WASP Marian Toevs' fatal flight

WASP Marian Toevs’ Class: 43-W-8.

Her parents, John and Nelle, were at their daughter’s graduation, proudly pinning on Marian’s silver

WASP Marian Toevs

wings. After the ceremony, they returned to Aberdeen, Idaho, where Marian had a week to relax in her girlhood home.

On January 1, 1944, Marian reported to LeMoore Army Airfield, an Army flight training school in California’s Central Valley. Her primary assignment was to test fly BT-13 and BT-15 airplanes, recently repaired by the field’s maintenance crew.

Early in the morning, Friday, February 18, Marian checked out a parachute, walked to the flight line, and climbed into a BT-13. She fired up the engine, completed her preflight check, then taxied out to the runway. Sources say she was flying to Fresno, California, and perhaps that was her ultimate destination, but Fresno is barely 30 air miles from LeMoore, hardly enough time in the air to fully checkout a previously damaged or faulty airplane. Add the fact that Marian’s BT-13 finally wound up nearly 125 miles northwest away from Fresno, in the eastern

WASP Marian Toevs

foothills of San Jose, California, and a simple flight to Fresno just doesn’t make any sense. If Fresno was her ultimate destination, she was first flying a longer cross-country flight.

Twenty-six-year old Marian crashed just a block away from where her Uncle Otto Toevs lived in a San Jose, California neighborhood. She had visited with Otto and his wife just two weeks before and it was Uncle Otto who ultimately identified her body for authorities.

“The motor was still going when it hit,” Anthony Gullo said. He had been only 75 feet from the crash. Other eyewitnesses said Marian’s plane had been flying very low and circling, as if she were looking for a place to land. “I was the second one to reach the spot,” Gullo said. “The girl’s body was thrown clear of the wreckage. She was blonde and looked about 20 years old. Her face was bloody.”

At about 11 in the morning, the plane had suddenly nosed up and then plunged to earth. “We watched it disappear behind some houses,” one witness said, “then we heard an awful noise and the crash.”

RIP Marian—One of the 38 WASP who died while on duty

9-year-old HERO!

The hero's little legs

BY  Bill Miller for the Mail Tribune February 11, 2019

If you’re 9 years old on a sunny, late-winter day in 1924, what could be better than taking your dog

Cow Creek Canyon, Oregon

for a walk along the tracks? You could skip some rocks across the creek, play fetch with a splintered stick, or even head off into the woods on an imaginary elephant hunt.

There wasn’t much else for Warren Loffer to do this far out on Cow Creek.

Warren’s dad, Earl, had brought his family north from Southern California just a few years earlier. The Southern Pacific Railroad hired Earl and sent him to West Fork, a small community in the Cow Creek Canyon, about 20 miles southeast of Riddle and 10 miles northwest of Glendale.

Although West Fork was little more than a railroad stop populated by railroad workers, it did boast a small hotel and a post office, as well as a depot, where hungry rail passengers could get a decent meal at the nearby “eating house.”

As he scuffed his shoes around a curve in the tracks, Warren heard a scraping and a rumbling sound coming from the canyon wall. His dog began to bark as the boy looked up. A large boulder was on the move, tumbling down in an avalanche — gathering and dragging a mass of earth, trees, bushes and rocks down upon the tracks.

When the dust cloud cleared, Warren stood just a few feet away from a 6-foot-high pile of rubble that

Southern Pacific Railroad in the Cow Creek Canyon, Oregon

completely blocked the railway.

Slides were not unusual in the canyon, so for a moment he relaxed and was happy. After all, he was still alive. Luckily that mess hadn’t fallen on a train. But then he realized another train was coming very soon. The engineer, speeding along toward the curve, would never be able to see the rubble pile in time. He would plow into it and likely tumble the entire train down the slope and into the creek.
Warren was a half-mile away from home. He turned and began to run, his little legs seldom touching the ground. Perhaps he imagined himself as one of those cowboy heroes he read about; rushing his horse back to town to warn the townsfolk of trouble.

As he paused at the depot door to catch his breath, he heard the faint whistle of an approaching freight train. He saw the station master near the tracks and shouted a warning to stop the train. The agent couldn’t hear him at first, so Warren rushed over and told him what he had seen.
The agent quickly grabbed a lever and set the block ahead signal. A few seconds later, the heavy freight rolled in with a hissing and rumbling stop.

Warren sat down on the rails, still trying to catch his breath, and already forgetting what he had done.
Three weeks later, a letter arrived from E.L. King, Portland superintendent of the railroad.
“I wish to express to Warren our most sincere appreciation for the prompt and intelligent efforts put forth by him in notifying the agent at West Fork, which possibly avoided a train accident.

“He displayed wonderful presence of mind for one so young. For his ingenuity, it is my pleasure to present to him a donation of $25, which may be the nucleus of a savings account.” That $25 is about $360 in today’s money.

In the coming years, the family moved to a Phoenix farm and orchard that Warren would eventually manage and inherit. He died in 1976.

His legs grew long and his story became legend with his family. Today, we carry their legend on.
Sincere thanks to Warren’s wife, Margaret, who told me his story before she passed in 2013.

Writer Bill Miller is the author of “History Snoopin’,” a collection of his previous history columns and stories. Reach him at newsmiller@live.com or WilliamMMiller.com.

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Best thing since sliced bread

To slice or not to slice

BY  Bill Miller for the Mail Tribune February 18, 2019

That Snoopin’ story about the 1942 Christmas party held at Camp White during WWII (Dec. 24,

2018) sure caught the attention of some of our eagle-eyed readers. You history Snoops are always good for another story.

In telling of the difficulties facing the homefront during the war, I briefly mentioned the government

was in the process of banning sliced bread. Well, that brought a number of curious questions, best summarized as the incredulous, “What?” or the curious, “Why?”

Commercial slicing of bread was new. It had only started in the late 1920s.

Those of us who didn’t live through the rationing of WWII have no idea how it felt or how complicated it could be, and bread is only a small slice of the story.

A year after the Pearl Harbor attack, the government was already rationing a number of items in the interest of winning the war — everything from nylon stockings to sugar, gas and automobile tires. On Dec. 24, 1942, the bread rumors were officially confirmed — no more sliced bread after Jan. 18!
At first, most patriotic Americans took the latest decree in stride. “Remind dad to sharpen the kitchen knives,” joked one reporter. But then, the complaints from bakers and others began, and soon, a whole lot of folks

Commercial slicing of bread began in the late 1920s

wanted to know how not slicing bread could possibly help defeat the Germans and Japanese.

The government tried to respond. “The main issue,” said a spokesman, “is not the slicing equipment, but the fact that the heavy wax paper used to wrap the sliced bread is too thick and contains chemicals necessary to the war effort.” He said the thicker paper was needed to keep sliced bread from drying out.

In addition, the spokesman accused bakeries of overstocking grocery shelves with bread, leading to tons of bread going stale each year and wasting the food supply.

When some hinted that complainers were lazy and unpatriotic, an angry editor went to press.

“If necessary,” he wrote, “the patriots will bake it themselves, or do without it entirely. But they do not believe in doing unnecessary things simply because someone somewhere had a brainstorm. Government orders that don’t make sense cease to be government and become tomfoolery.”

In compliance with the government’s order, the Medford-based Fluhrer Bakery introduced its “Finer Wartime Energy Bread — EASY TO SLICE!” Their advertisements even demonstrated the “safe way” to slice your own bread.

Safety was important, because many consumers were suffering accidental finger cuts while learning how to hold down a full loaf and, at the same time, evenly slicing the morning toast.
One of the strongest arguments against the ban was the lack of bread knives in most kitchens. Buying more knives meant more steel diverted from the war effort.

It took less than three months for the government to give up and lift the ban. The secretary of agriculture explained “the disadvantages of the order outweigh the advantages.”

“I’ve never really appreciated ready-sliced bread until now,” said the happy homemaker in the Fluhrer ad.

Arthur Perry, the Mail Tribune’s jokester in chief, celebrated in his “Ye Smudge Pot” column.
“Now, the masses and the classes will have naught to do but eat it. The new butcher knife the breadwinner bought for the little woman will now be used to dig up gladioli bulbs for replanting. The thumb that failed to get out of the road in time is healed and also happy.”

All was still not right with the world, but at least there couldn’t be anything better than already-sliced bread.

Writer Bill Miller is the author of “History Snoopin’,” a collection of his previous history columns and stories. Reach him at newsmiller@live.com or WilliamMMiller.com.
 
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Hargadine, a family Cemetery in Ashland, Oregon

Hargadine, a family cemetery

BY  Bill Miller for the Mail Tribune February 04, 2019

There was a light snow in the mountains and occasional rain below. Early December temperatures were surprisingly mild; almost an early breath of spring.

None of that would last.

Under a light overcast, Robert and Martha Hargadine were burying their youngest daughter, Katie,

Katie Hargadine, first burial in Hargadine Cemetery

-Ashland, Oregon

the first of their seven children to die. Barely 16 months old, Katie died Dec. 8, 1867. Because she was the first to be buried here, the subsequent cemetery would always be known as the Hargadine Cemetery.

The owner of the only store in Ashland Mills, a town of fewer than 20 families, Robert Hargadine was one of the first settlers in Southern Oregon. In 1852, he claimed 160 acres in what would become Ashland’s Railroad Addition.

Just months before Katie died, Robert had joined with others to form a company that set up the Ashland Woolen Mills. To supply it, Robert began purchasing sheep, and especially Angora goats. The goats’ long white hair brought him a dollar a pound in San Francisco.

Born in Delaware in 1829, Robert came west across the Isthmus of Panama to California in 1850. For nearly two years, his dreams of striking it rich in the northern gold fields were futile. He gave up and

Robert B. Hargadine and wife Martha Washington Kilgore

came to Oregon, where he became the largest stock and wool raiser in the county, and one of the largest property owners.

In 1856, he married Martha Washington Kilgore, who had crossed the Plains with her family two years earlier.

In December 1876, Robert traveled to Oakland, California, seeking medical treatment for a lingering ailment that some thought had been caused by a severe case of sunstroke. There, in January 1877, at age 47, he died of a probable heart attack. Because there was not yet a railroad in town, “the body of this gentleman arrived at Ashland by private conveyance.” He was the first of his family to be buried with daughter Katie. Martha joined her husband in 1905.

Landowner James Haworth deeded nearly one and a half acres of his property to Robert Hargadine and Allen Farnham for use as a family cemetery.

Farnham and his wife, Sarah, were owners of the Eagle Mills flour mill and lived just north of Ashland. Their 5-month-old son, Cuyler, died Dec. 21, 1867, just 13 days after Katie Hargadine had passed, and Cuyler was the second burial in the Hargadine Cemetery.

Allen Farnham was born in Maine in 1822, where he must have met Sarah Billings, who was also born in Maine in 1833. Allen left in 1850 for a very successful gold search on the Scotts River in Northern California, while Sarah completed her studies at the Charlestown Female Seminary in Massachusetts. They were married in 1858 and came to the Ashland area in 1864.

Ironically, Allen Farnham was also the first of his family to be buried with his child in the Hargadine Cemetery. His 1876 death came just five months before Robert Hargadine’s passing. After he died, Sarah continued to run the Farnham flour business until her death in 1888.

Hargadine Cemetery, Ashland, Oregon

Over the years, maintaining the Hargadine Cemetery has been a problem. The Hargadine Cemetery Association struggled up to 1968, when the association relinquished control and transferred title to the city of Ashland. It wasn’t until 1989 that the state Legislature approved the transfer.

Now, with the help of dedicated volunteers, the final resting place of many Ashland pioneers is now secure under the cooling branches of the tall oaks, sturdy madrone, and Ponderosa pine.

Writer Bill Miller is the author of “History Snoopin’,” a collection of his previous history columns and stories. Reach him at newsmiller@live.com or WilliamMMiller.com.

Marriage in the 1850s

“First” Jackson County marriages?

By BILL MILLER

For the Mail Tribune

No History Snoop with a semblance of sanity will ever say that someone or something is the first to do something or be something without certified, ironclad, definitive proof. Instead, we prevaricate—hedge our bets, so to speak—beat around the bush.

Now, if I said that John Ingleman and Elizabeth Winkel [later Engleman] were the first couple to marry in Jackson County, my nose might not reach Pinocchio proportions; however, it probably should. You see, John and Elizabeth, in fact, were actually the first officially “recorded” marriage in Jackson County, and that ceremony was on January 17, 1854.

OK, here’s the problem. The Oregon Territorial Legislature formed Jackson County on January 12, 1852, and it wasn’t the county we know today. Jackson County’s western boundary

extended all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

Even though the population in that large area was small, it seems very likely that during those two years at least a few other couples would have gotten married. See how we “hedged” that one?

Interestingly, when they married, neither of the first two couples whose marriages were recorded here actually lived in today’s Jackson County.

John and Elizabeth Ingleman were residents of Sunny Valley, near Leland, in today’s Josephine County. Our second couple, James Vannoy and Martha Dimick, lived along the Rogue River, also in today’s Josephine County. One of these marriages stood the test of time, the other met early tragedy.

Before she died in 1898, John and Elizabeth Ingleman had eight children in 44 years together. John had served 8 years in the Navy and was navigator on the USS Ohio during the Mexican War. He came to the Northern California gold fields in 1850. Although they married inland, John seemed always to be drawn back to the sea. The couple spent a few years in Crescent City before finally settling north of Port Orford. Once widowed, John never remarried and passed away in 1913.

James Vannoy had already married long before he settled in Southern Oregon. His first marriage, to Clarissa Miller, was in his home state of Delaware in 1844. He and Clarissa are believed to have had two children before James left them in 1851. He settled along the Rogue River, one of the earliest residents of Josephine County. On February 12, 1854, he married Margaret Dimick, a

marriage that would end with her death, perhaps in childbirth, almost exactly two years later. The couple already had a son. Margaret was previously married to Thomas Dimick, but he had died on the Oregon Trail in 1852, after drinking contaminated water. She brought her son from that marriage into her marriage with James.

James then married Margaret’s sister-in-law, Eleanor Dimick. She was Thomas Dimick’s sister. Apparently, Eleanor had lived with, or married a man, known only as Peters. With him, she had a son who also became part of the Vannoy household. Adding the two children he hadn’t fathered and his son from his marriage to Margaret, James and Eleanor added three children of their own to the family. They were married 22 years before James died. Eleanor, who never remarried, passed on 21 years later, in 1902.

Now that you’re totally confused, let’s bring in one of those “believe it or not” moments.

James Vannoy’s first wife, Clarissa, the one he left in Delaware, remarried; and not only did

she, her husband, and children make it to Oregon decades later—of all places—they settled in Josephine County.

Well, any History Snoop’ worth his curiosity knows there’s a story there. Did wife number three ever meet wife two, and if so, what did they talk about? Sadly, there’s rarely an answer to those sorts of questions. Not even enough to hedge a bet or beat around a bush. Boy.—I hate when that happens.

Writer Bill Miller is the author of “History Snoopin’,”a collection of his previous history columns and stories. Reach him at newsmiller@live.com or WilliamMMiller.com.