Days gone by: Nov. 4, 2021
Published 3:00 am Thursday, November 4, 2021
100 Years Ago
Nov. 4, 1921
War is on between the Umatilla county court and the sheriff’s office. The newest development is that E.B.F. Ridgeway, who formerly served as deputy sheriff at $130 a month has been employed by the county, though officially named by the governor, to serve as special prohibition officer. He is to be paid $325 a month and is provided by the county with an automobile. When the car is paid for it is to be the property of Ridgeway, not the county. Sheriff Houser is wondering why the sheriff gets but $2500 a year in salary and is forced to pay all expenses connected with criminal hunting while a former deputy is to be presented with a new automobile. Despite the fact there are many dealers in Umatilla county, all anxious to sell cars and offering very liberal terms and prices, the car was purchased in Walla Walla. The members of the court assert they saved $300 by buying the car in Walla Walla, an assertion vigorously denied in automobile row.
50 Years Ago
Nov. 4, 1971
A construction firm working on the Tiger Creek Road in the Blue Mountains used bulldozers today to rescue a band of stranded elk hunters. Plans had been forming for a helicopter rescue mission in the area but it was grounded by dense fog. Snow was reported to be two feet deep on the level with drifts five to six feet in depth where the hunters were marooned at an elevation of about 6,000 feet north of Bone Springs, near the Skyline and Tiger Creek Roads. The first distress calls came through a CB radio. No one knows how many hunters were marooned. Reports ranged from 20 rigs to 150 persons. The ranger for the Walla Walla District of the Umatilla National Forest said the hunters themselves made arrangements with the construction firm to open about two miles of road.
25 Years Ago
Nov. 4, 1996
Inez Reves has a story to tell. But it’s one that must be communicated one word at a time and will take months, possibly years, to fully explain. Settled into a round-backed chair at the Cay-Uma-Wa Education Center, a scarf pulled around her long gray braid, Reves, 70, sounds out words from the Umatilla language. Linguist Noel Rude is there to listen and record, figuring out where each accent is stressed, feeling every nuance of the words. He has begun putting together a Umatilla and Walla Walla dictionary.
Reves grew up speaking Umatilla on the reservation. Reves’ family indulged in their native tongue in part because of an unschooled, monolingual aunt who refused to learn English. The aunt, Annie Jo, would prove invaluable in the mid 1960s when eager linguists attempted to document the Umatilla language. Now Reves and a handful of older tribal women are among the last ones who can speak fluent Umatilla, or its close cousin, Walla Walla.