It's good to have a tailholt
by Bill Miller for
the Mail Tribune
Monday, July 29th
2019
Time again to tell
the story of the little town of Tailholt, still hiding at the same location,
right on the banks of the Rogue River.
Long before ferries and bridges kept
traveling boots dry, crossing a fast-moving river meant grabbing on and holding
tight. When a pioneer or prospector didn’t have a wagon to cling to, the next
best thing was a horse; not all of the horse, of course — just the horse’s
tail.
The technique apparently was so popular
that our beloved ancestors, with typical Yankee ingenuity, created a word for
it — tailholt.
To the settlers who had struggled in
the 1800s to build a sod home on the great American prairies, tailholt also
became a metaphor for life.
It might be unsafe to cling to
something too tightly, a pioneer would say, but it’s a thousand times more
unsafe to just let go.
That tough attitude probably influenced
the name given to Tailholt, Oklahoma, the only town in the country that still
exists with that name.
Prospectors always seemed to like the
name best. There were Tailholt mines throughout the West and even Tailholt
mining camps in California.
But the biggest influence had to come
from poet James Whitcomb Riley. He built a poem around an imaginary Indiana
town, “The Little Town O’ Tailholt.”
“You kin boast about yer cities, and
their stiddy growth and size,
And brag about yer County-seats, and
business enterprise,
And railroads, and factories, and all
sich foolery,
But the little Town o’ Tailholt is big
enough fer me!”
Southern Oregon legend says that an
early miner nearly drowned crossing the turbulent Rogue River about a quarter
of a mile upriver from today’s town of Rogue River. Apparently he avoided
catastrophe by grabbing hold of — you guessed it — his horse’s tail.
 |
| Rogue River Rapids |
Tailholt, as Rogue River was called in
those mining years of the 1850s and ‘60s, wasn’t really much of a town, but
because of the nearby river crossing, the name just seemed to fit.
As the population grew and a post
office was established in 1876, the town took on its first legal name,
Woodville, honoring a popular local resident and the town’s new postmaster,
John Wood.
In 1912, not long after Jackson County
spent $15,000 to build a bridge across the river, residents decided it would be
better to advertise the town under a new name, and the city of Rogue River was
born.
When a new bridge replaced the old in
October 1950, a Mail Tribune editorial agreed with local residents who wanted
to name the bridge Tailholt. “The name will certainly bring the bridge color
and pique the interest of tourists.”
It didn’t happen.
In 1961, when the state was building a
new park in the area, the Mail Tribune suggested it be named Tailholt. “It has
color, an element of humor, a fine flavor, and it’s a name that can be
remembered. Tailholt State Park. What a wonderful name!”
Not so wonderful for state officials.
Tailholt was out and Valley of the Rogue State Park was in.
Ah, well. As we search for humor in
these sometimes troubled days, maybe all we really need is a tailholt attitude.
As the old pioneers preached: “A tailholt is better than a no holt at all.”
 |
| Rogue River, Oregon Public Library |
This coming Saturday, at noon, I’ll be
talking Modoc War at the Rogue River library. If nothing’s holding you up, we’d
like to see ya there. Bring your tailholt attitude
.
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.
