Wind Without Rain

by Jim Hallaux

  In the afternoon, she picked the boys up at school and walked them home. One hour of play time, then homework. When their parents got home; dinner, a bit of TV, bath and off to bed. Merri sat with the Clintons while they did the dishes; their idea.

  Each day was the same as the last, exactly what Merri needed. The parents begged Merri to stay. Tempting. But she had a plan, to go to the Job Corps and make something of her life. She was going there to find her way.

  But she did mention it to Miss Silver on their weekly phone call. Miss Silver’s reply was brisk;

  “We made a plan and you will be sticking to that plan. You will be going to the Job Corps if I must carry you there.”

  Merri did not bring it up again.

  5

  Merri took the 6 AM Greyhound bus from downtown Portland to Astoria on Highway 26, the Sunset Highway. She got to the bus depot at 5:30. At that time of the morning, downtown Portland had lost all its glamour. The bus stopped in Hillsboro and then again at a roadside café called Staley’s. From there over the Coast Range mountains.

  As the bus started up the long grade, the sun came out and remained out for the rest of the trip. The evergreen trees, dripping wet from a recent shower, were a deep, brilliant green. The highway went over three or four streams, the water dazzling in the sunlight.

  Well into the mountains there was a longer stop at a restaurant, bar, and motel called the Elderberry Inn. The roadside attraction there was a huge 16-foot-wide frying pan on top of the restaurant. Merri glanced down at the scar on her hand. The stop long enough for a cup of coffee. Not coffee like Merri would make. More like it was made by someone who didn’t know what good coffee tasted like.

  Then back on the bus and the next stop Seaside. Merri thought Seaside was exactly what Coney Island would look like. A beach town with one long main drag that went from the highway to a grand turnaround overlooking the broad beach. Small motels, curio shops, bumper cars, mini-golf, and salt water taffy. Still bustling with the end of summer crowds.

  Then a short stop in Warrenton and finally Astoria. Coming across the ‘new’ Young’s Bay Bridge, Merri could see that Astoria was a large peninsula, with Youngs River on one side and the Columbia River on the other. Astoria was all hills. Steep hills, with some grand Victorian houses and others that were Victorian but a bit worse for wear. These were mixed with smaller homes, post-World War II, all of them, elegant and plain, clinging to the hillside and steep streets.

  Astoria could look a little damp & depressing on a wet day in January, but on a gloriously sunny day, in August it was a jewel.

  On top of the tallest hill was the Astor Column, a 185-foot monument to the opening of the West. Merri would learn later that a person, if they were brave and had no fear of heights, could climb the inside, circular staircase to the top of the Column. Stepping outside on to a narrow landing, one could see West to the ocean; north to the Willapa Hills across the Columbia River in Washington state; East to a never-ending forest of green trees and South to Saddle Mountain. A view of 40 to 50 miles in every direction.

  The Greyhound bus went under the brand-new Astoria-Megler Bridge, incredibly tall, spanning the Columbia, connecting Oregon & Washington. The bridge was four miles long, with a graceful turn away from the water and then a curve back to the River and a huge main span under which the biggest and tallest ships in the world could pass. The roadway on the highest part of the bridge was 200 feet above the water. Above that were two towering arches that rose more than 100 additional feet.

  The bridge was something to see and Merri was amazed by it. To her, it looked like a giant piece of sculpture. Three and a half years in the building, it opened in 1966. Astoria was still in awe of the Bridge.

  After the Bridge, the highway turned into the main street of Astoria. The bus went through the downtown core and then to the depot.

  The bus depot was tacked on the side of the John Jacob Astor Hotel. The Hotel, at nine stories, was the tallest building in Astoria. Admittedly the Hotel was more than a little worn down. The once fabulous lobby, now leaning toward shabby, featured a bar/restaurant, the Fur Trader, a coffee shop and, above it, 126 rooms and suites.

  Getting her one suitcase, Merri walked to the outside entry to the coffee shop, at the corner of 14th & Commercial Streets. She had 20 minutes to wait for her ride to the Job Corps.

  Merri looked north on 14th one block and saw the Columbia River. An enormous freighter passed very close to shore almost like a part of downtown.

  The Kobayashi Maru, an enormous freighter at 562 feet long, towered tall at 125 feet off the water. Moving silently, it headed east up the Columbia to Portland. As the ship passed the buildings of downtown Astoria, the superstructure loomed over the mostly two-story roofs. The freighter had left Kashima, Japan 21 days and 4,400 miles ago and passed over the Columbia River bar, one of the most dangerous river mouths in the world.

  185 wrecks over the years in and around the Columbia River bar proved the point.

  The ship would now navigate the 126-miles-long Columbia River channel to Portland, where it would load a cargo of wheat, grown in the Palouse area of eastern Washington State.

  Standing at the corner of 14th & Commercial, Merri glanced upward at the peeling, fading pink façade of the John Jacob Astor. The sunshine gave it a weird, almost comical tint.

  Merri Sue at that moment decided she liked Astoria.

  The small bus marked US Government, Job Corps, picked Merri up at the Hotel and took her east for four miles to Tongue Point. The Point, a peninsula sticking out from shore into the Columbia River, was much smaller than the peninsula Astoria perched on. Tongue Point, 2 ½ miles long, ¾ of a mile wide nearest the shore, tapered to a heavily forested and undeveloped sharp point.

  Merri was dropped off at the Job Corps Administration building where the head of Admissions waited to give her and four other incoming students their Introductory Tour. The first stop, the student living quarters, pleasantly surprised Merri. The large, but spartan, room had two beds on one side with built-in drawers on the other wall and a compact bathroom.

  Next, the dining area and kitchen where Merri would spend the next three weeks on KP duty. The Culinary Arts program students staffed the kitchen and the on-site restaurants.

  From there on to the Learning Center.

  Merri had a high school diploma but the Job Corps would test her on English, mathematics, and general science knowledge, just to be sure no further studies were required. Merri would have the option (and encouragement) to attend the Clatsop College in Astoria to acquire an Associated Arts degree.

  The last part of the tour had a visit to each of the different disciplines taught at the Tongue Point Job Corps; Culinary Arts, Auto Mechanics, Commercial Painting, Landscaping, Dental Assistance, Bookkeeping, Welding, Seamanship.

  At each discipline, Kristen the tour guide asked a student to tell the group what the discipline and program were like. In the Commercial Painting, Kristen pointed to Penny Nichols.

  At 4’ 11”, 158 pounds, Penny was always on a diet. With red hair and a very pale complexion, Penny blushed crimson whenever she drew attention. Growing up, she was always the last one chosen for grade school playground teams. In high school, Penny had few friends, never went to a prom, nor on a date. She hated the term ‘wallflower.’ It was how she thought of herself. All of that changed at the Job Corps.

  Dressed in a white painter’s pants, shirt, and a painter’s hat (during classes, all students dressed in the appropriate outfit of their trade) Penny stood up, acknowledged Kristen, and shook hands with all the new students. She took a couple of steps back. In a clear voice, Penny said,

  “My name is Penny Nichols. I am enrolled in the Commercial Painting program here at the Tongue Point Job Corps. I have been here for eleven months and in another seven months, I will graduate with a GED certificate, a trade, and a job with the Painters Union. If you can tough out three weeks of ‘boot camp’ here, you can achieve this too.”

  P
enny had found her way.

  Penny was Merri’s first friend at Job Corps.

  PART TWO

  The People’s Army

  6

  Just before Christmas in 1922

  Disaster struck Astoria. The downtown district was built over the water’s edge atop wooden pilings that would be kindling for a fire that razed the town. Headline:

  ASTORIA, ORE. IS FIRE RUIN.

  BUSINESS DISTRICT OF COAST CITY WIPED OUT.

  FULL SWAY TO FLAMES FOR TEN HOURS, CAUSING A LOSS ESTIMATED AT FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS -- RELIEF MEASURES BEGUN.

  By the Associated Press. Astoria, Ore., Dec. 8, -- The business district of Astoria, the oldest city in Oregon, is in ruins, hundreds of persons are homeless and property loss estimated around $15,000,000 was caused by a fire here today. For ten hours the flames held sway, eating an ever-widening path thru the city until shortly after noon….

  No word of discouragement was heard on the streets of Astoria today. A forward looking spirit prevailed. In his battered office in the scorched and battered city hall, its ceilings dripping water and its windows partly shattered and still giving way periodically to thundering detonations from ruins across the street, Mayor JAMES BREMNER has this to say:

  "We've got no town left, but we've still got the best harbor on the Pacific coast. We will start rebuilding at once on the old site. These things have happened before, to us once, to San Francisco, to Chicago and many other cities. Yet folks have gone ahead and built bigger and better cities on the ruins. We hope to do just that."

  Mayor James Bremner’s prognosis for the city’s future came to pass; Astoria’s business district was rebuilt, better than ever, this time atop a cement framework in place of the wooden pilings. The new structure created tunnels and basements beneath the streets and sidewalks. Thirty-eight years after the fire, this would become the playground and an inspiration for the creation of the People’s Army.

  7

  Pete Aro, an average kid, got middling grades, lots of C’s, every now & again a B, but never a D. He had a few friends, not a lot but enough. Since kindergarten, Bill Nikula was his best friend. Around the 4th grade, Joe Lagerstrom became a junior member of the Pete and Bill group.

  In junior high, Tom Thompson became a somewhat regular member of the group.

  In high school and before, Pete got in the appropriate amount of trouble, in school & out, for a typical Astoria kid. Several Parent/Teacher conferences, a more severe meeting with the high school Principal once. But nothing serious, no expulsions, no run-ins with the police. Pete went through his kid years and teens, not necessarily smoothly, but without leaving too much of a wake. His parents were thankful.

  In fact, Pete wasn’t all that exemplary of a kid, he just didn’t get caught. Tom got caught a lot. Pete’s parents felt sorry for Tom’s parents.

  With Pete’s C grades and his parent’s income, a state college, most likely the University of Oregon in Eugene was the best idea.

  That’s when everything changed.

  On a beautiful fall day in September, Pete’s parents packed the Ford station wagon and drove their son to Eugene. A big day for everybody. Pete’s room at the dormitory was, of course, on the 3rd floor, with no elevator access.

  Pete’s roommate seemed like a nice young man. His parent’s thought Pete equally nice, both sets of parents happy and proud. His mother Audrey, crying, hugged her son goodbye. Peter Jr and Sr shook hands.

  The fall turned to winter and Pete, at first widely out of place, dazed & confused, got into the rhythm of college life. Some of the courses were of interest and others he hated. He liked Eugene, enjoying his new freedom and at the same timed missed the familiarity of Astoria and his parents.

  The family kept in touch. The weekly phone call; a good way to catch up and a good chance for Pete to ask for more money. Even at a state school, the tuition and Pete’s living expenses cut into the Aro’s budget.

  His parents were generous to their only child, with both time and money. They drove down for almost all the U of O football games, Parents Day and Pete took the bus to Astoria for Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks and on some weekends when he ran out of clean clothes.

  The first time Pete showed up with an enormous duffle bag of dirty clothes, Audrey spent all that Saturday; washing, drying, and folding. The next time it happened, she threw the dirty clothes and her son in the station wagon, gave him a pile of quarters, and dropped him at the laundromat.

  The Summer of Love lasted for more than a summer: it went on for a couple of years. San Francisco was the epicenter, but Eugene, Oregon was well-known by the flower children of Aquarius. Ken Kesey, the novelist, had put Eugene on the map. As Kesey and his gang of merry pranksters moved on to San Francisco, Tom Wolfe, in his reporting, added to the Kesey legend and to the mystic of his hometown in southern Oregon.

  This ‘Hippie Movement’ was about living & loving freely, if that tumultuous time and people could be described as a movement. The abandonment of ambition, greed & career. The search for inner knowledge & fulfillment. To be sure, casual sex, good dope, and great music made a big part of the mix.

  Free Love, ‘Good Lovin’, Sports Sex; whatever you called it, was abundant. And to his surprise, Pete got his share.

  Eugene had it all. Lots of kids with flowers in their hair, sandals on their feet, VW micro-buses, and everybody had a dog. Patchouli, marijuana, and the Grateful Dead filled the air. A comfortable, soothing, safe vibe, like a glorious spring morning, floated over it all.

  And Pete floated right along with it.

  When the fall/spring University year ended in June and Pete got his first-year grades, he called his parents with the good news. Pete told his parents he gotten his usual grades of C’s. He hadn’t but felt what his parents didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them.

  Pete also announced that he would stay in Eugene for the summer semester, graduate sooner, and the savings would be helpful to his parents. In addition, the Aro’s had become used to having the house to themselves and looked forward to not having a teenage boy sprawled across their couch all day, eating enormous amounts of food.

  Pete wasn’t altogether truthful with summer semester either. Yes, he would take courses but what really prompted the lie was something else. His well-mannered roommate, Jackson, had a side job of selling high-grade marijuana which he imported from Northern California to Eugene in the trunk of his VW bug. Pete had made the trip with Jackson a couple times and had made deliveries and other odd jobs.

  Pete brought up an idea to Jackson late one night.

  “Jack, what you need is a partner. With two people dealing, we can really crank this thing up.”

  “Well first off, Pete, I don’t think of myself as a drug dealer. I’m more of a distributor.”

  “Good point. But you still need help. With one of us bringing the pot up and the other one ‘distributing’ it, we could triple the take.” Pete wanted this deal.

  “I agree, but I need to know what you can invest in your idea. If we triple the amount of pot coming in, we’re gonna need more cash. They won’t front the pot for us. What’d you got?”

  “I got $700 in cash, for summer enrollment, class fees & books,” Peter replied.

  “Welcome aboard, partner!”

  And that’s how it started. By the end of the summer semester, Jackson or Peter made a weekly trip to Humboldt County, in northern California. By October, Pete had bought a used but nicely-maintained station wagon. He told his parents he paid $350 for it, out of money he made at the pizza parlor. Actually, Pete paid $1,500 for it out of his drug earnings. The pizza job was long gone.

  At the beginning of 1969, Pete & Jackson moved out of the dorm and into a rental house near the U of O campus. At first, they mowed the lawn, kept to themselves, didn’t have many people over and went through the motions of two college students working hard at their studies.

  In fact, they were hardly studying at all and rolling in cash. By this time Eugene (and the re
st of the country) was awash in drugs, mostly pot, but newer and harder drugs started to appear. Peter & Jackson had only one product; the best marijuana in Eugene, also the most expensive. Their clientele was a curated group; students with wealthy parents, local musicians, restaurant & bar workers, bored housewives, and trusted friends. They also had two resellers, one in Grants Pass & one in Roseburg. These two would drive to Eugene monthly to pick up three to five pounds to sell. Pete and Jackson gave the resellers a price break for the volume but never divulged the source of the weed.

  The only drawback to having the most expensive dope in town was that it kept their potential customer base limited. Jackson was fine with that. He wanted to keep everything neat and contained. If things got too big, the police would hear about it, the last thing Jackson wanted. Keep the side hustle on the down low; high class, high profit and simple.

  Pete disagreed. Most of his friends couldn’t afford the weed he peddled. Keeping the quality & price high meant a slim audience. Keep the high price weed & then add a lower priced strain and you could sell everybody. That was Pete’s business plan and he did just that. Without telling Jackson.

  The source for the cheaper pot was a guy in Blue River, east of Eugene on the McKenzie River. Pete met him at a Robert Cray Band concert at the Overland Theatre in Eugene. Pete drove to Blue River weekly for product and on one of these trips, he met another guy in Thurston who supplied hash & hash oil. From there he met another guy who sold the new drug LSD.

  Pete kept the new products secretly in his car. The Dodge station wagon became a rolling pharmacy. He made other changes.