89 Bikes Don’t Float

Flying in to the floating camp at GMG Logging the first time was not quite the shock it might have been if Sandy and I had not both grown up on an island. Sandy was introduced to island life when her dad moved his family to Shaw Island, just south of the border, in the San Juans. They lived in Kirkland Washington, but because her dad, Bill, was in construction, his work led him to the San Juan Islands, where he eventually moved the family just after Sandy turned eleven. As an eleven year old, Sandy thought it a neat place but her mother, as Sandy tells it, just sat there and cried. It was more then she could handle, when she realized she had moved from a house with all of the conveniences, to an old broken down farmhouse with no power or running water and an outhouse.

The floating camp at GMG, however isolated, had all of the conveniences of the city, but as I mentioned before, no roads to go anywhere, unless of course you were content to just walk up and down the boardwalk in front of the houses. For children this was fun enough as the school also had a play area and each house had its own decked area to walk or play on. The rule however was that no child could be outside without a life jacket as the floats did not have any protective railing whatsoever and the water was deep and ice cold. The unwritten rule stated that as soon as you could swim you did not have to wear your life jacket. That meant that each child yearned for the day when they could swim and get rid of the demeaning life jacket and join the world of the adults. As I just stated a moment ago the water was cold, and I mean cold and deep, so to learn to swim was no mean feat and if achieved did deserve some recognition.

Sandy as a good camp mom, was given the pattern designed by one of the boss’s wives, and certified by the WCB, so she could make both our kids life jackets. Knowing the nature of kids it was a certainty that one of them would fall in, and the lifejacket would enable them to live, and tell about it.

It wasn’t long before Teri who was about three, was out running around and went sailing off one of the floats into the frigid waters and came up gasping. Not to be out done by her, Joe a little foster boy who was up on a visit with my mom for a few weeks, a little while later found one of the camp triks and went roaring around the floats on it. Wouldn’t you know it? The inevitable finally happened, and off he went hell bend for leather into the water and came up sputtering. You should have seen the look on his face as he gasped for air, his eyes just about popping out of his head.

It’s times like these when parents are glad that they do all the right things, of course that did not save the trike as it was at the bottom of the inlet but at least the kids weren’t under forty feet of water with it.

Things sometimes turn out OK as a few weeks later Bruce Rayfuse one of the guys who lived in the bunkhouse put on some scuba gear and fished the trike from the briny deep

87 A Saw is Not Just a Saw

To day the skill of tree falling as with most trades is learned in a class so a person does not get killed the first hour at work. In the early days as with many other trades the skills were quite often learned on the job. Regardless of the method, safety was paramount if you were to survive and not get seriously hurt. Most accidents in the bush occurred when you ignored a known safety precaution or got in too big of a hurry.

This particular afternoon after I had just fallen a small hemlock in a new setting and was attempting to top it, I noticed that there was a small sapling lying before my undercut. The hemlock tree that I was about to top was under great tension as only the top and the butt were touching the ground and I knew that as soon as I began to undercut the tree it would break suddenly and drop to the ground. This meant that the broken fibers could catch the tip of my saw and drag it down, levering it out of my hand over the sapling. This could be very dangerous.

My safety training told me to cut the sapling out of the way, but I was in a hurry and in my impatience I imagined I could be quicker then the hemlock as it dropped. Against my best judgment I carefully put in the top cut and then cautiously began the undercut all the while waiting for that faint cracking of wood that would warn me of the impending drop so I could quickly remove my saw from the cut.

Snap and my worst fears were realized, in less then an instance the saw was gone, I didn’t even have a chance to wince, in microseconds the saw was whizzing past my nose and sailing in a big beautiful arc thirty feet into the air. I felt despair as I imagined my brand new saw of only a few weeks, coming to earth on a log or worse yet a rock and getting smashed to pieces. But lo, the gods of fate were smiling that day as my thirty three pound saw spun over and over, before coming down on the end of its blade like a sword thrust into the soft earth, with it’s engine still running. Moments later it fell over going put-put-put as the engine idled away upside down until I went down the hill to shut it off and check for any damage to the blade.

How thankful I was that it didn’t have a scratch on it, as the thought of having to replace a $4oo power saw made me feel a bit negative to say the least, as that was a lot of money back in ’64.

85 Quoth the Raven, “Gimme Your Lunch”

The story I am about to tell is true only the name has been changed to protect the raven. One of the things that lighten your day as a faller is being able to enjoy the wildlife that lives in the forest. Even though many of the creatures that make the forest their home, remain hidden during the daytime, there were blue jays that would come begging for a handout, and flying squirrels in abundance swooping from tree to tree. The evidence of bear were quite common and maybe even an otter from time to time.

To keep from misplacing my gear or accidentally dropping a tree on it, I would generally stuff my rain gear, if it weren’t raining, along with my lunch bucket and my extra wedges and sledge in a hollow stump or log to keep them safe.

What highlighted my experience however this particular fall was a raven, Old Pesky. At first I quite enjoyed seeing Old Pesky come flying in, if I imitated his call he would stop, slowly circle and answer me. In fact, it didn’t seem to matter where I was. It got so that every morning on or around ten o’clock he would spot me and come swooping down on his own. The flattery of his attention quickly turned to frustration when I had to search for my gear and especially my lunch bucket before I could eat my lunch.

Frustration finally turned to anger on the morning when Old Pesky finally figured out how to unsnap the clasps to my lunch bucket and eat my lunch. He wasn’t stupid, as he knew what was healthy and he would only eat the sandwich. He always left the apple and desert, not that I shouldn’t be grateful for his generosity, but it fell far short of quenching my hunger pangs and left me famished by suppertime.

This type of pesky behavior called for action on my part, but what to do short of shooting him but still modify his aberrant behavior presented a problem. When the answer came to me it was simple enough, just a small nail placed through the stop on each of the clasps would keep them from being snapped open and would do the trick.

Quite smug with the brilliance of my idea I went to the hollow log where my lunch was stowed the following morning only to find the lunch box laying already open on the ground, the sandwich gone, and no bird in sight. This called for some serious action on my part if I was to ever eat lunch again.

It finally came to me that the only remedy was to replace the nails with a small wire, that is, run it through the clasps and then twist the two ends together. The next day with my new design in place I could hardly wait to get to where my gear was stowed at lunchtime, to see it I had truly won the battle. Well there was my lunch box lying on the ground with all of my gear scattered around, and the leather shoulder strap that I carried my lunch with all chewed to pieces, but the lunch box was still shut tight. Yes it finally worked, but Old Pesky did not give up easily. It seems that in his frustration he had been dragging it every which way.

Well I think I won the battle but it was many mornings before Old Pesky finally gave up in frustration and quit chewing on my lunch box strap in the hope of somehow yanking it open. Not all battles in life are won but even a small victory is sometimes sweet.

84 A Fish Story

I’m sure that if you have ever fished you have a fish story, and if you can trump mine I want to hear it. My story begins one sunny weekend when Lloyd McGill and I decided to go fishing at Wyclees Lagoon where by all accounts the smallest fish caught would be at least forty lbs.

Not having any of my own fishing gear, Lloyd scrounged an old Pete’s Real with about a 120 lb test line and no leader for me to use. All I can remember is that his gear was somewhat better but as to what it was I now have no idea.

What I do remember is that it was a bad decision to take off without a fishing club or a net, and I would rue it to this day. With that we grabbed a lunch and took off for Wyclees Lagoon and a story that was waiting to be told.

In less then an hour we were at the lagoon and as the tide was not too low the water was flowing into Smith Inlet at only a moderate rate. We shot up the north arm of the lagoon and took a quick look around in the lagoon itself, before deciding to anchor in the north arm just where it emptied into Smith Inlet. Here we let our lines trail out behind the boat where we thought the fish would school before entering the lagoon. As we didn’t have an anchor we went ashore and found a large rock, which we tied to our bowline.

Our strategy seemed to be working as we had only been fishing a few minutes when I got a strike and my line started singing at a startling rate. My thought was that the break was on a little too much so I attempted to loosen it some. Not being familiar with the gear I backed the break off too much and suddenly the line was reeling out at lightening speed. In trying to retighten it I bloodied all my knuckles as the reel was spinning like a top. It was about this time that the fish reached the end of the line with such force as to bend the real sideways to the rod and it came lose and fell off. I was fortunate that the line was tied to the real as I quickly dropped the rod and was now able to begin pulling the fish in by hand.

All this time I was yelling my head off for Lloyd to lift the anchor, as I imagined the line was going to snap. How Lloyd got his line in and the anchor lifted I will never know but soon we were drifting wherever the fish would take us.

I continued pulling the fish in hand over hand when suddenly there he was this enormous dark green monster glistening just under the surface, I could have reached down and grabbed him by the tail, but better yet, where was the net to scoop him up? Back at camp of course.

The monster had hit the end of the line so hard that he had straightened the eye end of the hook. So with a flick of his tail he pulled enough slack to throw the hook and off he swam. I pulled the line in and there it was, the end of the line with a lonesome swivel, the hook and the fish had gone.

Lloyd didn’t seem to depressed but he wasn’t the one who had lost the fish, on the other hand why cry, the fish that got away is always the big one, and who knows, he could have been a one hundred and forty pounder only God knows for sure.

83 Gill Netting Anyone?

It was now in the month of May and George was gone fishing for the summer, this left me without any work. I was fortunate that GMG were willing to put me to work, as they had a small patch of timber to fall just across the inlet. This worked out well for me, as they still were paying by the thousand and I was able to keep busy for most of the summer.

Every morning as I tied the speedboat up on my way to the patch of trees I was falling I noticed fish jumping everywhere. I thought this was my luck, an opportunity to make some big money on the side.

As my dad was fishing in the area I asked him if he had an extra net and to my good fortune he had one that he was willing to lend me for the summer.

But the next question was where to get a boat? I suddenly remembered that you don’t’ need a boat with a gill net drum if you coil the lead line separate from the cork line, any boat would just about do. This meant that I had a boat; I was using it to get to work each morning.

So that evening I coiled the net up in the bow of the kicker and set out just after sun set to make my set for the night. After waiting for several hours to see what I had caught, I started hauling in the net. Would you believe, I had a few fish.

I was quite excited as I hauled the net into the boat and removed the fish one by one, especially when I knew each one was worth at least two or three dollars. It took me several hours before I reached the end of the net and the last fish. I remember crawling into bed that night well past midnight but my hope for the big catch did not happen as after a careful count I only thirty or forty fish.

The next day I sold most of my catch to the packer for a nice little profit but kept a few for the smoke house, as I love smoked salmon.

I can’t remember but I think that was the only time I went out with the little speedboat to try my luck at being a fisherman. Was it because I was lazy, or what, you be the judge. Personally I don’t like to think it was laziness. I do know that I didn’t follow my vision of making money-fishing part time or even give it a chance, so perhaps it was laziness. The truth was that regardless, I quite my life as a fisherman and carried on as a logger until it was time for college in the fall.

82 Crossing the Sound

It was with anticipation that Sandy and I looked foreword to the holiday season after spending over three months in camp. Except for the boardwalk between the houses there was no place to walk, or anything to see while in camp. A boat of course would get you to the shore, but once there unless you liked crawling through the impenetrable salal that grew everywhere there was nothing to do.

There was plenty of exploring throughout the various inlets and waterways if you had your own boat, but I hated to take advantage of Louis’ kindness by using the camp boat more then necessary.

Finally the Christmas season arrived and we could hardly wait until a Beaver came flying round the corner and up the inlet to take us for a well-disserved two weeks holiday with my folks. It felt incredible to finally get way from camp life. A person can only take so much rain and I was well over the 24/7 rain limit.

Christmas was a lot of fun as my sister and her family was also down from Terrace so we had a chance to do a lot of visiting and catching up.

All to soon the fun was over and we were on the plane heading back to Port Hardy and George waiting patiently at the wharf to take us back to camp. George as it turned out was going to be in Port Hardy about the time that we were heading home so he had kindly agreed to take us the rest of the way thus saving us a few bucks.

That was a bad decision from Sandy’s point of view but an interesting one from mine, as we shall see in a minute

The last part of the trip however started out well enough until we cleared the last of the islands off the northern tip of Vancouver Island and headed into Queen Charlotte Sound. What started out as a slightly rough sea gradually increased in intensity until the boat was rocking quite violently. As far as storms go this was not much of a storm except for a queasy stomach and if that was the case you should have stayed home. The boat was tossing around enough however to make it just about impossible to stand or to see through the sheets of water that were crashing over the bow of the boat and the pilothouse windows. This kept George more then busy as he focused all his energy on steering the boat and keeping us on course.

In the meantime I was beginning to feel concern for Sandy who was starting to turn very pale and then suddenly green. In my hurry to get something for her to throw-up in I was only able to find a large tray, which she immediately filled. My job now was to stagger to the door at the rear of the ship’s cabin, so I could dispose of it overboard, without falling down or getting any of it on myself. This was quite a balancing act as the pitching of the boat made it just about impossible to stand. Once at the door the challenge really began. I had to open the door with one hand while balancing the tray full of steaming puke with the other, and then toss its contents over board, and not go in after it.

I not only had to do this once but several times as it was not until we had finally crossed the sound and entered the calmer water of Smith Inlet that Sandy’s stomach finally settled down.

It was with great relief when we finally got home and crawled into bed that night, and I am sure George felt the same way when the power generator went off and we finally went to sleep.

81 The Slide

Floating logging camps were not that uncommon through the thirties and into the seventies, along the BC coast and into Alaska. Boswell Inlet alone had a total of three camps, the other two were just up the inlet from where GMG was logging. Because of the unique lifestyle of those in the camps there was a kindred spirit and an air of camaraderie between camps.

The camp most adjacent to GMG was Bader’s logging camp, just up the inlet and around several bends. They had found a favorable location not far from the patch of timber they were logging. Here they had secured their floating camp just below a particularly steep mountain on the north side of Boswell Inlet. Their location below a mountain was quite typical of floating camps as most fiords or inlets throughout the world generally are deep narrow waterways between steep mountainous sides.

It happened early one Saturday morning when everyone was still asleep. At first it was just a distant sound like faraway thunder, hardly enough to notice let alone to cause any concern. Suddenly however it became much louder until the innocence of a quiet Saturday morning was broken by a rumble that literally shook the ground.

Everyone came running outside and watched, as it appeared as if the whole side of the mountain was sliding straight toward the camp. Cec Bader said, “Run for the boats.” So everybody headed for the nearest boat in just the nick of time as millions of tons of debris engulfed the camp.

Sammy their faller was just coming out of the bunkhouse when the slide hit and he got swept into the inlet. He was fortunate enough to not get hurt and as he could swim he made it over with some difficulty to one of the boats and got picked up.

It was fortunate that the main path that the mud, rocks and trees had taken missed the houses or they would have been totally swept into the inlet. As it was everything not fastened securely down was swept into the sea. In some cases whole trees had been swept down the mountain and were now floating everywhere you looked around the camp.

What a mess to clean up, but everyone was truly thankful that it was not any worse. Later that Saturday morning as they met in the little church at the GMG camp, many heartfelt prayers went heavenward when they finally realized no one got injured or killed.

80 George, Vivian and the Big Tree

The following story happened, but not necessarily in the order or manner of the telling. What I do know for sure is that George just about wept as any man would as he told me the story, for who wouldn’t after losing a days pay.

It all began this way. Back in the old days before fallers were paid by the day, a faller could make really big money. George did even better as he did both his falling and bucking and only paid for Vivian a hard working Indian to do his swamping.

The swamper was an important part of any falling team especially if the faller was working by himself. It was the swamper’s jobs to clear out around the tree and remove all lose bark and debris, so that the tree would be easily accessible. A swamper also helped the faller carry his gear, such as extra wedges and fuel. It was also wise to have someone with you in case of an accident.

This was in cedar country where some of the trees can easily reach twelve to fifteen feet in diameter. Being paid by the thousand, (board feet that is) a big tree could easily bring in $700. Even after paying your swamper that would mean big money, even today.

George had been working this particular side for sometime and was all the way to the farthest corners when Vivian shouted “Hey George did you see that big tree over there just above the ravine.” George was not much for words but he looked over to where Vivian was pointing and said, “She is a big one alright, let’s take a closer look at her when we get through here.” With that George began the undercut on the final tree of the day.

On finishing the tree George and Vivian took a closer look at the monster, which was sitting on the very edge of a deep ravine. George said to Vivian in his quiet voice, “She has to be at least fifteen feet at the base.” And Vivian said, I don’t think I‘ve ever seen one any bigger, she sure is a big one.”

The next morning after walking for 15 minutes through the falling slash in the pouring rain George and Vivian finally reached the big tree. Vivian stowed their gear and began immediately to clear out around the big tree while George sharpened his saw. Twenty minutes later George fired up the saw and began the under cut. The blade on his saw was only 44 inches long but with a few tricks of the trade he was able to cut through the undercut and clean the center out so the only wood holding after the back cut was completed was the two hinges and a few spots that he reached by notching the back.

It was now about noon but the tree still stood. As most fallers only use wedges when absolutely necessary George was now using them everywhere but to no avail. Even after cutting the tree completely off, it just sat there and mocked him.

Because the tree was so wide at the base it just sat there and would not topple over. A normal tree only needs an undercut one-third its diameter, but because this tree was so fat and short it needed a much deeper undercut, which George had not taken into account.

It was to late to redo the undercut at this point, so all George could do was take turns with Vivian on the wedges. So after wedging till quitting time, but to no avail, George and Vivian finally gave up and headed for home, worn out and frustrated. It was a few weeks later that a big winter storm blew the tree over into the deep ravine where it still lays today.

Weep George! Remember life is like a bank account; you can’t always be taking from your account without putting something back from time to time.

Cry for George, Vivian got paid for a days work anyway.

79 The Saga of a Bucker

Working for George bucking trees in the great rain forests of the central BC coast where it rains 24/7 took some getting used to. It was quite a different experience from my life in the woods helping my dad on Read Island.

George supplied the power saw, which was a gear drive Homelite 909G weighing about 35 pounds. This made it extremely hard to buck with as the chain turned one-third the speed of a direct drive saw and it took all the muscles I had.

You could not stall the engine by forcing it, as the harder you pushed, the faster it would cut. The first couple of weeks I found muscles that I never knew existed. I can remember crawling into bed at night feeling as if I would drop and when morning came, feeling just the same.

George had it easy that winter as the easy part of being a faller is as the name suggests, falling. A bucker on the other hand has to climb down into all of the brush and debris that the tree rips off on its way to the ground. Each tree that was felled had to be at least topped and limbed, and then depending on its size, bucked into one or more logs.

Falling trees is the most dangerous job in the woods and requires the most diligence before any cut is made. George had a tendency to make his undercuts a little to deep and narrow. This can sometimes cause a tree to barber-chair, particularly a spruce. Without warning the spruce he was falling suddenly slabbed up the back to maybe fifty feet and he was fortunate that he was not sent flying into the next world.

George was generally quite careful, but I will never forget the time he was falling a small three feet spruce into a stand of trees, not a good idea unless it can’t be avoided. As with all trees that you are falling you step back and to the side once the tree begins to fall. The forked top of the tree that George was falling caught a large tree hidden in the stand and without warning the butt of the spruce tree shot past him riding the top of its stump like a freight train ready to leap it tracks. George heaved a sight of relief as it finally came to a stop just above him as he lay on the ground his feet firmly caught in the brush. I didn’t start to breath easy until George had finally untangled himself. I had visions of me trying to pull what was left of George out from under a hundred ton spruce tree.

Learning how to cut with the tip of a saw blade makes bucking a whole lot easier particularly for doing the undercut. This is not recommended for the novice and is extremely difficult, especially with a gear drive power saw. I was determined however to learn how to do this, and if I did not kill myself in the process, have a much easier time when undercutting. I can still remember the saw being violently thrown out of the cut and slamming into my pelvic bone so hard it threw me completely over on my back. I lay there with the saw screaming wide open as I frantically held it above my head to keep from getting cut. I felt consumed with pain as I was finally able to shut the saw off and get back on my feet. I am happy to tell you that I finally learned the technique but not until going through the agony more then once. Practice makes perfect, if you don’t kill yourself in the process.

Life is fun but not all the time and even on the job there are the good days and those not so good. George and I had just finished off a small area and were moving to the next site with all our gear when the axe I was carrying caught in the waist high salal.

This caused the axe head to suddenly flip around and cut me deeply below my left wrist. I immediately squeezed it tightly with my other hand to stop the blood from flowing down my arm and we headed for camp. It was not that serious a cut but I did need to have some stitches. Louis Goertzen’s wife, Hazel phoned for a plane to come and take me to a clinic at Alert Bay.

The trip home later that day was quite uneventful, and it wasn’t until later that night that my arm started to really throb with pain. Nancy Gildersleve, one of the ladies at camp had given me some pain pills that she said were strong enough to knock me for a loop, well I tried them to see if they would help. I spent the rest of the night wishing for a box of M&M’s, as they would have helped more besides tasting a whole lot better and I wouldn’t have had to thrash around the rest of the night in pain.

Why the doctor never gave me any pain pills to take home before I left, I will never know.

78 GMG Here We Come

It was now off to Canada and the wilds of the central BC coast, 70 miles north of Port Hardy and up Smith Inlet, to that little inlet tucked off to the side called Boswell. Here in the summer was a store and post office, in the winter just a place for a freighter to unload freight every two weeks.

Wouldn’t you know, after landing at Port Hardy the ceiling was so low that we couldn’t continue on until the weather improved. I still remember sitting in the Port Hardy terminal while we impatiently waited for the weather to clear. It seemed that we had to sit there for hours.

Sandy was quite amazing when I think back, as she handled the situation quite well. However I do remember her being quite upset when she ordered a glass of milk from what might be loosely called a restaurant, and it was sour. It was a good thing that Sandy was still nursing Teri or we might have had a very sick baby.

At last the weather cooperated and the Beaver took off for Boswell Inlet and GMG Logging.

The camp was its own little community with each house on its own float. The floats were tied together with a walkway joining them together. The community had its own diesel power plant, which was on during certain hours. If you were a single guy you could stay in the bunkhouse and eat your meals in the cookhouse that sat right next door. There was also a public school with one teacher and a church, which was filled to capacity every Saturday.

Drying clothes was a problem in a country where it rains 120 inches a year. Some houses had gas dryers but for those that didn’t there were drying sheds, however with 100% relative humidity it took forever to dry most things. Some of the winter months you might not even see the sun. Most houses had a drying rack, so clothes could be dried over the kitchen oil stove if necessary.

The only thing lacking was the ability to turn the rain off. This was something you had to get used too. It rained so much that the top layer of the inlet tasted like fresh water after a heavy rain.

I remember when Ernie Knopp forgot to pull his small kicker up on the float, next morning it had filled with rainwater and sunk. The only thing showing was its bow; the engine with the rest of the boat was all under water.

After a heavy rain there would be a roaring sound as torrents of water rushed wildly down the mountain slopes creating dozens of white foaming waterfalls in their dash to the sea.

The biggest shock for me was that for the first few months I had to live with my boss George Egolf all week on his fish boat. Neither Sandy nor I were excited about being separated for a week at a time, but it made the weekends that much sweeter. This arrangement didn’t end any to soon for me as I found Sandy a much better bed partner then George.

The change from Puyallup was radical but survival requires adaptability and it was not too long before Sandy and I and the baby were used to rain 24/7 and a loggers life in the rainforest of the central BC coast.

77 Don’t Forget the Baby

The summer Sandy and I spent in Puyallup was a very busy summer. It was the only time that we lived near Sandy’s grandparents and a bunch of other family members, some of whom operated a custom cannery. As canning fruit and vegetable was part of both our family traditions we were able to inexpensively put up many cans for the coming winter.



The summer of ’62 was when the Columbus Day Storm swept in from the Pacific raising havoc in the Northwest, with wind speeds as high as 179 mph at Cape Blanco on the Oregon coast. Damage estimates after the storm ran as high as $3-5 billion if changed into 2002 currency.

Why Sandy and I waited until the height of the storm to run down to the local Piggly Wiggly super market to get emergency supplies I will never know, as the radio had been sending out bulletins for quite some time about how terrible the storm was and to be prepared for the worst. So wouldn’t you know, it was while we were in line at the check out that the lights went out. It feels strange when the cash registers and lights quite working and you are left standing there in the dark with no way to pay. I honestly don’t remember how we finally settled with the super market, but I do remember buying the candles and getting home safely.

It was shortly after this that I received the phone call from my dad about the job bucking tree with George Egolf at GMG Logging. The next few days were busy ones as we were packing up in preparation to leave Puyallup, and begin a new chapter in the life of Bob and Sandy Betts, this time as a logger family in the rain forests of BC with our brand new baby.

The packing was done, the boxes were stowed in the trailer, the keys had been taken back to the landlord and we were climbing into the car when Sandy exclaims, “Where’s the baby?” I said what baby?” And she said, “Our baby, the one we just brought home from the hospital a few days ago.” “Oh! That baby! So off I went to the landlord and sheepishly asked him for the house keys to make the family complete.

When the realization of what we had just about done hit me, my knee went weak. After looking everywhere I finally found the baby, sitting calmly in her little pumpkin seat on the table in the kitchen, quite unconcerned. Here she sat looking trustfully up at me with her innocent blue eyes. What trust babies have, if she had only known how irresponsible her parents had been she would have been shaking in terror.

76 Al Bolin A Good Man and a Good Boss

I’ve had a number of good bosses over the years but none much better then Al Bolin. I’m not sure if Al really needed me or for that matter even wanted me, I think it was done more as a favor to Sandy’s grandmother, Bina. Sandy was Bina’s favorite grandchild, and because of that she prevailed upon Al to give me a much-needed job.

Al was a good man and always tried to keep me busy even when there was no work. I can remember him giving me busy work just so I wouldn’t miss a paycheck. I was willing to do anything he asked, even to pulling nails out of used lumber and stacking it.

I can remember him inviting both Sandy and me over for a big waffle breakfast Sunday morning and them he would ask me to go out with him to hang a screen door. He had emphysema quite badly so I was needed to actually do the work, while he would stand there and tell me what to do. The best part was that I got paid for four hours when in fact it probably only took two and both Sandy and I got a lovely brunch out of it as well.

Al was old school and very honest in his dealings with his men and the people he worked for. He was very fussy and wanted everything done properly and correctly. As I had never done construction work before Al was quick to notice my incompetence with a hammer. I remember one day when I was doing my best to pound in a nail, he came over and grabbed the hammer from my hand saying, “Gimme that hammer, I’ll show you how to use it, you swing just like a woman.” “Give it to me.” He then took a nail from his pouch and proceeded to demonstrate the correct technique, bending the nail over on his first swing. With that he shouts, “These cheap Japanese nails.” And then he walks away.

The work was varied but consisted mostly of small jobs such as, renovations, and carports.

Besides me, there were only two other guys who worked for Al on a regular basis; both however had difficulty controlling the bottle. Jim was very good at finishing concrete but his home life was mostly a shambles. Jim never let it interfere with his work even though he showed up at work once with his face so scratched that you would have thought he had been attacked by a mountain lion. It seems that even though he was married he had gotten into a fight with some woman in a bar and she had taken exception to whatever was on his mind at the time.

Charles on the other hand had been laid off several times as he was caught drinking on the job, and because of that, I was able to later take over his position as truck driver.

It was Charles job to drive the old Diamond T work truck, which I then inherited. It was a stick shift without synchromesh gears and boy was it a challenge to shift.

I never learned to shift gears without grinding them, as I left before I had mastered the technique for a job bucking trees for a friend of my dads, named George Egolf. George was a salmon fisherman who had a falling contract with GMG Logging in the off-season. So soon it was off to the rain forests of the central BC coast, and would you believe it, living on a floating logging camp in Boswell Inlet.

In a way I was sad to leave as Al Bolin was a positive part of that period of my life and I appreciated his support and kindness to me, a penniless student and to my wife Sandy. I often think of Al who died shortly thereafter of his emphysema, and of his good wife Hattie, who befriended Sandy by having made her wedding dress.

75 Sunday Morning Breakdown

It was one of those lovely fall weekends when Sandy and I decided to visit her mom, Erlyne. Erlyne was always a lot of fun and we had a good time visiting her and Sandy’s little brother Steve.

The weekend fairly flew by, as they always seem to, when you are enjoying yourself, and before we realized it, it was early Sunday morning and we were already entering the town of Pasco well on our way home. We had barely slowed down on entering Pasco when the clutch went out without any warning. There was no sudden noise, or vibrations, or anything, it just meant that with the gas peddle to the floor, we still coasted to a stop.

What a bummer to break down early Sunday morning in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I figured our chances of finding somebody doing business were pretty slim, especially on the weekend. But miracle of miracles at the nearest filling station we were told of an auto wrecker who fixed cars.

He was quite happy to tow us over to his shop where he immediately started to work on the car. He was an all right kind of guy but I always feel kind of queasy at those kinds of places because of the type of characters that can be hanging around. There was not much to do in the little town of Pasco on a Sunday morning in ’62. Most things were closed, as everybody was probable in church, so we just sat there in their grungy waiting room while they repaired the clutch.

What worried me was that we really had no money. Except for a few dollars in our pockets there was virtually nothing in our bank account in Walla Walla. We just sat there with a hollow feeling inside, thinking about how we were going to pay the bill. We finally decided that all we could do was to just write him a check for whatever the amount. What really had me worried was that he charged $5 an hour, and at the time I thought what an outrageous amount, especially when I imagined what the final bill would be when he added on the cost of the new clutch and the tax. After five hours he finally broke the sad news that we owed him $50 for his troubles.

With a sinking heart Sandy wrote out the check and as she handed it to him he looked us both squarely in the eye and said, “Your check better be good because I am also a Sheriff and I’ll come and get you.” And he then hauled out a Sheriff’s badge. We both looked him squarely in the eye and I said, “Yes sir! We have never written a better check.”

Don’t get me wrong we have never written a bad check before or since, and we weren’t sure of the exact plan, but figured we could somehow get funds into the bank before his check cleared the bank.

God honors those that honor Him, and even though I have not always been faithful as I should, I’m sure God honors a person’s faith such as it is, because, Monday in the mail was a check from Sandy’s grandmother for $50.

74 Having Our First Baby

Earlier I mentioned the passion of the moment can derail the best of intensions and I must confess that when Sandy said that she was expecting our first child I was not taken by surprise, even though psychologically I was not completely ready for the event. It had nothing to do with liking or not liking babies, but it was uneasiness around anything having to do with pregnant women and babies. I also think there was a certain fear around the impact it might have on my studies and the ability to finish college.

I like to think that I supported Sandy, as a good spouse I took her countless times to the doctor’s office for her prenatal checkups. I must say as I look back upon my support it may not have appeared as selfless and as loving as it could have been.

It didn’t seem very long however before the time came, somewhere between midnight and six am, when it seems that all babies begin to knock. Why it is always after midnight I will never know, but of our three children, at least the girls, followed the same uncaring concern for my need of a good nights sleep. My son on the other hand was custom delivered at a precise hour by a doctor who said he wouldn’t work on the Lord’s Sabbath, so with one whiff of some magic potion he arrived at about 4 o’clock Friday afternoon, so I will never know if he would have been just as uncaring.

I awoke suddenly, as it seemed I was being shaking, and I could hear the faint cries of a women somewhere calling my name. As the sound slowly seeped into my subconscious, I slowly came too and realized it was Sandy calling, “Honey! Honey! Wake up! And I answered, “What’s the matter?” Sandy said, “Honey I think its time.” And my response, “Just go back to sleep, maybe it will go away until morning.” And again, after a few minutes of silence, “Honey I can’t wait, we have to go now.” And them my answer, “Are you really sure?” “Yes, we have to go now.” “Oh, alright, if you insist, I replied.

So it was off to the Auburn Regional Medical Center, where the waiting really began, all 19 hours of intense and not so intense labor. I felt sorry for Sandy as I waited by her bedside reading the Readers Digest and caressing her forehead from time to time and sometimes giving her hand little squeezes. I guess what bothered her was that I sometimes showed impatience as she continued to interrupted my reading by wanting my attention. Blame the Readers Digest for having such interesting stories.

Other then at the early stages of labor the husband was persona non grata. Those were the days when the father of the baby was a thing of distain at the time of childbirth, and considered to be a source of contaminant.

I felt relieved when a nurse finally came and wheeled Sandy into the labor room for the final push. My relief was short lived when the hours kept ticking by and nothing seemed to happen. As I was forbidden to go any further and could not see the action, time dragged on and on for what seemed eternity.

Finally about 7:00 pm that evening a nurse came down to the waiting room and told me I could visit with Sandy and see our new baby girl. What beautiful red hair she had, and to think that she had me to thank for it. It is always amazing to see a newborn baby, and just to think that you had something to do with a new life, it is quite a privilege to be party to such a happening.

I have to be careful what I say next. It is interesting to listen to someone when they see a newborn baby for the first time. You hear expressions of “Isn’t he cute,” or “What a beautiful baby,” but in my book they all look like drowned rats. I will say however after five or six weeks most, but not all, start to look much better and maybe even cute.

After a nurse wheeled Sandy and the baby down for the ride home, we had barely taken off when the car sputtered to a stop. Would you know it, we had run out of gas.

What with the hassle of the baby and all, I had not stopped to check the gas tank. Back in the early days of our marriage we were always on the edge of broke so I usually ran our car on the bottom half of the tank. Boy was I relieved when after the hassle of going after gas; we finally drove into our driveway later that Friday evening.

That first night home was a real shocker to my system. Here I was used to sleeping in on the weekends, now it meant never being able to sleep in again, or should I say sleep again, period. Up at all hours of the night, the baby wanting this and the baby wanting that, and should I go on. What with diapers and feeding schedules it was a nightmare. I immediately went into as yet an undiagnosed shock that manifested itself in a rash, all over the front of my body, which lasted for the next several days. I told Sandy it was what I called, “Baby Shock.” I think Sandy thought that I was crazy. I was just thankful that it left after a few days. So it is my word against hers as to whether I was really in shock or just a bit hallucinatory from all of the stress.

I am happy to tell you that I survived that pregnancy and two more, and as long as Sandy was willing to put up with the pain I could put up with the kids. The best reward hands down is the grandkids.

73 Beware the Kissing Disease

I now had a wife and a job, what more could a man desire. To place my education back on the top of my priority list took considerable determination now that I had experienced the pleasures of a new wife. If I was ever to complete my education it had to be well up on my do list. To put it in perspective however, ’61 was before the pill and it was more then easy to compromise your best intensions in the heat of the moment. 

With that said we rented a small upstairs apartment right adjacent to the Walla Walla campus at $35 a month, and I settled into my studies. The apartment was really a living room with a walkthrough kitchen at the top of the stairs and a bedroom with a double bed on large wheels, which every morning was out in the middle of the room. The only other negative worth mentioning was that the landlords turned the heat off when they left for the day and it got quite cold before they returned.

Fall quarter was coming to a close when I started running a fever with a sore throat and chills that never seemed to end. I would wake up in the morning feeling fine but by evening I would have a raging fever. The doctor I saw in Walla Walla diagnosed it as laryngitis and gave me some antibiotics.

I remember Sandy read to me by the hour as I felt to weak to study. After taking the antibiotics for a few days I seemed to get worse so we decided to visit Sandy’s mom’s doctor in Toppenish. Her doctor was a family friend and we wanted a second opinion. We were relieved when she told us it was only infectious mono-nucleosis, but the bad new was that I should take a couple quarters off if I wanted to shake it. Why me I thought, as it was known colloquially as the kissing disease and unless it was when I was dreaming, Sandy was the only person I had kissed. Scouts honor.

After completing my tests for fall quarter we took the good doctor’s advise and spent the next five months living with my folks. Here I was supposed to take it easy but my dad had me out working on his drain field, and digging a basement for the neighbor with his D4 Cat.

Dad’s friend Lindley Jacobson also needed more prawn traps, so what better way to convalesce then while putting together fifty of them for his next prawn expedition up Knight’s Inlet.

In the meantime the swelling in my spleen had gone down and I was feeling fine, but still in need of money. So it was off to Puyallup where Sandy’s grandmother, Bina had lined up a job for me working for Al Bolin a family friend in the construction business there.