A4
East Oregonian
Saturday, December 14, 2019
CHRISTOPHER RUSH
Publisher
KATHRYN B. BROWN
Owner
ANDREW CUTLER
Editor
WYATT HAUPT JR.
News Editor
JADE McDOWELL
Hermiston Editor
Founded October 16, 1875
OUR VIEW
Tip of the hat,
kick in the pants
A
tip of the hat to Sgt. Kelly
Parsons of the Hermis-
ton Police Department, who
recently came up with a good use for
the department’s old uniforms.
After the police department upgraded
to new uniforms a few years ago, a set
of warm, durable coats for officers to
wear in cold weather have been sit-
ting in storage. During Monday’s city
council meeting, Chief Jason Edmiston
shared that Parsons asked if he could
take the insignias off the old coats and
hand them out to people in need, which
Edmiston approved. He said Parsons
is known for carrying extra socks with
him to give out to people in need, and
for other acts of giving that go above
and beyond the line of duty.
The coats are one example in many
where local law enforcement are step-
ping up to help the community. Other
recent examples include collecting toys
at Walmart for hospitalized children
and their siblings, the Hermiston Police
Department handing out 500 boxes of
food and gifts for Christmas Express
and Umatilla Police Department provid-
ing the money and assistance for stu-
dents in need to buy Christmas presents
for their family during Shop with a Cop.
We appreciate their commitment to
both protecting and serving.
A tip of the hat to the Pendleton
School District for saving so much
money on the school bond. Six years
ago, local voters stepped up and gave
the school district the go ahead for a
new bond and last week the district
announced it will garner more than $3
million in savings through a refinance
effort.
The refinance plan will mean a lower
property tax rate for district patrons
which should be — and is — great
news.
The bond itself was a great idea as
it helped pay for two new elementary
schools and other improvements in the
district.
When officials choose to use tax-
payer dollars wisely it shows a high
degree of competence. The school dis-
trict deserves a big tip of the hat.
A tip of the hat to the city’s public
works department’s Christmas display
EO File Photo
Volunteer John Carraher, left, and Doug Alvarez assemble food boxes in 2018 for people par-
ticipating in the Christmas Express at Agape House in Hermiston.
at the corner of Highway 11 and South-
east Emigrant Avenue. The display fea-
tures three, 12-foot Christmas trees and
thousands of holiday-themed lights.
The display is stunning and should get
everyone into the Christmas spirit.
A tip of the hat to Umatilla County
Sheriff Terry Rowan, who was cho-
sen recently as the new president of the
Oregon Sheriff’s Association.
Any time a local official is selected
for a high-profile post, such as the top
slot for the sheriff’s association, it is
good for our local community. Rowan,
who previously served as the vice presi-
dent of the organization, will add a nec-
essary Eastern Oregon perspective to
this important organization.
A kick in the pants to voters of this
great nation. While national headlines
are cluttered with images and reports on
the ongoing impeachment proceedings
in Washington, D.C., angst about the
nation’s future continues to grow. Bat-
tle lines are drawn and rhetoric pours
out from each side of the political fence
but voters should remember that, at the
end of the day, they are the ones who
control our political future. There needs
to be more public involvement in all
aspects of democracy, from the local
hometown city council all the way up to
Congress. It is easy to criticize from the
sidelines but change only occurs when
the body politic gets involved. Now is
the time to be involved.
FROM THE HEADWATERS OF DRY CREEK
This little piggy
I
YOUR VIEWS
Dems should legislate,
not investigate
Yes, President Trump is
guilty, but to the Democrats’
dismay, he’s not guilty of col-
lusion. The Democrats pinned
their hopes on the Muel-
ler investigation and after 16
months and $25 million spent by
the Mueller team, the conclusion
was no collusion.
Next, the Democrats pinned
their hopes on obstruction of
justice but that charge too has
melted away. Aha, thought the
Democrats, if we call back our
“collusion investigator” Mueller
to testify, we’ll uncover some
wrongdoing that his team failed
to find — but no such luck.
In July of this year, an
unnamed whistleblower
reported a phone call made by
Trump to the Ukrainian presi-
dent that sounded to the whis-
tleblower like something ille-
gal was going on. Nothing yet
has been proven so the Demo-
crats, in hopes of embarrassing
Trump, decided to try impeach-
ment and thus, overturn an elec-
tion approved by 63 million
Americans. So far, the Dem-
ocrats have succeeded only in
embarrassing themselves.
Since the impeachment
charges have yielded the Dem-
ocrats very little impeachable
fodder, what is Trump guilty of?
Trump is guilty of winning the
election by beating the Demo-
crats’ darling Hillary Clinton
and governing in a very unorth-
odox manner. I suggest the
Democrats look to themselves
for someone to criticize.
The public approval rate of
Congress has sunk to a low of
24%, half the 48% approval rate
of Trump. I am not a Trump fan
but he is higher on my “like” list
than the Democrats. It would be
so productive if the Democrats’
impeachment obsession was left
to the voters and the House did
what they were elected to do —
legislate instead of investigate.
Terry Thompson
Heppner
Unsigned editorials are the opinion of
the East Oregonian editorial board. Other
columns, letters and cartoons on this page
express the opinions of the authors and not
necessarily that of the East Oregonian.
t was Christmas week. A couple copter, and what he was doing that
of miles above me, the haunches they would make him leave. Maybe
they popped him for growing dope,
of the Big Island had shed pre-
cipitation for a thousand millen-
but whatever he was smoking
nia. According to the map, it was
smelled more like Prince Albert.
about 8 miles as the mynah bird
“You headed in there?” he asked.
flies to the floor of the Waimanu
“Yeah, if I make it that far. I’m
Valley. As the pasty white dude in
a rookie in paradise. Scraped snow
packer boots, T-shirt and chafing
off my station wagon two days ago.
Levis chugs along, it seemed more
Haven’t sweated for six months.”
like 30.
“Well, you are about half way
In those days, to discover the
there. Worth the walk. When you
hidden treasures of
get down into the val-
ley, look for my shel-
Waimanu Valley, one left
ter at high tide on the far
the sanctity of the auto-
mobile at about 800 feet
side of the creek. It is best
above sea level, slipped
to sleep inside of some-
thing tougher than a tent.
down the side of a can-
yon on one’s butt, waded
You are welcome to use
across a lazy river at sea
the place. Nobody else
level, grunted up the
in there right now.” With
other wall of the canyon,
that, he stood, grabbed his
J.D.
walked on the level for
walking stick, and disap-
S mith
peared around the bend.
half a mile, then repeated
COMMENT
It was darker than the
the process a dozen times.
inside of a possum when
I was on the fifth per-
fumed mesa, assessing the dam-
I finally made the valley floor. The
age to a blistered toe, when a scrag- surf was breaking stout and loud
gly barefoot fellow wandered down and scary. As the waves slammed
the trail from the direction I was
shut I could feel the thud through
headed. He eased down on a rock
the beach pebbles. I was a far piece
across from me, reached into a
from home.
furry little bag, and began to roll a
With help from a pink disposable
smoke. His eyes were the color of
flashlight, I discovered a circular
the ocean. He sported a five-year
pile of lava rocks, no windows, with
reddish blond beard, and a neck-
driftwood rafters and palm thatch.
lace made of claws of some type.
The door was a section of shipping
His entire wardrobe was a pair of
pallet with Chinese characters. The
boxer-type swim trunks. A pink
latch was a purple Milk of Magne-
scar ran from his left knee to ankle. sia bottle on a string that lifted an
interior stick. Above the door was a
Surfer probably.
toothy animal skull. Maybe a dog.
“Howzit?” he asked. Pretty nice
Inside was a nest of dried moss
teeth.
or kelp. I didn’t care what it was
“Good enough. You been to
made of. I was pooped, and happy
Waimanu Valley?”
to be off my aching feet. With one
“Yes. Been in there for a year.”
last sweep of the flashlight before I
“Going out for provisions?”
collapsed into dream world, I spot-
“No. I have grown, begged, or
ted a 6-foot lance with a long steel
harvested all I ever needed. First
point balanced above the door. Hey,
time out.” He struck a wooden
maybe I could do some spear fish-
match.
ing in the lagoon the next day, as
“How come you’re leaving?”
long as I didn’t have to go in above
“Pigs chased me out.”
my knees, of course.
“Whoa, bummer,” I said, won-
dering how in the heck the cops
During the night, my right foot
discovered that this guy was living
somehow got pointed in a balle-
way back in there, probably by heli- rina position and the rest of my leg
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phone number. The phone number will not be published. Unsigned letters will not be published.
suddenly remembered that it had
not been asked to climb canyons
in recent decades. The only rem-
edy was to yell, jump out of bed,
knock my head on the rafters and
put apply a couple hundred pounds
of lard to unlocking the ankle and
calf muscles. As I fell back asleep,
I thought I heard little footsteps
outside the door.
The next morning I eased out
of the nest, threw open the door to
greet paradise, and realized what
the hermit had been trying to tell
me, what the spear, and skull, and
even his necklace were all about.
Wild pigs, hundreds of the bris-
tly little tuskers, had congregated
around the hut, a whole valley
floor full of them, each the size of
a short-legged Labrador, with stiff
brown and red coats and formidable
leg stabbers hooked in drooly lower
jaws. I didn’t try to pet any of them.
Way up in the corner of the val-
ley, wispy waterfalls dropped off
the sides of the mountains. Every-
thing between was pigs. Cannabis
Rex, or whoever he was, had lived a
year in the midst of this hog heaven.
I lasted just short of four hours.
Around noon the pigs seemed to
lose interest in me and foraged their
porky ways back up the valley. I
had enough scramble time to ford
the creek, head back up the first
cliff, and begin the long lonesome
limp back to my car.
Over the years, I’ve wondered
about those pigs. Did the folks who
produced the guide that lured me
into Waimanu Valley not realize
that the pigs were in total control, or
was the omission another anti-tour-
ism joke like “Visit Idaho, the Tick
Fever State” or “Don’t Californi-
cate Oregon”? Were the porkers
always so populous in that partic-
ular part of the valley or had every
little piggy within 10 miles congre-
gated in front of the hut that morn-
ing because I spent all night calling
them to meeting with my snoring?
———
J.D. Smith is an accomplished
writer and jack-of-all-trades. He
lives in Athena.
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211 S.E. Byers Ave.
Pendleton, OR 97801