UPPER LEFT COAST PRODUCTIONS A P O BOX « 2 2 CANNON BEACH OK 77-f/C * 5 0 3
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bhaHstplcificr.com *
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What don’t kill you
can make you strong.
The next morning dawned clear
and springy.
The sea was clean and
glassy, horribly transparent and
shimmering.
It quivered, but
generated only one small shore-break
wave.
In that wave one could plainly
discern all the stuff of our lives:
sheep and cow carcasses, pieces of
boats and pilings, bottles, tree
trunks of every specie, gas cans,
crab floats, light bulbs, garbage,
fence posts.
In the aftermath we fragile
mortals surveyed the damage and told
our tales. My brother had been
partying near Chapman Beach at a
bonfire.
He headed home to find the
Elk Creek Bridge washed away.
One
family rode out the wave in their
trailer as it floated up Gerritse
Creek on Ecola Park Road.
One home drifted off its pinnings and
stumbled up Elk Creek.
Eighty-six year old Emmett Wallis,
the world's oldest rock and roll
drummer who had recently appeared on
the T.V. program "What's My Line,"
was the last to leave town.
He had
spent the evening at Bill's Tavern
and couldn't be persuaded to move.
The town was without water for
about a week.
Pipe lines had been
swept away with the bridge and we
were in a fix. The National Guard
hauled water to us in tank trucks.
June Sweeney ran a tiny lunch room in
the old Waves roller skating rink
that she called the Peppermint
Lounge.
In the days that followed
"The Wave," her restaurant was one of
few in operation.
She sold hundreds
of her notorious "Bitty Burgers" at
25 cents a piece, peppermint ice
cream and homemade pie, and the only
restaurant coffee in town. Weeks
later she told us about that coffee.
"My boy Hotsie was at home
getting ready to take a bath about
the time that tidal wave hit. We'd
just filled the old bath tub for him.
By good luck the tub was still full
when all the dust had cleared that
night.
I've been using that water in
the tub to brew coffee for the last
few days.
Pretty lucky, huh?"
I loved those simpler times.
Imagine our current crop of tourists
sipping triple latte drinks laced
with bath water.
It makes me smile I
Hults has been haranguing me
again.
I've tried to get enough
daylight between obligations to begin
writing on my Arts Association
project.
I promised Hults I'd pen a
short teaser piece— a small antepast
serving before I launch into the main
opus.
The press of time and work
exigencies make creative hours scant.
This writing stuff is hardl
I refuse
to cut into nap time.
Some things
are sacred.
I'll throw him this
crumb, and then I'll just have to lay
low for six or seven months.
My
faithful readers will just have to
watch television or take up
crocheting for a while.
Now for a taste of local
history.
Whenever I hear our C.O.W.S.
moo, I hark back to 1964 and our only
significant tsunami event.
During
spring break of that year, my buddy
Al and I were ferreted-up in a motel
room with a brace of young college
coeds.
It was a dreary evening
outdoors, the dreadful wind and rain
clattering the alumimum windows in
Larson's old motel by the current
Surfsand. We lounged around in the
musty old room these girls had
rented, watching Jack Paar on a black
and white television.
In 1964 boys
had to leave girls by midnight, so Al
and I were preparing to make our
move, a move home in our case.
Suddenly Paar was interrupted by a
public service announcement telling
us that an earthquake in Alaska had
occurred and might precipitate a
tidal wave on the Oregon Coast. We
walked outside, strolled a block to
the beach, and were greeted by a two
to four foot standing wave slamming
logs and water up the ramp at
Steven's MotelI
As we ran back to the motel, old
Mac McCoy, our local constable and
fire chief came driving down Hemlock
Street in his red Jeep, siren
blaring, and told us to hit for high
ground, that Silver Point was the
evacuation site.
Cannon Beach was a very sleepy
town in 1964. Some 50 or 60 souls,
most of the resident populous,
gathered on Silver Point, chatted,
compared notes on what precious
keepsakes each of us had brought away
with us in this emergency and
generally hung loose.
After about an hour in a
spitting mist and total darkness, a
very scary hush settled over the sea.
Stepping out of our cars, we could
hear sea recession, a very un-nerving
sensation, something I've never
encountered before or since. The sea
simply went away from us and headed
for the horizon, sucking all the
shore-side debris into its maw.
Ten or fifteen minutes elapsed and it
headed back, thundering and churning
like a whole round house of
locomotives.
It flailed huge timbers
and logs at the base of the point and
rattled our under-pinnings.
Gradually, it resumed its familiar
pattern.
»
CORRECTED FOR PACIFIC BEACH TIDES
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WASHING! ON AND OREGON COAST TIDES
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HAWWffi MUKTION irK tlM S
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local ruHU.Fmwi, m » imsecta
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i N T l LUflOOK.
P u 6 L iS « R ( t £ P T C
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12:53
1:42
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a.m.
ft.
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0:18
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p.m.
ft.
6:26 -0.5
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dditions
G
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BOOKS, COfWHUNlTT STORE,
G alled
CflMM BWCIt JUPlTElft MRE i USEOBWcS
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LO W TID E S
p.m.
S am A bsher
L imited F iwt L wtions on sale for JZO
IN
ft.
Well, Spring Training has started in
Arizona & Florida. Read all about it next
issue. ‘The Cubs begin the road to the
Series’!” And your beloved editor is going!
No, the Cubs aren’t that desperate for
pitching. It’s just that after ten years it’s
time for a short vacation, and nothing
sounds better to the rev. than baseball,
sunshine and a perfect Gin & Tonic But if
the IRS is reading this it’s all business
Uncle Mike will be piloting a rental with
your beloved riding shotgun all the way to
Tempe. We have Press credentials, a cheap
Motel and a few phone numbers
GO CUBBIES!!!
[burt «
IN
a.m.
DATE
O
Cell: 440-0278
P O. Box 2577
f/
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Fax: 717-0389
Gearhart, OR 97138 O
738-7563
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