The Third Munchkin

Nov. 5, 2019

Not the clearest photo I admit but it will do for the purposes of my post. It was taken with my trusty flip cellphone of an image I created by hitting the "Pause" button on the remote for my VCR. Yes, by today's standards I am a Luddite.

When I was child one of the big television events of the year was the apparently annual showing of The Wizard of Oz. In the days before home VHS videorecordings we couldn't just watch any movie when we felt like it. In those pre-cable days we were at the mercy of three national networks and a couple local independent stations. If you were a young movie freak like I was, you would plan your week around the schedule of films as listed in the TV Guide.

Since most families, including mine, owned grainy black and white televisions in the Ike-JFK-LBJ era, we kids were informed by our parents when The Wizard of Oz used the technique of switching from B&W to color as Dorothy first arrives in Munchkinland. I believe I was a teenager before I ever saw this cinematic classic in color.

Anyway, here's the deal with McCleary and The Wizard of Oz film. Right before the Mayor of Munchkinland shows up, his appearance is heralded by three trumpeteers. The third trumpeteer, as shown in this photo, was none other than McCleary's own Clarence Chesterfield Howerton, who had the circus name of "Major Mite." Pretty neat, huh?

As a bit of trivia, when I was in college I once split the rent on an apartment with the grandson of E.Y. "Yip" Harburg, who wrote the lyrics to the songs in the movie. 

Rain Country is for sale

Nov. 2, 2019

Yes, this fine dining establishment has been on the market for several months.

I admit I have a problem with people who wear sunglasses in general and those who perch them on top of their heads or dangle them from their collars in particular such as the real estate guy pictured here. To me that looks pretty silly and urban fad-following. But what do I know?

I'd love to see the place become an indoor miniature golf course.

Calling all royalty

Oct. 31, 2019

Former Mayor Ellsworth Curran (who lived to be 101) was one of the original 12 incorporators of the McCleary Second Growth Festival (later called McCleary Bear Festival). He told me that in the early years of the Fest the girls who were serving in the royalty were actually sent to charm school. One father instructed Ellsworth, "Well, I growed her up. Now you gotta make a lady outta her."

There was at least one Fest in the 1980s or early 1990s that didn't have any royalty.

My question is why the age limit? It seems rather unfair that those of us over the age of 15 cannot also serve as royalty in our own category. Perhaps there could be a Tsar and Tsarina involving those of more advanced years in our community?

Storybook mushrooms behind the McCleary Hotel - 3

Oct. 30, 2019

Storybook mushrooms behind the McCleary Hotel - 2

Oct. 30, 2019

Storybook mushrooms behind the McCleary Hotel - 1

Oct. 30, 2019

Every picture tells a story

Oct. 26, 2019

The public restrooms on the left of the photo was about where Henry McCleary had his executive office when his sawmill was in current day Beerbower Park. The kitchen-picnic building behind that was constructed around the late 1980s or early 1990s to replace the original building that had been built in the early days of the McCleary Bear Festival as a place to cook the bear stew.

The current City Hall, constructed in the late 1950s, was originally the site of Henry McCleary's later headquarters. When President Roosevelt came through town in an open car in the 1930s, Henry instructed his employees to turn their backs. After McCleary sold the town to Simpson, he tried living in northern Nevada for a brief time, but that did not work out. In his final year or so even though he resided in Olympia he could occasionally be seen sitting outside of his old headquarters watching the world go by in a town he no longer controlled.

The crosswalk brings to mind this little tale. McCleary has had a long and colorful history of Chiefs of Police. In the 1950s the City hired a young photogenic fellow from Shelton for the job and he was the first person to institute the use of marked crosswalks on the main roads. Most of the residential streets were not paved until much later.

Anyway, after maybe a year the Chief vanished "between two days" as Norman Porter of the McCleary Stimulator put it, with part of the City treasury and someone else's wife. The law finally caught up with him in the Bay Area about a year later. So think of that next time you use a McCleary crosswalk.