4
street roots
Aug. 31, 2012
Three Boxes:
Revisiting David P. Hooper
The Hooper Center marks 40 years this September, a noble legacy to a tragic life
BY K A TH Y PAPE
C O N T R IB U T IN G W R IT E R
Kathy Pape is Central
City Concern’s
communications
manager. She has
been with the agency
for nearly five years.
Central City
Concern’s
memorabilia about
David P. Hooper’s
life will be shared
at a 40th
anniversary party
celebrating the
Hooper Center on
Monday,
September 10th
from 4:30 to 7 p.m.
at the Left Bank
Annex, 101 N.
Weidler. All are
welcome;
commemorative
recovery coins to
the first 400
people, music,
refreshments,
opportunity to
share your Hooper
story and more!
As
few years ago, working for Central
City Concern, I was asked to “sort
through those three Hooper boxes”
in the basement. Just keep the important
stuff. “Hooper” is of course David P. Hooper
and many people in Portland know Hooper
as the city’s Sobering Station and Detox
Center where thousands of people have
begun their recovery.
The Sobering Station is on a nondescript
corner of Northeast Portland and it’s where
police bring unruly, intoxicated people - a
place to sober up, stay out of trouble, not
hurt anyone and not hurt themselves. It’s no
picnic. When I first started my job here, I
went to tour Hooper imagining neat cots
lined up and covered with fresh white
sheets. Maybe little vomit containers near
each cot. Not so. We are talking a near jail
like environment with concrete floors and
drain holes for easy clean-up. But the
Sobering Station is no jail and jail is where
David P. Hooper died. The Sobering Station
has a sophisticated intake system with
24-hour medical oversight to ensure that
people do not die of alcohol poisoning or
drug overdoses. It’s a far cry from what
David P. Hooper had.
In my early months working here, I had
only seen David described this way: “The
last person to die in jail as a result of
alcoholism.” A lot of years had passed since
David’s death on March 6, 1971, and I fell
into the routine of casually inserting that
phrase to efficiently describe the origins of
this life-changing program. I wasn’t
expecting to find much of interest in those
three boxes. Instead, I learned that David
was a very interesting guy who, in today’s
environment, likely would not have died in
the undignified way that he did. Actually
more than just interesting, but brilliant,
talented, complicated and tragic.
He was born to an apparently single
mother in 1913 and lived in outer Southeast
Portland. His mother worked as a janitor
and also took in washing to support them.
As a child, David was frequently on his own.
Today, would a concerned neighbor call
authorities about David? Or would his
school place him in an after-school program
for underprivileged children?
He went to Franklin High School and
graduated in 1934 with average grades but
notoriety as a championship runner. In one
of the boxes, I found a scrapbook that his
mother must have put together as only a
mother would. It was filled with yellowed
newspaper clippings listing his rankings in
the Portland high school track competitions.
Carefully folded bib numbers from races
were tucked into the back of the book.
A teacher saw potential in David and
helped him enroll in Linfield College. She
even helped him pay the bills. At Linfield in
1937, David became a star runner, breaking
the two-mile record in 1937, a school record
that officials believe still stands today. The
Linfield College newspaper referred to him
as the “wildcat distance man” and revelled
in his entertaining and erratic antics on the
track. David was known to sit down in the
middle of a race, let everyone pass and then
lurch up to finish, sometimes winning.
Running backwards was not out of the
question either. Or pausing, mid-race to
stuff a wad on tobacco into his mouth.
Today, would his coach wonder about mental
illness and get him evaluated?
In another box, I found David’s framed
Bachelor of Arts degree from Linfield along
with a certificate documenting his
membership in the Sigma Tau Delta
fraternity. Deeper still in the box was a
framed certificate from the State of Oregon
nominating David to represent the
Democratic party in the state legislature in
1944. It had a gold seal and was signed by
the governor. This was how elections for
legislators used to function — top leadership
hand picked the brightest of the brightest to
run against each other in their districts.
David lost the election but went on to serve
as a “committeeman” in the Mt. Scott area
for some time in the early 1940s.
David was married for a few years in the
early '40s but it was at the beginning of his
alcohol use and the marriage didn’t last.
Today, would his wife urge him to seek help?
Would David accept help?
In the late '40s and early '50s, David
drifted from odd job to odd job, his alcohol
abuse growing and his behavior becoming
more erratic. Today, would his employer
require him to go to recovery treatment
and have it paid by health insurance?
Soon, he was panhandling, living in
alleys and getting picked up for public
intoxication. He was arrested 93 times
for such offenses.
Today, police would
take David to the
Sobering Station.
Then, as David was
leaving after a few
hours, the staff would try to talk to him
about getting clean and sober. They’d urge
him to show up at Hooper Detox in North
Portland the next morning for a slot at the
detox service. If he declined and was
brought back to Sobering a few nights later,
they’d take care of him all over again and
have the same conversation again. If by
some miracle, he agreed to treatment, he
would have been safe for seven to 10 days as
his body expelled the toxins. Then he would
likely move into Central City Concern
housing and ongoing recovery treatment. All
of a sudden, he would have a community of
people who wanted him to get it right, get
healthy and work on building a real life.
Obviously we cannot change the course of
David’s history. But his death changed how
addicted people are treated in Portland. So
many people thought David was a brilliant,
lost soul that after his death, they gathered
to say “enough” and worked to create a safe
place for people to sober up. They got it
operating in a mere seven months, and they
named it after David. It has not only saved
thousands of lives, but it also has helped
transform the Old Town neighborhood from
"skid row to th e v ib ra n t place it is today.""
Sorting through those three boxes, I
wasn’t able to throw away a thing. But those
boxes inspired me to change my casual
explanation of who David was. Now, we
write, “David P. Hooper, an eccentric, highly
intelligent young man, was a talented
running star at Linfield College, an aspiring
politician and a chronic alcoholic.”
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Above, the obituary fo r David H oofer in The Oregonian A t le ft
Jeanne Rwers (right) who worked at H oofer fo r m any m any yea,
i a n t Tegelaar, an intern from the University o f Portland pore o
o f oofers belongings. Photos courtesy o f Central City Concern.