4 MAY 1, 2002
Smoke Signals
Fierce, Proud Man Is A Local Legend
Hubert Mercier continued
Indians. One schoolboy sneaked
upstairs to Herman's office and took
a peak in the teacher's diary. It
read, plain and simple,-"I am teach
ing little savages." Not to be out
done, Hubert and the gang waited
until the following Monday to con
front Herman on the matter.
"We said to him next Monday
'How's it like to be back with the
little savages?' " Hubert remem
bered. "We tied him up and clubbed
him. He tried to quit, but he'd
signed a one-year contract."
That year was obviously a tense
one.
At that time, the value of an edu
cation, particularly an elementary
one, meant little and Hubert along
with his siblings quit school around
the age of 12 or 13. Arthur insisted
the boys work, and when the fam
ily moved to Taft, they all took up
logging, clearing up the coastal for
est for an enormous government
project called Highway 101.
Hubert toiled mainly cutting the
logs and moving the material with
horses. Horses, he explained, ev
erything was done with horses.
They next set him to driving
mules, an experience he cared little
for. After a violent episode with
Harold, the cause of which is long
forgotten, Hubert packed up a
batch of clean clothes and headed
back to Grand Ronde. At the age
of 14, he was already setting out
on his own. The walk back took two
days.
But Grand Ronde was, in those
days, a logging haven, and mills
abounded left and right, meaning
moderate wages for willing hands.
The earlier half of the century not
known for astute labor practices,
even a 14 year old could find work
in what was long considered a
man's job.
"As long as you did a man's work,"
he explained. "They didn't care
how old you were. I never did go
home."
The $1.98 he made working nine
hour days was pretty sweet, but
more prosperous ventures lay else
where. After Harold returned to
the area, the two brothers realized
the potential in peeling chittum.
After visiting Hebo to acquire per
mits, the Mercier brothers scoured
the forests gathering the much-coveted
bark that commanded three
cents per pound. As two strong
men, they had little problem peel
ing up to 300 pounds per day.
"It was tough," Hubert said, winc
ing. "But I could carry up to 150
pounds in my pack."
And the $9 per day was more
than quadruple the mill wages,
making chittum the most lucrative
market around. But chittum, un
like logging, wasn't an ongoing
business, and as the two brothers
exhausted their option, they even
tually returned to the mill. Hubert
spent more than a few years at
Murphy's mill, the site of a hand
ful of colorful stories, some of them
reminders of the difficulties of be
ing Indian in a time and place
where prejudice wasn't all that un
acceptable.
One worker by the name
of George had an obvious
dislike of Indians and took
the liberty of harassing
Hubert the morning after
some wine drinking.
"I told Harold (Hubert's
brother) 'I'm in no mood to
be sassed around.'" he said.
"I went to the pond to push
logs. I knew he didn't like
Indians."
The day was a memora
bly hot one and after
Hubert sat down in the
shade to cool off, George
confronted him, evidently
thinking the Indian wasn't
working. George made the mistake
of cussing at him.
"I took off my glove and made a
fist. I said 'George, ain't no living
son-of-a-bitch alive that talks to me
like that,'" Hubert told me. "George
said 'what you gonna do about it?'"
Hubert grinned at me and
pointed to the lower left end of his
jaw.
"Heh-heh. I hit him right there
and down he went," he said. "He
got up and I hit him in the same
place. He never got up that time. I
lifted him up that high when I hit
him," Hubert said, laughing and
holding his hands apart about a
foot to show the distance.
"Murphy came over and said
'What the hell's the matter here?'"
"I said 'Ain't nothing the matter
now.' "
Evidently Hubert went and sat
down and Murphy made the same
mistake George did. He started
swearing at the already irritated
Hubert, who angrily leapt up and
told Murphy to back off.
Hubert had broken his hand with
the two punches and George (who
lost four teeth) never harassed him
again. In fact, George never spoke
with him again.
Murphy's was to employ both
Merciers for a while. Hubert
learned more tricks of the trade, like
rope splicing and sawing. Eventu
ally the two brothers moved to the
Astoria area where they would
learn to become timber fallers, that
particular segment of logging be
ing difficult to break into. The pair
would return to Murphy's.
While they had newfound repu
tations as timber fallers, their old
one still preceded them. One day a
new worker yelled and swore at the
two, who calmly ignored him. This
new worker went to Murphy, whose
warning was simple. You got to talk
decent to them, he explained to the
new hire, else you'll get licked.
Hubert and Harold engaged in
other ventures during their youth.
For three winters they fished near
Siletz, selling their salmon catch
and learning just about every way
to prepare the fish.
During the early 1950's he made
some regular trips to Celilo Falls,
before that famous site was
drowned. And they made a hand
ful of elk hunting trips to La
Grande. Hubert in fact was a no-
Days Gone By - Tribal Elder
Hubert Mercier (right) stayed still as a
boy long enough for this picture with his
brother Harold (left) and Buster Leno
(center). After a colorful childhood in
Grand Ronde, Hubert (right) began log
ging after dropping out of school in his
early teens. "As long as you did a man's
work, they didn't care how old you were,"
remembered Mercier of his early days
of logging.
111 'f
r -i A HIM I-.S- SHS W- M t tm
SJ r- z.
,
toriously good hunter. One story
exists of a hunting trip deep in the
Reservation. Hubert shot and gut
ted a deer in such a quick amount
of time that he didn't realize the
animal was still alive until it tried
to stand up.
Hubert would go on to marry
Martha Hudson at the age of 17,
have children and take a shot at
running his own sawmill. After di
vorce and a crooked partner, he
gave up that business. After a sec
ond divorce, he likes to say, he gave
up logging altogether.
If Hubert has made any contri
butions to Grand Ronde other than
through sheer personality, it is
through carpentry skills. At last
count, more than 25 houses in the
area are a direct result of his hard
labor, including a number of those
in view along Grand Ronde Road.
In 1954, Hubert and Harold
made a trip to Mexico, his first and
only venture outside of the coun
try. He showed me a picture. In
his wallet is a one-peso bill he kept
from that trip, now nearly fifty
years old, worn and faded.
More than five years ago Hubert
cemented his legacy through the
famed 'Boomer incident,' a story
that produces a gleam in his eye
and elicits raised eyebrows from lis
teners. Hubert lives in the white house
right across Grand Ronde Road
from the Health & Wellness Cen
ter. Years ago he purchased the
property rights to the gravel road
that runs by his home, posting a
sign that read 15 MPH for people
who took that route.
A new neighbor on one of the
back lots would routinely speed
down the road. His kids would also
leave their bikes in Hubert's yard
or leaning against the house.
Hubert confronted the man on his
speeding.
"I followed him home one day and
told him 'the sign says 15 miles per
hour. I'd appreciate it if you'd slow
down a bit,'" Hubert told me,
proudly recounting the story. "He
stuck his finger under my nose and
said 'I'll drive as fast as I want and
there ain't a thing you can do about
it!"
"I said 'I'm sorry to hear you talk
that way. I come to you decent, I
talked to you decent'" he remem
bered. "IsaidTousonofabitchif
that's the way you want it...' And
I stuck my fist under his nose. I
poked him in the shoulder and said
'one of us is going to learn some
thing and I don't know which but
one of us will.'"
Three mornings later that same
neighbor came racing down the
road, and Hubert was ready for
him. As the man approached
Hubert drove his truck across the
road, setting up a roadblock. The
neighbor glared, opened his door to
get out, and jumped back in as
Hubert got out of his pick-up and
approached. Unfortunately for the
neighbor, the driver's side window
was down.
"I leaned in and punched him in
the face," Hubert said, chuckling.
But the neighbor, also driving a
pick-up, jumped the ditch in an at
tempt to escape. He didn't get very
far and Hubert chased him and
broadsided the pick-up with his
front end.
An embarrassed neighbor
promptly called the police, who
showed up to take a defiant Hubert
to jail. He laughs when telling the
story, perhaps proud that an 87-year-old
man is still so capable of
standing up for himself. Not an
ounce of regret pours from his eyes.
At 92 years of age almost, you can
tell Hubert doesn't regret much. B