The gazette-times. [volume] (Heppner, Or.) 1912-1925, 1922-03-02
JOURNAL MAN HEARS
FROM J. v. RED|NGTON

A department IN the Portland Jour-
nal, Observation and Impressions
of the Journal Man." always con-
tains sketches of interest, and very
often has something in which the
people of this section are interested.
One of these human interest stories
is published in this department of
the Journal of Monday last, and con-
sists of letter from ]. w. Reding-
ton, who, by the way, had sort of
dropped out of sight to Heppner peo-
pie and many here had ceased to
think of him any more; others who
often called to mind the excentrici-
ties of the man, and who had count
ed him as among their friends of
former days, had not heard Of Red
ington for so long that they were
inclined to think that he had cross
ed the line over into Mexico and per-
ished, or else some other calamity
had befallen him and he would not
be heard of again. Such is not the
case, however, and Mr.. Lockley CIV
es us the following:
Twenty years ago | used to see, as
| travelled through Morrow county on
horseback, signs on the farm gates
and barns reading, Subscribe for the
Heppner Gazette. It's hell on horse
thieves and hypocrites";; or, Take
the Heppner Gazette. Its bang-up
for bustles." These signs were the
product of the fertile brain of ]. W.
Redington, owner of the Gazette. ].
W. Redington is an old-time Oregon
newspaper man, regular fellow,
and comical cuss, a sort of combin-
alton of Bill Nye, Artemus Ward,
and Mark Twain. He is at soldiers
home in California. On the desk be-
fore me is letter received from
him day or so ago. He starts his
letter by asking me to let him know
through The Journal whether excav-
ating rock oysters at Newport is an
agricultural or piscatorial pursuit,
or is it mining? He also inquiries
whether digging clans is fishing or
farming, He then says:
Thanks for remembering me with
that fine box of cigars, which we're
put to work at once, and much ap-
preciated. The smoke screen they
created would enable the fleet of the
Mexican navy to hide its maneuverS
ditto a fleet of prairie Schooners.
Glad to hear through you that my old
friend Major Frank Hodgkin is we'll
You evidently inherit the friendliness
of your father, whose kindness |
shall never forget. When was a
youngster rode from Salem, Or, on
horseback to Salt Lake City. Time
is certainly flying, for, though it
seems like yesterday, it was more
than 40 years ago. Your father was
editor and part owner of the Salt
Lake Tribune. He gave me a job.
When the Nez Perce war broke loose
| decided to become a scout, and as
| left he gave me a warm handshake
and, with a friendly smile, said,
Good luck to you, my lad, Be sure
you come back to us when you are
through fighting the Indians, His
kindness was in strong contrast
with that of the other men of the
Tribune, who said, You damned fool,
you'll get scalped before you get half
way to where the fighting is going
on. would like to have written
sooner, but | had to send my type
writer to the garage to have the car
bon scraped off its spark plugs and
to have adjustments made to its lu-
bricator, incubator and prevaricator
and to have self-starter installed.
If some of my old-time newspaper
friends in Oregon, will send me an
occasional copy of their papers ad-
dressed to Soldiers Home, Califor-
MIA, will be able to keep in touch
with the home news from Oregon,
Give my regards to Frank Irvine. |