Home History School | Old School

A young person we know told us recently that it felt funny to say this, but he actually wouldn’t mind being being back to school. This made us smile. Schools contain so much of our lives and our memories. Friends, teachers, the playground, your classroom. The smell of the hallways, the cafeteria, the auditorium.

So this week we’re turning back the clock on a few nearby schools and the neighborhoods that surround them.

Old Vernon School, Art Classroom, about 1915.

These buildings are like time travelers that have seen change all around them: generations of kids who’ve grown up in the hallways; houses springing up here and there; school buildings themselves changing (or, like Kennedy School, closing down altogether).

This week’s activities ask you to explore places you might think you already know everything about–the immediate vicinity of nearby schools– to see and think about change. Click below for the latest installment.

Old School

 

 

 

 

 

Home History School | Find your streetcar

Northeast Portland streets were once alive with streetcars taking neighbors to work, school and play. They were an institution that connected us with the city and with our neighbors. Noisy, drafty, cold in winters but alive with neighbors going places, these electric-powered vehicles were loved by Portlanders, and our system was the envy of the country.

The Beaumont streetcar at the end of the line between Klickitat and Siskiyou on NE 41st Avenue, about 1914. Courtesy City of Portland Archives.

The rise of cars and buses in the 1940s brought an end to streetcars, but if you know where to look, you can still find clues, and there’s lots of photos, memories, maps and even old film to teach us about these times. This week’s activities get you looking for clues, finding your nearest streetcar route and learning about the electric trains that criss-crossed Northeast Portland neighborhoods.

Click below for this week’s installment.

Find Your Streetcar

Anderson’s on Alberta | Post Script

We’ve enjoyed hearing your thoughts about the great Anderson’s Grocery photo from a couple days back: memories of Green River Phosphate sodas; recollections of other Anderson’s stores, speculations on what else might be in the back out of view from the front window. We even heard from the folks at Grasshopper who occupy the store today.

Check out this original work sent to us by photo wiz and fellow history friend Brian Rooney showing Jim Frost and his crew lingering at the doorway today. Nice Brian.

 

And a bit of original research by long-time AH friend John Hamnett who found this estate sale advertisement for the leftover stores from the Anderson empire after Carl’s death in July 1940. We think that’s how Jim Frost eventually got situated into his store at NE 30th and Killingsworth:

From The Oregonian, January 21, 1941

 

Always in search of more context, we looked up Carl G. Anderson’s obituary for you. He died at home on Thursday, July 18, 1940.

From The Oregonian, July 24, 1940

And kudos to our sister Bonnie Hull for inventorying the vegetables (most of which never made it to our table growing up). From left to right on display: zucchini, celery, fennel root, turnips, chard, a squash, peppers, Brussels sprouts, garlic hanging in the window, canned clams in the background and sooo much pancake flour!

Be sure to check out the reflection in the window, too. Look carefully and you can see the overhead lines that powered the Alberta Streetcar. There’s always more to see.

 

More Time Travel on Alberta Street

It’s time for another Alberta Street merchant portrait to add to the growing collection. Meet the crew from Anderson’s Grocery Store Number 5 at 676 Alberta Street, about 1930. That’s 1816 NE Alberta today (thanks to the Great Renumbering). Sent by AH photo friend Norm Gholston, this one is definitely worth a close look so click in for a good look around.

Here’s a challenge: Think you can identify all of the produce on display?

Anderson’s Store, 676 Alberta Street, about 1930. Courtesy of Norm Gholston.

1816 NE Alberta Street, April 2020

At its peak, Anderson’s Grocery was a 39-store chain of “cash stores” (all on Portland’s eastside) built by Carl G. Anderson starting in 1905, so called because there was no book of credit kept; business was “cash on the counter” only. This particular store was Anderson’s fifth and was well established by the time this photo was taken in the early 1930s. On the back of this photo are cryptic notes explaining that the young man in the middle was the person managing the store: James Franklin Frost.

Jim Frost was born in Selma, Oregon in 1905, married Emma Doering from Saskatchewan in 1927, worked for Anderson’s in the 1930s, enlisted in the service in 1943 and returned from the war to run Frost’s Grocery on the southeast corner of NE 30th and Killingsworth. He and Emma lived within walking distance of Anderson’s, and they ran small neighborhood mom and pop grocery stores all their lives.

We’re still working on the identity of the other two gentlemen—the butcher on the left and Frost’s stock clerk partner on the right. All of them in shirts and ties and shiny shoes, how about that?

Grocer Carl Anderson was a bit of an empire builder, and definitely thought of himself that way. This business profile, written not long after the photograph was taken, provides further insight into Anderson’s humble beginnings and rise to grocery stardom.

From The Oregonian, May 4, 1935

In the year after this story, Anderson opened a grocery in a new building at the heart of the Beaumont business district which we know today as Beaumont Market.

For the record, there was also an Anderson’s Grocery at NE 15th and Fremont, but that’s a different Anderson and a story for another day…

Home History School | History Detective

When was the last time you had a really good look at the clues from your house’s history? Cooped up with a little extra time on their hands, some AH readers have shared clues they’ve been wondering about, like this one. What the heck is that?

It’s an old central vacuum port, which was an amazing modern luxury when it was installed back in the 19-teens. Central systems, powered by an electric motor in the basement, began to appear by 1910 and by 1915-1920 were fairly common.

To indulge your curiosity and powers of observation–and with a little extra time on your hands to look around–enlist the support of your young historians in this week’s suggestions of things to think about and do. Click in below for this week’s installment:

History Detective: What’s Your Story?

 

 

 

Home History School |Active learning about local history

Maybe you have some young people in your world these days looking for things to do to feed their curiosities and continue their learning close to home. As in very close to home. The great pandemic of 2020 has turned our lives upside down in so many ways, and it’s brought your kids’ classroom to your dining room table.

Vernon School Classroom

Old Vernon School classroom, about 1915.

Here’s a sliver of good news: You happen to be living in a century-old time machine on a landscape that has been in constant change and full of opportunities for imagination, exploration, expression, activity and insight.

Each Monday during the spring of 2020, we provided a weekly focus on local history explorations that include activities and questions to get you going. We think these activities are fun and meaningful for kids of all ages, like us!

  • We started by encouraging history detectives to search out and meet the ubiquitous Elwood Wiles, whose name is on sidewalks all over the eastside from 1910-1915.
  • We suggested tools for figuring out the story of your house, including finding your earliest plumbing permits and your old street address.
  • Discovering your nearest streetcar route and considering what the streetcar meant to our neighborhoods came next.
  • We went on safari to neighborhood schools with 1924 maps in hand, and tales of school buildings long gone.
  • Our oldest residents—our trees, and in particular our Heritage trees—came next with walks, tree ID keys and stories of the Pearson Pine.
  • And then the horses: thinking about what horses meant to these neighborhoods. They were fundamental to our early life and the energy they invested still shapes the ground we walk. Their plows and wagons build the eastside grid.
  • Lastly, we put together a time capsule to pass forward to the future, a message in a bottle about what a strange time this has been.

Each lesson plan has a package of things to do and think about, from using old maps to drawing a map of your neighborhood today, to locating a current view from old photos, to exploring local parks in search of their history.

Enjoy.

New Builder Bios: Edward R. McLean and Earl A. Roberts

In our continuing quest to learn more about the people who designed and built homes here on Portland’s eastside, we’ve just published two new profiles: Edward R. McLean, who was an active and prolific homebuilder between 1922-1970; and Earl A. Roberts, who ran a residential design-build company with his dad and brother from 1908-1910 before his break-out success as an architect of high-end westside homes that vaulted him into a successful commercial architectural practice in Seattle between 1918 until his death in 1939. He also designed several prominent buildings in the Roseburg, Oregon area.

A listing of homes designed and built by the two men appears at the end of each biography. If you live in Beaumont, you better check out the list of McLean’s homes because you might live in one: he built quite a few in Beaumont. If you know something about a McLean house or the McLean family, drop us a line.

Interested in the story of who built your home or commercial property? Research Services.

Albina’s Williams Avenue, 1909

The loss and complete transformation of what was once a vital Albina main street will always haunt this North Portland neighborhood, in so many different ways. Important chapters of Portland history have played out here, from the early days of being its own city before becoming part of Portland, through waves of immigration, to Civil Rights protests and the vibrancy of African-American owned business, life and culture.

Today, if you don’t know this history, you might drive north on Williams past Emanuel Hospital and not know you are traveling through a kind of sacred ground.

To help us imagine this lost place, here’s a pretty amazing photo from AH photo friend Norm Gholston, and a then-and-now shot we matched up during a recent outing. Norm shared this great old pic recently: it’s the image side of a “real photo” postard, popular in this era. Click to enlarge and take a good look.

Taken from just north of the intersection with Russell Street, the 1909 photo features a look at the Kennard and Adams department store on the left, which carried a little bit of everything. The first intersection in the distance is Knott Street. That’s the Immaculate Heart Church steeple at Williams and Stanton you can see in the distance, the only common denominator that really jumps out at you from the two photos (known back in the day as St. Mary’s Church, not St. Mark’s as the Sanborn implies).

Here’s a composite of several Sanborn maps we put together to be able to visualize where Norm’s 1909 photo was taken. The red box indicates the approximate photo point. Click to enlarge.

Details from Sanborn plates 268, 273 and 274, from 1909.

If you ride, walk or drive this way—or if you didn’t know the history of this amazing stretch of street—take a moment to check out the following  multiple sources of insight about what this neighborhood meant during its heyday, and how its loss has affected the people who knew it:

Historic Black Williams Project

An article about Albina in the Oregon Encyclopedia

A nice rewind that looks back across the years by The Oregonian

Time for a walk

With so much on our minds, it’s time to go for a walk.

Can you believe how many walkers, runners and bikers there are out there on our spring-weather streets? We were out this afternoon with the dog and were impressed with all the friendly neighbors out and about, and how ready we all are to say hello to actual in-person people.

Harriet Lesher and her dad on The Alameda at about NE 22nd, about 1930. Courtesy of the family.

You might be looking for somewhere to walk close to home or a little adventure to take the kids on, maybe something even a little educational. How about a history walk?

You could visit the Pearson pine—a 125-year-old tree that has lived through a lot—and the nearby Pearson dairy farm that exists only in written memory beneath Alameda School. A walk around the dairy is a nice, easy .6 mile.

Or re-trace the route of the old Broadway Streetcar that was once an institution people could not live without, and couldn’t imagine ever changing; it makes a good 3.1 mile loop.

You might survey the entire Alameda Park Plat perimeter, while imagining the forests and fields that once blanketed this area back in 1909. Bring the plat map along (or check it out on your phone).

If you’re walking around the Beaumont area, be sure to stand in the footsteps of these photos from the 1920s and see what looks different today. There are plenty of clues that connect across these nearly 100 years.

Simple pleasures, which mean a lot at a moment like this.

Reflecting on 1918

With many of us home for a while—as life slows down in deference to the social distancing required to reduce spread of the coronavirus—we’re taking stock of just how many interesting blog posts we have on the drawing board, from the history of the Vernon Standpipe to some incredible photos from our history friend Norm Gholston to three new profiles of neighborhood builders and more. Might just as well make good use of this time, right?

But before we do that, it’s appropriate and necessary to make note of this unusual moment in our world (and in the neighborhood) in the midst of a global pandemic. For the record, in March 2020 Portland has come to a stop: schools closed, sports leagues cancelled, workplaces shuttered or greatly limited. Empty grocery store shelves signal our collective desire to get ready for what feels like the leading edge of a slow-moving blizzard about to descend for a while on our city, state, country and beyond. The rhythms of our day-to-day lives now feel uncertain.

Because we often like to look back as a way of seeing our way forward, we’ve been reading news coverage of the 1918 flu pandemic when it descended on Portland. We thought you might be interested in seeing a few clips.

The first mention in the papers in early October 1918 was a simple sentence buried on an inside page: “Seattle thinks it is getting the flu.” At first, the news percolated in conversation and people weren’t sure what to make of it. Jokes were made in small talk:

But on October 10th, Portland Mayor George Baker implemented an order that required downtown businesses to close by late afternoon each day, and completely closed “schools, churches, lodges, public places of meetings, and places of amusement.”

From The Oregonian, October 11, 1918

Needless to say, this was very unpopular and most of the ink we saw in local papers was about the disruption to sporting events. Tensions in the community as people sought “social distance” were captured by W.E. Hill, an artist for The Oregonian who captured this scene on a streetcar in late October 1918. The caption reads: “With all this Spanish influenza around, it was not time for the delivery boy at the other end of the car to choke on a chocolate almond and start coughing.”

From The Oregonian, October 25, 1918

 

A near daily recitation followed in November about the number of new cases diagnosed, and the number of deaths, with victims and addresses named. Auditoriums and gyms were converted to makeshift hospitals. Coos Bay ran out of coffins.

From The Oregonian, October 24, 1918

 

But by mid-November–more than a month after Baker’s complete shutdown–the ban was lifted and life seemed to get back to “normal.”

 

 

From The Oregonian, November 17, 1918

 

There were false starts with plenty of ups and downs–and more deaths–as localized outbreaks continued to be reported through November and December and into the new year. This article from December 1918 indicates school was back in session and the city had progressed to locally specific quarantines when cases of the flu were diagnosed. Signs were put up on individual homes.

From The Oregon Daily Journal, December 12, 1918

 

It was well into 1919 before local newspapers stopped writing about the flu on a daily basis and the former rhythms of life in Portland resumed.

We know the 2020 outbreak is its own thing and the world has changed in the last 100 years. We’re making history right now, which is an unpredictable business. There’s solace, we guess, in knowing our homes and neighborhoods have endured these uncertainties before, and that spring and warmth (despite this morning’s snowfall) are right around the corner.

Now, back to the life of old buildings and neighborhoods. Stay tuned.