1920 Rose Bowl Football -- Oregon-Harvard-- Lemon Yellows in Leather Hats

Lemon Yellows in leather hats

by Bill Miller for the Mail Tribune - Monday, December 30th 2019

As the Lemon Yellows worked through their secret maneuvers, sentries took positions on top of the grandstand and near the wooden walls, guarding against spying eyes.

Anyone who dared come near the football field was carefully watched, making sure no eye or ear could press against a knothole or crack and steal valuable information for the enemy.

Tournament Park, Pasadena, California- Game Day January 1 1920

Lemon Yellows was an early nickname for the University of Oregon football team, because they often competed in yellow jerseys. Occasionally, they were known as Webfoots, and many years later, fans knew them as Ducks.

In late December 1919, with temperatures over 80 degrees in the shade, the 32-man squad from Eugene began practicing for the Jan. 1, 1920, East-West Championship game in Pasadena, California. The game was part of the city’s annual Tournament of Roses. Two years later, the game would take on the name of a newly built stadium — the Rose Bowl.

The undefeated Harvard Crimson, powerhouse players from Massachusetts, came by train 3,000 miles to compete. Although Oregon had lost one game that year, everyone expected a tough and close contest. They wouldn’t be disappointed.

On its way to Southern California, the Oregon team, along with their coaches and trainers, rode in a private railroad car. The rest of the train was loaded down with professors and undergraduates

1920 University of Oregon Football Team

from the university, and supporters from around the entire state.

Hoping to gain an advantage, the Oregon Yellows had brought along a large tank of Eugene’s municipal water. Coach “Shy” Huntington said he wasn’t about to take any chances that “his boys” would be out of condition just because of inferior drinking water.

When the team stopped briefly in Medford, Dec. 19, a small group of supporters met the team at the depot and wished them luck. The group included a few of the wealthy Harvard graduates who had come to Jackson County during the orchard boom that had begun just before 1910.

Southern Oregon still didn’t have a radio station, and local fans who wanted to follow the game had only two choices.

Medford’s Rialto Theater (later the Joseph Winans furniture store) had a telegraph line installed in the theater. While the matinee film played, an on-stage

ca. 1938 Rialto Theater, Medford, Oregon

Western Union operator continually read a play-by-play description of the action.

Other interested fans stopped by the Mail Tribune office, where the news crew used the company’s newswires to post game bulletins in the lobby.

Old Mail Tribune Newsapaper Building, Medford, Oregon

In Pasadena, the searing temperatures of mid December gave way by game day to a “balmy” 70 degrees that locals said was “just a trifle warm” for football, while eastern visitors said it was “definitely too hot.”

The betting was nearly even — the Harvard boys were heavier, but Oregon was faster.

It was a titanic struggle in leather helmets with both teams fumbling and missing field goal attempts in the first quarter.

1920 Rose Bowl Game - Oregon vs. Harvard for National Championship

The Lemon Yellows from Oregon finally broke through on the second play of the second quarter with a 23-yard dropkick field goal, making the score 3-0. After two long passes downfield, Harvard answered with an 18–yard touchdown run and a successful extra point to lead 7-3. Oregon ended the first half scoring with a last second field goal — the final score of the game. Harvard took home the 7-6 victory and the championship.

Returning home with a disappointed Oregon team, coach Huntington said he was proud of his “men.”

“We go back knowing that they played as hard and as clean a game as they could. It was a good showing.”

It would be 1958 before the Lemon Yellows returned to the Rose Bowl, this time as the Ducks. They lost to Ohio State 10-7.

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

https://mailtribune.com/lifestyle/lemon-yellows-in-leather-hats

Christmas in France - The Great War

Christmas in France

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by Bill Miller for the Mail Tribune

Monday, December 23rd 2019

For the first time in nearly six months, Corporal Ted Fish wasn’t jolted awake by the bugler’s cornet, blasting out another early-morning rendition of Reveille. It was the U.S. Army’s way of giving the men a gift on Christmas Day.

The 22-year-old farmer’s son from Phoenix had

just returned from a four-day pass, where he had journeyed through the countryside of WWI France. “Of course, we all wanted to go to the center of fashions (Paris),” he said in a letter to his parents, “but we were forbidden.”

From Gien, near his assignment along the La Lorie River, he randomly chose the town of Angers as his destination, some 190 miles away by train.

“I had to change cars twice and had to stay all night at a little town halfway to my destination,” he said.

Back on the rails, early the next morning, Ted arrived in Angers four hours later. He strolled through the town and had lunch at a small cafe. There he realized that there wasn’t much to see or do. He decided to hop back on the train and continue on to the larger town of Nantes. The town had double the population and was only 55 miles farther east.

“I left at 3 p.m., and after the slowest ride I ever took, I reached Nantes at 10:30 that night; too late, because everything closes at 9 p.m.”

By the time he managed to find a hotel he was beat, and that, combined with his long journey, kept him in bed until 10:30 the next morning.

“There were many interesting things to see,” he said, “but I was getting homesick, so I left for

Christmas in France - 1917

camp. I arrived late on Christmas Eve and was rewarded by finding your Christmas package waiting for me.”

Even before the first selective service draft registration in June 1917, Ted had seen an advertisement looking for “forest men,” and urging them to join the U.S. Army’s 10th Engineers Forestry Regiment.

“The men will work behind the lines in France,” it said, “and will be made up of woodsmen and sawmill workers. Its duties will be to convert the French forest into railroad ties, bridge timbers, pilings, telephone poles and lumber.”

Ted signed up and left Southern Oregon by train July 11, 1917. Less than a month later he was aboard a ship on his way to France.

After breakfast on Christmas morning, and surrounded by his friends, Ted opened the Christmas package his parents had sent.

“I was greeted with, ‘Ho, you lucky devil,’ on all sides,” he said. “Canned tobacco, you see, is unknown here. I’m certainly thankful for such thoughtful parents; even though I’ve only been using this filthy weed for two months.”

War duties were on hold for a morning baseball game followed by a Christmas feast in the afternoon.

“We all lined up 15 minutes before time and, when the mess call whistle blew, a cheer went up that startled all the natives. We had turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, pie, nuts, figs, dates and coffee.”

While the men waited in line, Lt. Walter Blair, the regiment’s leader, walked by carrying an overloaded dinner plate. He looked at the men with a big grin and shouted, “Who said war is hell?”

Ted returned home in January 1919, married, and raised a family. He died in 1967 and is buried in Medford’s Siskiyou Memorial Park.

“Well I hope you all had a fine Christmas,” he said, “and I know you did. Must close now and write thank-you letters to all those who remembered me. Merry Christmas to all.”

Writer Bill Miller is the author of “Forgotten Voices of WWI.” Reach him at newsmiller@live.com.

The Southern Oregon Blizzard of December 1919 - Return to Paradise

Return to paradise

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by Bill Miller for the Mail Tribune

Monday, December 16th 2019

Snowballs were flying down at the Medford railroad depot.

Just before noon, the first passenger train from the north since the big blizzard of December 1919 had arrived. California-bound passengers left their cars and opened up joyous winter warfare.

Beginning Dec. 9, a near-nonstop blizzard with deep snow and icy temperatures had paralyzed most of Oregon. Portland was snowbound under drifts of two to four feet, and Salem quickly ran out of coal after 35 straight hours of snow. Near Roseburg, 200 feet of Southern Pacific railroad track was buried.

For the moment, only the Rogue Valley had survived.

“The mild climate of Medford and the Rogue River Valley was again conspicuously

Main St., Medford, Oregon, December 1919

demonstrated,” said a Mail Tribune story. “Only a part of the big storm was felt here in the shape of a 25- to 50-mile-an-hour gale of wind, accompanied by a little rain, and with a very moderate temperature.”

Barely three days later, Mother Nature turned the tables, forcing editor Robert Ruhl to admit “the weatherman is supreme. We had the temerity to question his supremacy Wednesday, and he proceeded to freeze us into a shivering silence about 12 hours later.”

Dec. 11, 1919 brought Medford and the valley the most snow ever recorded on a single day — a whopping 11 inches — followed by a hard freeze and a daytime high of 9 1/2 degrees.

“There have always been a few people — principally from Kansas,” Ruhl said, “who missed the cold, dry, snappy winter of the Middle West. It was much more invigorating than the milder but more humid atmosphere of the Pacific coast. Now we have shown our capacity to even satisfy this contingent. Nothing could be drier and colder and snappier than the past few days. There is plenty of snow, too, and a fine opportunity for skating on Bear Creek and bobsledding down Roxy Anne.”

Electric, telephone and telegraph lines were down, along with 72 poles between Medford and Ashland. Medford’s Main Street was a slushy mess with dozens of parked Model-Ts trapped at the curb. The Jackson County Creamery announced that because their trucks had broken down while fighting against the snow, it canceled milk deliveries. A broken water pipe eliminated radiator heat and a day of school for youngsters, while reports of broken water pipes in homes, businesses and hotels across the county continued to mount up during the day.

Everyone was trying to keep a smile and a positive attitude against all of their troubles.

Under the title “Cheer up. It might have been 10 degrees below instead 9 1/2 above,” Robert Ruhl called for a change in attitude.

“Let’s all forget the storm and cold conditions, the frozen pipes and other damage and loss in our homes and make the best of a bad situation by going skating on Bear Creek tomorrow, a feature that we may not be able to enjoy again in our lifetime.”

Columnist Arthur Perry continued his usual tongue-in-cheek style with a brief paragraph. “Let nature take its course. The snow will either melt and run off of its own free will — or cave in the roof.”

It would be weeks before everything returned to a semblance of everyday normalcy, but when it did, Ruhl confidently predicted it would be “with the blushing enthusiasm of an exiled angel returning to Paradise.”

Here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas, a light dusting of snow, and the happiest of holidays.

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

WASP Mary Louise Webster - Last On-Duty Women Airforce Service Pilot to Die During WWII

9 December 1944

Mary Louise Webster, Class 44-W-8

Last On-duty WASP's to Die.

(30 June 1919 – 9 December 1944)

Mary Webster and a two-man crew were flying into a cold front with intermittent snow and rain and temperatures dropping. Their UC-78 Bobcat, nicknamed “the bamboo bomber,” was taking them on a cross-country training flight to Chicago

"Bamboo Bomber"- At-17

from Frederick Army Airfield in southwestern Oklahoma. Following her graduation that October, Mary had reported to Frederick for advanced training in B-24 Liberator bombers. With only 11 days remaining until WASP deactivation, it should have seemed ridiculous to continue training; yet, there she was, flying

WASP Pilot Mary Louise Webster

between Tulsa and Claremore, Oklahoma

Born June 30, 1919, Mary was the seventh of eight children and the second daughter.

Mary graduated from the Holy Names Academy, a private Catholic all-girls high school in Seattle. After graduation, she studied for two years at the Seattle Business College and earned her diploma. Although believing business was her best career choice, Mary had always dreamed of flying, and when Central Washington State College announced a Civilian Pilot Training course in May 1940, Mary leaped at the chance. It wasn’t easy being one of only three women accepted in the program. “I knew Mary and I liked her,” a fellow student later told a reporter. “But there was a reluctant acceptance about her being in the program with the men. There were jokes that she

should be home raising kids.”

… After graduation from Avenger on October 18, 1944, and following her 10-day furlough, Mary reported to Frederick Army Airbase to begin her advanced training. A month later she was riding in the Bobcat with Lieutenant George Crowe at the controls. Crowe was from Wisconsin and had turned 21 just a few days earlier. … Also with them was 22-year-old Sergeant Melvin Clark, a married Oklahoma native who had been assigned to

Frederick when the base opened in September

WASP Mary Louise Webster

1942.

An hour out from Frederick on December 9, the UC-78 was flying at 9,000 feet above the clouds, when Crowe noticed ice forming on the wings. He radioed the air controller and received permission to descend; hoping warmer air would keep more ice from forming. Now, deep in the clouds, the aircraft began to fall and Crowe lost control. The UC-78 fell straight down and crashed, killing everyone aboard.

RIP