her hearing, and it looks like her left eye is now blind.” Mom often said that she thought that Shirley had had spinal meningitis. Sister Shirley started at the State School for the Deaf at Vancouver, Washington, at age 6 in 1932. Father and I would attempt to “tune-up” the old 1928 Chevy—grind valves, repair tires, etc.—so that we could drive Shirley to Centralia, where she boarded the train to school. She had her destination pinned to her coat. On one return trip her address was lost, and the conductor took her to his home. My parents were frantic until she was located.

The Larson sisters from the left Shirley, Elaine, and Betty. Garbe collection.PCHS#2001.24.1


Jessie Stratton Larson and Cleo Herald Larson, with an unidentified cousin and child in 1922.Garbe collection. PCHS#2001.24.2

The 1930s brought the Great Depression. Even at seven or eight years old, we had to attempt to do anything possible to make money for school clothes. I held up the spraying hoses while Mr. John Moline sprayed his cranberry bog. I helped Hulda Hendrickson bake coffee bread and took this to the men scalping new cranberry bogs. At this time my father and I also took hand sickles and cut bent grass for Herb Nelson. This was done in the area of the former Tokeland

Golf Links. Lempi Koli and Miss Monahan were our elementary teachers at North Cove School. This

location was used as they were making an addition to the Grayland School. They had first, second, and third grades at the North Cove School and the higher grades at the Grayland school.

Miss Lempi Koli and Miss Monahan were wonderful, dedicated teachers. I recall when Miss Monahan was annoyed at a young student who was disturbing the class with his loose front tooth. She said, “Let’s see that.” He showed her and she promptly pulled the tooth out. That was all there was to that. Class was back to order.

A Metsker map showing North Cove at the mouth of Willapa Bay about 1927. The community of North Cove and the U.S. Lighthouse Reservation has since been washed away due to tidal currents

and storms.10

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Miss Koli had a class assignment in which we were to study South America. She showed us how to make a map of South America out of flour and water. We then painted the areas of importance. I was very proud of my map. I loved Geography and to study other countries. Many of my classmates’ homes were in the North Cove area. The original Coast Guard

Station and lighthouse existed in this area. An interesting note is that this is where Pat Paulsen, the eventual movie star and comedian was raised. The lovely large John Smith residence was in this area as were numerous other farms.

I believe that, after the extensive Westport jetty—contracted by Guy F. Atkinson—was put in place about 1935, the erosion at North Cove began to take place. Violent ocean storms began to destroy my school chums’ homes. As I remember, this was around 1941 when the lighthouse had already washed out to sea and the area came to be called “Washaway.” Our home did not wash away, and I often think of how nice it was to come home to visit and find my home in North Cove still standing. Unfortunately, each year on my visits home, I discovered that my childhood friends could not do the same.

Mrs. L. Koli's fourth, fifth, and sixth grade class, North Cove School, 1933-1934.Top row from left: Buster Armstrong, Esbil Rencola, Eva Maden, Kenneth Forbush, Donal Smith, Mary Jane Armstrong, Bond Richards, Norma Paulsen, Doris Urich, Don Reams, and Robert Shepherd.Middle row: Aili Lavi, Beatrice Alexson, Betty Larson, Melba Kelley, Venetia Gumm, Eithel Sigurdson, Dorothy Maden, May Pratt, Eleanor Lehto, Wilma Mitchell, and Ruth Sigurdson.Front row: Elmer Reuananen, Ernest Lee Joutsen, Eugene Stalding (Stalding family info is here), Walter Smith, Wesley Smith, Alfons Johnson, and Carson Strong.

Garbe Collection. PCHS#2001.24.311


Sigurd West with young pickers working on his North Cove cranberry bog.Garbe collection. PCHS#2001.24.4

The Sigurd West farm One can not grow up in North Cove without being connected to cranberries. Wild and

commercial cranberry bogs straddled the line between Grays Harbor and Pacific Counties. The Sigurd West family had one of the finest and well-kept bogs on our coast. National Geographic magazine took a picture of my mother and I picking cranberries on the West bog in 1937 or 38.

I recall Sigurd and his wife Hilda were very jovial people who loved music and dancing.When Cranberry harvest was over the growers and pickers would have a celebration in the farmer’s warehouse. Sigurd had taught himself to play the violin and accordion when he was nine years old in Sweden. He had another young man named Conway who played the banjo.We had no trouble learning to schottische and polka.

In 1939 Sigurd and Hilda decided to move back to Sweden. Sigurd entertained passengers aboard their ship with his music, much to their delight. They stayed ten months and decided that America was the place they wanted to live and raise their children. They returned, built another house, and put in another bog on the corner of Udel and Alexson roads. Hilda helped support the family by working at Nelson’s cannery. The Wests were very close friends of my parents, Jessie and Cleo, and I recall a bottle or two tipped together on occasion. Betty Garbe

Hilga West sorting cranberries. Garbe collection. PCHS#2001.24.512


The photographer caught Betty Larson picking cranberries in her school clothes.She received 25 cents a carrier-full of berries. Garbe collection. PCHS#2001.24.6

I went by to see Catherine Jacobsen Doyle when the ocean was nearing her farm, and I cried.We rode horses there.

When I was about 13 years old—somewhere around 1935—we finally got our own home.After several seasons of picking cranberries by hand at 25 cents a carrier, my mother convinced my father to buy four acres of land that was next to a small house we were renting. This property is near the Gould Road in North Cove. My parents made this purchase for $25 down and $25 a month. It was during this time that a large freighter leaving Grays Harbor was shipwrecked, and all the assorted lumber washed up on the beach. My father took advantage of this windfall to get the necessary material to help build a house. My sisters and I had to sit on piles of lumber while my mother and father made trips back and forth during low tide to haul this building material home in his makeshift trailer. This trailer was made from an old 1928 Chevy touring car. Dad had driven this old Chevy into the ocean one evening when he made the wrong turn down at the point. He said it was very dark, and he was confused as to which side

the ocean was on since the sound was deceiving. He drove into a lagoon. He, Mom, and my baby sister Geraldine walked the 2&½ miles home soaking wet. Mother said the water was under her armpits when she stepped out of the car. My Uncle Roy and my father went back and retrieved the Chevy and make a trailer out of it.

With the help of relatives, Dad built a one-room house on the four acres. I remember one time when he and I stayed up all night during a violent windstorm to secure a wall.

Our mother always had something for us to do if we were bored. She would say, “It is the time of year to go explore to see if the trilliums or lady slippers are in bloom.” One year my home economics teacher requested that we send lady slipper plants to the University of Washington for studies. Making May baskets out of wallpaper samples and filling them with lupine, violets, or daisies were a boredom solution. To watch and discover a bird’s nest was great excitement.

North Cove Lighthouse.Ken Bale slide collection, Pacific County Historical Society Museum. PCHS#2000.67.


Grayland clam diggers around the turn of the century.Ken Bale slide collection, Pacific County Historical society Museum. PCHS#2000.67

The Gould farm was nearby, and Melba Kelly, who lived near her Grandma Gould, and I became good friends. We rode horses together and enjoyed hay harvesting. It was our job to jump on the hay so it would settle and more hay could be piled on top. This harvesting was initially done with horses and wagons, then they got an old Model T truck. We loved swinging from a rope in the barn down onto the hay.

Our science lessons came with slaughter time. We had a pig, named “The Pig.” She grew bigger and bigger until our father could not keep her in the pen. She would follow us if we did not sidetrack her into the woods. The Pig got so big because my father just couldn’t kill anything. One day my mom told dad, “Cleo, we need food, and it is time to can or smoke The Pig.” Being the oldest child in the family, I helped father make a pulley, and we dipped The Pig into a barrel of scalding water, scraped her hide, and spend weeks rubbing her with Morton’s salt.

We got a creativity assignment from Melba’s uncle, Marion Kelly, one of the proprietors of the Minit Market, presently located at the Warrenton Beach Road. He showed us what yew

wood was and helped us carve a bow out of it. He even showed us how to scrape down cow horn tips to put on the ends of our bow. We also made arrows, and we became fairly good target shooters. We did not kill animals—that was not our style.

I came home from school one day and asked my parents if I could have a violin. I wanted a saxophone, but they didn’t need any more saxophones in the orchestra, and the teacher was primarily a violin instructor. So we got a violin for 25 cents down and 25 cents a week (I still have that violin). I really wanted to learn to play. My father could not tolerate the practice. He said, “Go out to the wood shed.” I stayed with it for several years, then other musical ventures became more interesting.

My father supported the family by digging razor clams commercially. When low tides were at night, he would wake me up to go with him to hold the lantern. Many times the weather was cold, damp, and windy. Other times it was balmy and mellow. It was interesting to watch my father compare his total catch to the other diggers. He competed with John Smith, Bill Jacobsen, Dick Strong, and Ann Fordyce (she could out-dig many of them). They sold the clams to crab fishermen and the cannery. The cannery was located at the Warrenton road and operated during the 1920s and 1930s.

To earn other money, Mother carefully prepared our cow Rosy’s milk for me to deliver over the sand dunes trail to the cannery workers living in cabins near the Warrenton cannery.

Another moneymaking venture was for me to go out to the beach on holidays and watch the tourists dig. When I would see them struggling to get their limit, I would offer to dig their limit for 25 cents. I think the limit was 2 dozen clams at that time, maybe more. The happy camper would leave the beach with a smile. The tourists had more money than I did.

On another occasion, my mother sent me to the beach to dig clams to feed the family. I think I may have had over my limit when I saw a man following me. My father had coached me never to get caught with more clams than the limit, as I would be required to pay a fine. As I was not sure who the gentleman was that was following me, I didn’t slow down. As I was getting farther away from my approach road, I decided to just turn around and head back. As I was about to walk by this individual on the beach, he came over and asked me if he could take my picture.Whew! “You bet,” I said, and I gave him a big smile and held up the biggest clam I had. What a surprise when someone said, “Did you see your picture in the Seattle Sunday paper?”

Now that my parents were property owners, my mother would rely on me to hitchhike to Tokeland and take the mail boat to South Bend to pay our property taxes, as the county court house was there. Allen Sienes, the Aberdeen World paper route person, was a very close friend in our lives. On many occasions he was our only transportation off the beach.


Nelson Crab cannery workers in 1940. Garbe collection. PCHS#2001.24.7

The Nelsons were now building a cannery to process Dungeness crabs that the Nelson fishermen were bringing in. This would mean that there would be another source of livelihood.My mother and I applied for work, and another interesting scenario of my growing up began.

I had always been in awe of these brave fishermen. Weather conditions could be horrible, and they would fight the ocean and pray all the way across the bar. It has been established that the Willapa Bar is one of the most dangerous on the West Coast. There men brought in the crab that would be destined to meet a dinner date at the Cliffhouse in San Francisco. We crab shakers and packers waited many times with empty tables until Melvin and Ray Nelson, Danny Catino, and others got in with their catch.

I remember one night it was dark, and we were standing on the front porch with our boots and heavy rubber aprons on to see if any of the fishermen were heading in. We would have to wait until the crabs were backed, cooked and then the shaking began. Lilllian “Toots” Sigurdson was impressive. She made very good money and was a classic shaker. The packing table seemed like the best place for me to work. So Chris gave me the job of weighing the pans, posting the weight and then packing. We enjoyed working the packing line. That was a job that was paid by the hour. The shakers got paid by weight. Captain’s Tavern was operated by Lillian Tyler at that time (1941), and if the boats were late

coming in, we would gather there until we could go back and pack crab meat so that the fresh shipment was on its way to California. Much of this was in 5-pound cans packed in ice.

Labels used on canned crabs and clams by the Nelson Crab & Oyster Company in Tokeland.PCHS collection.


Then came Pearl Harbor and WWII! Because we were residing on the direct Pacific coastline, we were in total blackout. Japanese submarines were sighted off the coast. While at work one day, I went out to our car to get my lunch. When I returned to the building, I noticed three men dressed in very dark suits going up the stairs to Chris’s office. I thought, “Geez, they look like FBI,” and they were. As I left the car to return, not one but four armed soldiers had their rifles aimed right at me with a death look in their eye. I just stood there very still. I don’t think I blinked once. Believe me, this incident has remained etched in my mind. Chris explained later that because the cannery furnace exhaust system belched black smoke, he was questioned about sending signals to the Japanese.

It was during this time that I met my future husband, Neil Fahey, an Infantry lieutenant from Springfield, Massachusetts. He helped protect our shores. He was killed in action in the Battle of the Bulge during the Ardennes Campaign, December 24th, 1944. Thus began my new life away from the West Coast.

First Leutenant Neil Fahey (top left), with the 101st Airborne glider troops in England, 1944.Garbe collection.

Losing my Husband Aili “Lovi” Linn and I processed dehydrated cranberries in the Grayland building where the

Cranberry Museum is now. The cranberries we processed were shipped to the American Armed Services. We joined a group of individuals and rode in a van to midnight mass on Christmas 1944, to express our feelings for the military men.

My Husband Neil was machine gunned down by a German soldier dressed in an American uniform. It took me six months to find this out. Father Fiest, a Catholic Priest, pursued this investigation. In January the notification of death came by way of a telegram. It was phonedinto the Grayland grocery/post office. They delivered same to my home.

My mother received this notice and had to carry this until I arrived home from a dental appointment in Aberdeen. Aili and my friend Wanda Salisbury were with me. My mother remained very calm, inquiring how I was feeling and hugged me and gave me the news. No

words can express the confusion, desperation, and denial I felt. I took my daughter in my arms, mumbled something about how our lives would be changed. I went out to the cold, windy rainy beach and walked until I was exhausted. I found out when I returned that Wanda was behind me. What a caring friendship. I remained a widow for five years.


An aerial view of the Nelson cannery in Tokeland taken by the late Ken Bale.

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