The hero's little legs
If you’re 9 years old on a sunny, late-winter day in 1924, what could be better than taking your dog
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| Cow Creek Canyon, Oregon |
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
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| Southern Pacific Railroad in the Cow Creek Canyon, Oregon |
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.
