Illinois Valley News, Cave Junction, Ore. Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Page A-9
Winding Trails: by Al Hobart
doesn’t enter into the picture except
as being the indirect cause of my
near catastrophe. She wouldn’t allow
Oscar, the boss, to have alcohol in
the house; and so, when some well-
meaning customer presented Oscar
with a gallon jug of applejack he
gave it to the only one he could trust
for temporary safekeeping, the only
one he knew that didn’t imbibe–me.
Alone in my room and
studiously contemplating the
gallon of powerful applejack, my
inquisitive young mind began warily
circling, prodding, poking, and
analyzing in my imagination my
important charge. Next, my curiosity
giving me no rest, I withdrew the
cork and sniffed cautiously at the
mysterious contents of the Lorelei
jug.
I had observed the weird effects
that this distilled dynamite had
on others, and noted the resulting
gay, if zany, antics of the partakers
thereof. On thinking over carefully
these apparently wonderful effects I
had seen produced by this innocent-
looking liquid, I wondered how it
would seem to be transported so
a scientifically untrained youth who,
up to that time, had never tasted
alcohol in any form.
The town of Yakima,
Washington, in the day here recalled
was far from being the bustling
metropolis it is today. The streets
were mostly narrow and rough, and
wooden telephone and power poles
were spaced at regular intervals
along the edge of the sidewalks.
I lived alone in an old red-brick
rooming house, and walked the few
blocks across the tracks to the garage
where I worked as a mechanic’s
helper.
As a rather timid, self-effacing
teenager I had few intimate friends
and only a handful of nodding
acquaintances, most of these latter
being members of the I. A. of M.
local to which I belonged, and with
whom I occasionally rubbed elbows.
I didn’t know that any of these
seldom-seen acquaintances knew
where I roomed, but at least two of
them did, as I learned later, although
I never learned who they were.
My young boss at the garage
had a young and pretty wife –who
Thursday, December 1, 1966
Illinois Valley News
A Boy’s Scientific Experiment
On a wintry day many years
ago I slid down a telephone pole
and slumped unconscious to the
icy concrete sidewalk. The pitiless
pedestrians passing by barely
glanced my way and hurried on no
doubt to avoid becoming involved
in a possible police investigation.
Some doubtless thought I was dead,
others, that I was drunk. All were
right – I was dead drunk. I was, in
fact, so saturated with alcohol that
straight walking passersby must have
found themselves tottering slightly
after passing. And if I had indeed
been beyond recall the customary
procedure of embalming would have
been an empty gesture.
This may sound like an
attempt at character suicide, but,
on the contrary, is intended as a
moral self-boost, being actually the
delayed report on the results of a
well-meant scientific experiment by
simply to such a seemingly ecstatic
state.
With my eyes fastened
hypnotically on the beckoning jug, I
suddenly realized that here was the
answer to my burning questions, the
chance to determine firsthand what
the sensation was like of becoming
mildly intoxicated. I certainly had
no intention or desire to become
thoroughly polluted, but being
totally ignorant of the power of
strong drink, I had no way of judging
the amount to use in my experiment.
My decision made, I tilted the
jug, closed my eyes, held my breath
and drank the fiery liquid in great
gulps, forcing it down like foul
medicine in spite of the choking and
tears. Between periods of gasping
and coughing I continued to force
the burning liquid down my throat,
thinking I should keep drinking till I
felt dizzy at least.
Finally I decided I had drunk
enough to floor a seasoned alcoholic.
Feeling deliciously light-headed
and wonderful, weaving slightly I
left my living quarters and started
uptown. By the time I reached
Yakima Avenue, the main stem, two
blocks distant, the vast overdose of
alcohol I had taken (and that could
very well have been fatal) was taking
full effect. I didn’t get very far up
the avenue. The whole world seemed
to be going topsy-turvy. The last I
remembered was wrapping my arms
around a friendly telephone pole and
sinking thankfully to the pavement.
The cops must have been
having a little game in the backroom
of some speakeasy. Anyway,
they missed an unimportant but
interesting opportunity to snare an
ordinance-flouting amateur scientist.
When I regained consciousness,
instead of being in a jail cell I was
neatly tucked away in my own pad,
my tie off and my shoes beside the
bed –and the boss’ gallon of bomb-
juice gone forever.
My Heaven-sent rescuers’
reward was the nearly-full jug of
applejack – and I hope it gave them
everlasting life.
As for me, I still can’t bite into
a nice juicy apple without sneering.
The Archive Zone: by Hillary Mohr from the Illinois Valley News archives
thousands, he had a family
– a wife, children – who now
know emptiness, and grieve,
when earlier life had been full.
A man has died in the world; a
man whom millions respected,
respected and loved, for he was
their own; a symbol, a trusted
friend, a loved one. A man has
died in the world; a man who
was devoted to life and his
duty; who loved his country and
fought for it during trying times;
who worshipped the God that
witnessed his passing. A man like
other men – yet he was chosen
for death. A tribute is a trivial
thing, sometimes forgotten after
This week we take a
sorrowful walk down memory lane
to Nov. 28, 1963. The air should
have been filled with excitement
and glee for the Thanksgiving
holiday, but not this year, instead
it was filled with somber, grief
and heartache. Our nation, the
United States of America, lost our
leader, President John F. Kennedy.
Grab some tissues and a hard
drink it’s going to be a tear jerking
Archive Zone.
John F. Kennedy. A man
has died in the world; died with
violence; unsuspecting; died as
thousands have died in faraway
areas of the earth. Like those
age has seen it, yet tribute is paid
to this man who died as he had
lived – heroically, quietly, and
forever loved. He was John F.
Kennedy. HOW does a nation
express sorrow? – Dawn Grant.
Memorial services honoring
John F. Kennedy were held
Monday morning at 11 a.m. in the
gymnasium of the Illinois Valley
High School. A solemn crowd
gathered to pay homage to the
memory of the 35th president of
the United States. Conducting the
services were Rev. Gene Denning
of the Cave Junction Community
Church, and Rev. Austin McGhee
of the Immanuel Methodist
Church.
Flat tire on slick pavement
causes florist van crash.
Winifred Elizabeth Stanley of
Harbor, Oregon, was hospitalized
overnight for observation after
the Ford Econoline van she was
driving developed a flat tire,
skidded, and overturned down
the embankment just south of
the Illinois River Bridge below
Cave Junction. Mrs. Stanley,
driving north into Grants Pass to
deliver florist supplies, was taken
to Josephine General hospital
by L.B. Hall Valley ambulance.
Her injuries were not considered
serious. The scene of the accident
near Rockydale Road, has a slick
highway surface during any rain,
causing many drivers a momentary
bad time. Friday morning, when
the accident occurred, this section
of the highway was extremely
hazardous.
Recovering from head
injuries. Enjoying Sunday dinner
with the Delbert Scotts were Mr.
and Mrs. Freeman Scott. Freeman,
recently released from the hospital
where he was confined with head
injuries following last week’s
tragic accident in the Tennessee
Pass area, is recovering rapidly.
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Senior Bulletin
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EVALUATAIONS
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Resources for a low cost
evaluation at 541-415-
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