Just 3 years ago a man was arrested for trying to jump off the Empire State Building in New York City. His case was dismissed by a judge who decided that
Jeb Corliss had safely made over 3,000 jumps including the Eiffel Tower, and therefore was considered a ‘sport jumper’.
“It’s ok Doug, we need to find a way out of here in case the house catches on fire” I said as I tried to convince my brother and little sister to jump out of our 2-story home just a block from Jay’s Tavern in Boring Oregon, on a beautiful sunny day in June 1949.
Like most kids in those days, I had an overactive imagination. We had read adventures like Tom Sawyer, Lassie, and numerous adventures.
In those days, we kids in the neighborhood were not all quite as wild, but almost! We caught crawdads in a near-by creek. We later slapped small trout out of the water, like the bears we saw in wild adventure shorts at the movie theatre. We rode our bikes on rutty logging roads, we had rock fights and the little boys of the day all seemed to go through periods where nailing a target with a big ball of spit was a big deal. It was an adventure every day. After all we didn’t have TV.
The idea came when for some unknown reason I became worried that if a fire started in the upstairs bedrooms where we slept we would be burned up.
There was no rope ladder, or any device to aid our escape. I took the initiative and decided to develop a plan. It was a dumb plan, but it was better than no plan or so I thought.
So after numerous cajoling urgings I convinced my little brother to jump out of the second story window of our three bedroom home to get experience if we ever had to do so in a fire situation. Finally I convinced him to do it by jumping first!
I jumped out the window and uttered the then famous yell which then was used by smoke jumpers and parachute jumpers of the day, “Geronimo” I uttered. This all happened while our little sister watched in quiet horror. She was timid and not inclined to jumping out of windows, roofs or even bed! She was a smart little kid.
Our white two-story had green shutters and was directly in line with the green chain at Valberg’s Mill which was about 150 yards from our house. They had slag burning in the lots next to us, and so fire was a constant factor in the neighborhood. In those days the air quality was varied and sparks did fly around the neighborhood at times. This may have been the reason for my concern.
We were also educated early on to “think for your self” as my dad would say.
So that may have been the motivation to jump! It was a crazy idea but I didn’t think it through to realize we could have had broken necks, bones etc.
So we jumped! I felt the crushing effect in my entire body as I hit the pillow.
I jumped 3 times, and as dumb as it was I could only get Doug to jump twice.
I remember thinking I had enough after the 3rd jump, and declared it a finish on the Fire Drill!
Thank God little sister made the right chice. She was the smart one and just looked on with a worried look! Those were the days! We went on and enjoyed other adventures, and somehow we lived through it though to this day I sometimes wonder!
Frank Ryan –March 2003 #
Frank Ryan
503-408-8402 – fx 503-408-9006
NW Senior & Boomer News
ffmlryan@yahoo.com
http://www.franksseniornews.com/
If you were, or are a resident of the Boring area, you now have a place to add some of your stories of our Boring area. If you have a story you are are invited to contact our story editor by email, or submit it below as a comment. Please include some contact information so that we can contact you regarding your Boring story.
Our first submission is from a past resident, Frank Ryan, who grew up in Boring:
Dirty Dishes!
By Frank F. Ryan
As I wandered down the dirt road from our house to Jay’s Tavern I kicked a couple rocks and dreamed about the trout I was gonna catch on my next trip up the White Salmon. I had read Mark Twain’s book, Tom Sawyer, and I often thought I was living the same type of life with a town full of weird and interesting characters.
I walked into Jays, my old mans place, which was right on the main street in town. It was 1949 and we had a hometown bar and grill with a restaurant that served town mill workers from the local employer Valberg’s Lumber Mill. We served locals and families until night. Kids weren’t allowed after dinner hours or after 7:30 pm. Dad was real firm on patrons taking care of their kids and not squandering the pay check at the bar. Some would have if he let them.
Like all kids I wanted money for pop and candy and so I thought, “Wow, if I get those dishes that are stacking up in the sink done maybe Dad will pay me and I can go get some candy!’ It was very busy so I pitched in and got them done.
I didn’t say a word to anyone. I just walked up to the sink, dug out the dish soap, got a dish rag and started washing the glasses and dishes. I knew how as I had seen mom wash dishes and studied the moves so I knew what to do. The old man was amazed!
I still remember the smell of beer, tobacco and food wafting in the air. The taverns of the day had an aroma you seldom sense these days with air conditioning and newer comforts we all consider necessary. These days it amazes me how much comfort we didn’t have in those days, and yet we were happy.
The restaurant did a land office business most days of the week and even on Sunday. The reason was the great hamburgers and fresh home made apple and fruit pies, and the fabulous deli sandwiches that mom concocted. Customers loved those “Dagwood” sandwiches and the many variations mom did with bread and fixins. She would make a sandwich for herself and somebody would say “Hey would you fix me one like that, and then she would make another and another, and sometimes would never get one for herself. Evenings found folks gathering for the roast beef or turkey dinners and those great pies that my grandmother Agnes would fix. But that is another story.
Any way I got in and did those dishes! The old man rubbed his hands together and said, “Frankie I want you to do some things for me and if you do a good job,
I will give you a roll of quarters to play the Bear goes around the Mountain slot
machine and the One armed bandit!”
Later I figured out I could keep some of the quarters and buy candy. Then Dad caught wind of my new found wealth and started paying me by the job, for cleaning the spittoons and dusting the card tables and pool tables. That is the beginning of a long career working for the man. Dad that is! It all started in Boring Oregon, and I later worked for Dad in numerous businesses, over 25 years that he was in various business ventures.
Frank Ryan is in his mid 60s and lives now in the Portland Area. He works for a publishing company. His web site is www.franksseniornews.com
