Heroes and rascals, shipwrecks and lost gold: Strange but true stories and secrets of Oregon's wild past | Offbeat Oregon History The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (now known as Osho -- yes, THAT Osho) as he appeared when he lived in Wasco County with his followers. That's also him in the white Rolls-Royce surrounded by followers, in a scene from Rajneeshpuram. (Four-part story starts with Column No. 73, May 9, 2010 While doing some cleaning-up around the Odd Fellows Hall in Scio, a local girl found a tiny coffin with this partial skeleton inside. Whose? We'll probably never know ... (Story No. 204, Oct. 14, 2012) The ever-elusive D.B. Cooper peeks into the page from behind his signature shades. The story of his skyjacking exploit starts with episode 237, from June 2, 2013. Meet Kitty Kat, the wealthiest feline in the state of Oregon and landlord to the City of Tangent. Kitty Kat, until he died at a ripe old age in 1995, owned City Hall. (Story No. 163, Jan. 8, 2012) This crazy-looking speedboat was the invention of Portland wizard Victor Strode. The city commissioned a harbor patrol boat based on his design, but it didn't work out. (Story No. 201, Sept. 23, 2012) The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (now known as Osho -- yes, THAT Osho) as he appeared when he lived in Wasco County with his followers. That's also him in the white Rolls-Royce surrounded by followers, in a scene from Rajneeshpuram. (Four-part story starts with Column No. 73, May 9, 2010 This is the roof of the Franz Bread Rest Hut at Pixieland, the Oregon Coast's ill-starred answer to Disneyland, which opened in 1969 and went out of biz in 1974. The Rest Hut consisted of a giant fiberglass loaf of bread sticking out of the top of this giant fiberglass hollow log, the whole thing towering over a log-flume roller coaster ride. It's probably the most campily awesome example of the proud display of crass commercialism that was Pixieland. (Column No. 52 - Dec. 6, 2009)
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1890s “march on Washington” involved train hijackings

Despite the best efforts of an overzealous federal marshal, the whole episode ended in nothing more than a stern lecture from the bench for 424 unemployed members of “Coxey's Army,” who tried to “borrow” an eastbound train

A political cartoon from an 1896 issue of Puck Magazine showing
Populist candidate William Jennings Bryan at the head of Coxey’s
ragtag army, eyeing the White House. (Image: Puck/ Library of

Many people today think of the 1890s as a prosperous, carefree era — the term “gay ‘90s” (or even “naughty ‘90s) jumps to mind. But what most people don’t realize is that much of that decade was spent mired in a massive economic depression

In many ways, the “Panic of 1893” was worse than the Great Depression, because although the numbers weren’t as bad, there was a lot less sense of community and shared burden, and certainly a lot less empathy from the White House. The mid-1890s were probably the last time in American history that large numbers of women were forced to choose between prostitution and starvation.

Joe DeFilippo, a musician and Oregon history aficionado who lives
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Here, the song is performed by the R.J. Phillips Band, a group of
Baltimore musicians: Joe himself on vocals, bass and acoustic guitar;
Bill Phelan: lap steel, 6 string electric and 12 string guitar ; Patrick McAvinue:
fiddle; Leslie Darr: background vocals; and Bill Pratt: drums, organ,
background vocals. (Produced & recorded by: Bill Pratt @ the Bratt Studio,

The Panic of 1893 brought us some iconic images that are still familiar today. The stereotype of the palatial Victorian “haunted house,” as seen on early episodes of Scooby-Doo, comes from the thousands of brand-new luxury homes whose owners, unable to pay for them, simply walked away and left them, fully furnished, to decay. It’s no coincidence that the Snidely Whiplash-type villain of classic melodrama, with his handlebar moustache, swallowtail coat and silk top hat, is dressed in 1890s business attire. And “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” — the book, written in 1900, with the hard times safely in the past — was probably inspired at least in part by the panic and the clumsy attempts by people and governments to do something about it.

The panic also brought us the very first mass “march on Washington,” an organized protest event that became known as “Coxey’s Army.”

     Coxey’s Army in Portland

Coxey’s U.S. Industrial Army — now rechristened the “Commonweal
Army” — moves out of its camp in Washington, D.C., in late summer
1894. Few if any of the Oregon members made it all the way out to the
capitol. (Image: Leslie’s/ Library of Congress)

Coxey’s Army — which at that time called itself the “U.S. Industrial Army” — was launched and led in 1894 by an Ohio quarry owner and populist named Jacob Coxey. Organized along military lines, the U.S.I.A. was generally a disciplined, law-abiding group of unemployed tradesmen, who bitterly resented the plutocrat-owned newspapers of the day for constantly calling them “tramps and thieves” or “hobos.” But in a couple of cities, the groups of men, trying to make their way to Washington, actually engaged in what you might call train robbery — seizing control of a railroad train and making it haul them eastward.

Portland was one of those cities.

Stuck in Stumptown

The problem for Portlanders who wanted to join the march on Washington was that Washington was rather a long way off. To get there, they were going to need to ride the railroads. And the main railroads, then in federal receivership, were not about to let them do that.

Oregon governor Sylvester Pennoyer, a populist, was sympathetic to the Coxeyites and asked the railroads to relent and carry the men east. He was emphatically rebuffed. So the Army was essentially stranded in Portland.

The old-school Establishment, led by the formidable Harvey Scott at the Portland Morning Oregonian, was disgusted by their presence. To Scott and his ilk, these were simply bums who would rather beg than work, and deserved their plight. The president of the Portland Board of Charities highhandedly informed the workers that in exchange for six hours of hard labor on street crews, the Board would give them two soup-kitchen tickets and a bunk — a deal that was probably designed to be rejected so that the Board could claim it was not refusing to help. The board president was furious when the mayor of Portland and its police chief stepped in with food relief (contingent on their agreeing to leave town as soon as possible).

     The Army leaves Portland

William Coxey as he appeared in 1914, during a sort of revival of
the march on Washington that happened that year. (Image: Library
of Congress)

Which they did, after recruiting another 400 or so unemployed tradesmen in Portland. They made a couple of attempts to hijack eastbound trains, following the example of a group in Montana, but the Northern Pacific railroad people were onto them, and it didn’t happen. So early one rainy April morning, the U.S.I.A. set out on foot along the railroad tracks, heading east toward Troutdale.

When they got there, they got busy trying to capture a train to take them east. Since the railroad was in federal receivership at the time — the failure of overextended railroads was a major cause of the Panic of ’93 — this got a zealous federal marshal named H.C. Grady involved.

     The marshal’s scheme

Grady played a crafty game against the Coxeyites. First he complained to the county sheriff, demanding that he either do something himself or call on Governor Pennoyer to bring the state militia. Rather than telling Grady to mind his own business, the sheriff stepped into the trap by writing Pennoyer with a request for the militia to be called up just in case the Coxeyites should get unruly — a request that Pennoyer, of course, denied.

Now Grady could say the state had refused to intervene, and that federal troops would have to be called up.

With the sheriff and a force of some 50 deputies, Grady traveled from Portland to Troutdale, apparently planning to make some attempt to arrest or disperse them. When they arrived, they found the U.S.I.A. lined up, apparently ready to march eastward again. It quickly became obvious that the entire town of Troutdale was sympathetic to the Coxeyites, and somewhat resentful of the gang of deputies. Crestfallen, the law-enforcement crusaders headed back to Portland.

    “Seize This Train … Please”

The next day, Grady and the railroad people launched a plan to entrap the Coxeyites. They sent a train of empty passenger cars to Troutdale, each one with a copy of a court injunction ordering them not to seize any railroad property. The men happily boarded with their baggage, at which point Grady read the injunction to out loud to them, then hustled up to the train engine and climbed aboard. Then, without the cars attached, the engine raced away to the nearest telegraph office, from which Grady cabled back to Washington, D.C., that a gang of Coxey’s Army had seized a train.

“Am powerless to equip enough deputy marshals to gain possession of train,” he wrote. “The situation is critical and the men are desperate. Please advise.”

The Justice Department in Washington, though, knowing that the men were only in possession of a handful of Pullman cars, still did nothing. So Grady took one further step:

He loaded a special train up with two high-ranking executives of the Northern Pacific and Union Pacific railroads and they drove it to Troutdale, ostensibly to pick up a couple train cars full of meat. The idea seems to have been to dangle a hijack-able train engine in front of the Coxeyites, hoping they’d take the bait and force Washington’s hand.

It worked. When the train arrived, the Coxeyites were expecting it — someone must have leaked the word, possibly deliberately. They firmly but politely took possession of the engine, sidetracked the car full of executives (had they not done this, they probably would have all been charged with kidnapping later) and headed off east with the cars full of men.

     Stuck In Stumptown, again

Grady’s gambit had forced the Justice Department’s hand. The soldiers were duly deployed and they met the eastbound train at Arlington, where the Coxeyites were arrested and the train turned around and sent right back to Portland.

In Portland, a very large crowd assembled to greet the train — about 1,500 people, out of a Portland population in the 50,000s. The crowd was large enough, and loud enough, that Grady and the local cops worried about riots. Again Pennoyer was asked for help from the state militia. Pennoyer, in one of the few really good decisions of his term, shot back a telegram pointing out the ridiculousness of the federal government asking him to underwrite Grady’s bad decision.

“No interference by state troops. (President) Cleveland’s army brought Coxey’s army to Portland,” he said. “Let Cleveland’s army take care of Coxey’s army.”

     434 wrist-slappings

The next day, in court, all 434 of the captured Coxeyites were sentenced to nothing more than a stern lecture by the judge. They apologized for their behavior, promised to abide by court decisions in the future, and were sent on their way. The general population of Portland, overwhelmingly on their side despite the increasingly screechy editorials of the Morning Oregonian, seemed quite happy with this outcome. Grady, on the other hand, was beside himself.

When the train carrying the federal troops left town, they whooped and waved goodbye to the Coxeyites, and the Coxeyites cheered and waved back.

It must have infuriated Grady to see that not even his enforcement troops were on his side, because the next day, during peaceful but spirited city-wide May Day celebrations, he sent another telegram back to Washington.

“Events here bordering on insurrection. Fully anticipate trouble,” he wired breathlessly. “Can you wire me requisitions … for 50 rifles — also sidearms and 150 rounds of ammunition?”

The response from Washington seems to have been silence. Maybe they were finally onto him.

     Getting to Washington

About 100 of the men quit the U.S.I.A. after this, saying they’d had enough. The rest of them disbanded into groups of three or four and started hopping freight cars to get east to Washington D.C. The railroad companies, possibly with some relief, threw up their hands, saying they didn’t have the enforcement resources to stop dozens of groups of guys “riding the rods,” and the rest of Portland got back to trying to figure out how to survive the depression.

Only about 500 members of Coxey’s Army made it to Washington; the rest stopped along the way, either giving up or finding work. Those 500 were pretty much ignored upon arrival, although some — including Coxey himself — were arrested for trespassing on the capitol lawn.

Three months later, the protesters were dispersed by companies of militia, and Coxey’s Army faded into the history books.

(Sources: Voeltz, Herman C. “Coxey’s Army in Oregon,” Oregon Historical Quarterly, Sept. 1964; Klooster, Karl. Round the Roses II. Portland: Klooster, 1992; Munk, Michael. “Coxey’s Army,” The Oregon Encyclopedia, oregonencyclopedia.org)

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