Crime Pays

I was attending the University of Oregon in 1950 when I received a phone call from my older sister, Virginia, calling from Grants Pass. "Did you have a little problem with the Portland Police last summer?" she asked me. Oh, that.  "As a matter of fact we did have a small misunderstanding, but why do you ask?" She told me she had intercepted a phone call from the Multnomah County Court instructing me to appear before them the following month regarding my arrest for minor in possession of alcoholic beverages last summer.  She gave me the date and the place to appear and said she had not mentioned this call to our mother.  How do you put a dollar value on an older sister?

I was on the down-state football All-Star team that played in the inaugural Shrine All-Star game in 1948 and as a player I received two complimentary passes to all future games. So the next summer I thought it would be fun to attend that year's game and see all my teammates from the year before. I invited a friend from Grants Pass to attend the game with me and we drove to Portland in his car. After the game there was a get together of former players from both teams that my friend couldn't get into, so we agreed to meet at a later time that night.  I fell in with a bunch of guys who had played against us from the Metro All-Stars and one thing led to another and we all thought it would be a grand idea to buy a case of beer and go up above Grant High School and pop some caps. I stressed I had to be back to our meeting place at the appointed hour and away we went.

Do police show up when clueless young boys gather in a neighborhood and drink beer and make noise and pee in people's bushes? Yes they do. I remember this big policeman greeting us and saying, "Well, well, look at this. A bunch of little juvenile delinquents."  Short story: My new friends ratted me out as the beer buyer and I was incarcerated at the 2nd & Pine police station and then released at 2:30 AM.  Missed my ride home.  About $1.50 in my pocket. A little tired and a bit hung over. Time to walk from downtown Portland to where I could start hitch-hiking home to Grants Pass. It's not easy being young and stupid.

Showed up for my appearance to rat out the beer seller. A clerk told me to stop at the desk on the way out to pick up my check.  Check?  Round trip mileage from Grants Pass to Portland. Yowsa! A big wealth infusion for that poor college boy. Crime pays.

Whoop, whoop !

The best Reuben sandwich on the planet Earth is served along with two carrot sticks and a scoop of terrific potato salad plus a slice of dill pickle at the Goose Hollow Inn, in Portland, Oregon. Thank John Elwood "Bud" Clark for that and for making his tavern a beloved institution in the Rose City, right up there with Powell's Books. In 1967 Bud opened his tavern and over the years built a diverse clientele of Portlanders that included doctors, lawyers, mill hands, college students, artists, anarchists, you-name-it.

I became a regular in 1975 and when a movement started as a joke in 1985 to run Bud as a candidate for Mayor of Portland, I signed on. The joke turned into serious business as patrons of the Goose were organized into an army of canvassers who spread out through the city to carry the word about our favorite bar-keep.

I was working a district in southeast Portland when I entered a large trailer park and knocked on the door of one of the units.  The door flew open and I was confronted by a plus-size matron who cut loose on me with a loud dose of her displeasure at being disturbed.  Her anger grew more intense until she finally paused to catch her breath which gave me a chance to say to her (as a way of giving her more fuel for outrage) "I suppose asking to use your restroom is completely out of the question?"  I stepped back expecting a bigger explosion but her demeanor suddenly changed. In a calm, almost kind voice she said to me, "Do you really have to go?" I stuttered out something like, "No, no I'm OK...sorry to have disturbed you and be sure to vote for Bud Clark."

She apparently did because Bud won in a landslide and went on to serve two terms before retiring from public life. His victory made national news and he even appeared on Johnny Carson.  Johnny got Bud to demonstrate an unusual verbal tic: sometimes, for no apparent reason, Bud would add a little, "Whoop, whoop!" to the end of declarative sentences; it drove many of his staff members nuts. We must forgive that small idiosyncrasy because Bud Clark created the world's greatest Reuben sandwich.